A Woman of Passion (38 page)

He picked her up easily, as if she were thistledown, and strode down to the punt. Her body reacted to him the moment he touched her—nay, it had been before
that. It had quivered the moment she sensed it was he on the river. He set her down gently, then climbed in facing her and took up the oars. He wore no doublet, only a black silk shirt, open at the throat. He rowed smoothly, with long strokes, and her mouth went dry at the sheer sensuality of her own thoughts. Beneath the silk she saw his supple muscles gather and ripple effortlessly.

There was something too intoxicating about his male power, and Bess forced her gaze away from him to look across the dappled sunlit water. The slow realization came that he had some purpose in mind. She felt almost mesmerized as she saw Shrewsbury House and knew that was where he was taking her. The boat glided to the water steps, and he jumped out to secure it.

“What are you doing?” she asked softly.

“Abducting you.”

“You said I'd be safe with you.”

“You knew I was lying, Bess.”

“Yes.” She could have taken refuge in anger, but that would have been taking the easy way out.

He came back into the punt, splayed his legs wide apart to balance himself, then lifted her high in his arms. As he strode into Shrewsbury House and headed purposefully for the stairs, there were no servants in evidence and Bess knew he had laid his plan carefully and issued his orders for privacy.

He took her into a spacious room she knew was his, and his alone. It was the most magnificently masculine chamber she had ever seen. The entire room was done in black and gold, a great deal of it real gold. The bed-curtains were black velvet, the matching bedcover was embroidered with an immense gold initial
S
that reminded her of a coiled serpent. The bedposts were covered with beaten gold leaf. The walls were dull gold, the
carpet thick and black. The fireplace looked like onyx with a heavy gold mantel. Solid gold chessmen marched across an onyx games table.

Talbot set Bess upon a deep window seat piled with black and gold pillows and stood gazing down at her. Bess realized her gown matched the room perfectly. It was uncanny, as if she had worn it especially for him. Everything in the chamber appealed to her flamboyant taste—especially its owner.

“Bess, I want to be your secret lover.”

Oh, God, Bess thought, why couldn't there be just the two of them in the whole world? Why couldn't there be only this present time, with no past and no future?

“When I say
secret
, I mean
secret.
I won't flaunt you, I won't parade you about for decoration—though, God knows, you're the most decorative female I've ever seen. I have a dozen residences in the north. Just choose one and it will be ours alone. I will guarantee complete privacy. You may see me as often or as seldom as you wish.”

Bess ran the tip of her tongue over dry lips and said carefully, “What makes you think I would agree to any of this?”

“Because I know you desire me. Not as much as I want you—that would be impossible. Bess, you are a woman of passion, and you know I could satisfy you as no other man ever has or ever will.”

He was so cocksure, but Bess knew that's why she wanted him. He was all male, and he appealed to every one of her womanly senses. Bess wanted him to make love to her, all right, if only he could do it without making her his mistress. She remembered the first time he saw her; he'd said with youthful arrogance,
She's only a servant.
If she let him make love to her, he could say,
She's only a mistress
, and what would be the difference?

Bess looked at his beautiful, sensual mouth and took refuge in a lie. “You are wrong, Lord Talbot. I do not desire you; I feel completely indifferent.”

His gaze smoldered. He was certain she lied. “A wager, Bess. Give me an hour to persuade you. If at the end of that time you are not
begging
me to make love to you, I'll let you go in peace.”

It was a challenge she knew she could not refuse. She had to prove to him that she could indeed resist him, but even more she had to prove it to herself. “Why not?”

She watched him pick up a golden hourglass with black sand and turn it upside down. The window seat upon which she reclined was nearly as wide as a bed, and Bess thought he would immediately come down to her and take her in his arms, but he did not. Instead, he propped one booted foot on the ledge and leaned his weight on his raised knee.

His voice was husky. “Bess, I know you've had two husbands.… How many lovers have you had?”

“Only Cavendish,” she answered truthfully.

His dark gaze studied her face. “Then you've never been loved by a man of your own age—a man in his prime. Jesus, you've no notion what our mating could be like. I'd want you in a sable bedgown with nothing beneath it. I'd carry you off at midnight on a black stallion and impale you right there in the saddle. I'd take you to one of my castles and lock us naked in its tower for a week and keep you at the peak of your arousal so that you would respond to my lightest touch.” His voice became intense. “Always when I think of you, I see myself deep within you. I see your lips open and hear you cry out with passion as I sheathe myself to the hilt inside you.” He reached down for her hands, holding them so close to his
body, she could feel his heat leap into her fingers and race up her arms.

“Every night I would carry you to bed. The first coupling would be savage of necessity, the second so slow and sensual you would writhe for an hour, moaning and frenzied, until I brought you to climax. But the third time I would make real love to you, cherishing and worshiping you with my body until you dissolved in liquid tremors and yielded everything I ever wanted from you.” His dark, erotic fantasies poured over her like wine, until she felt drunk with need.

Lord Talbot's mouth found hers, and Bess opened her lips in wanton invitation. The kiss was not savage, it was perfect. His mouth was firm and demanding, but not brutal. When the kiss deepened, he almost stole her senses. Bess expected to feel his hands upon her, undressing her, and she knew she would yield to him. What she felt was not love, it was pure lust. He was the most attractive and sexually arousing man she had ever encountered. Her breasts and belly ached with need. She wanted his hands and his mouth on her body, she wanted his long, thick, marble-hard manroot filling her emptiness, and, above all, she clamored to be taken by a man her own age.

“Please.” Bess was suddenly horrified. Was that her voice begging? She did the only thing she knew would save her pride. She cried out her husband's name. “Please, William!”

She felt him go rigid at the insult, and she opened her eyes to watch the outrage on his face. But it was fleeting, gone in an instant, as his sensual mouth curved into a smile.

“Bess, you are so damned clever, and that is one of the
reasons I am obsessed by you. It is part of your fatal allure.”

“All right, my lord, I wasn't being honest with you, but I am now. I won't allow my heart to rule my head. I refuse to be any man's mistress. I am worth more than that.”

“I am not any man, Bess. I am the wealthiest noble in the realm. I will give you anything, you only have to name it.”

“Will you give me a wedding ring? Will you give me your name? Will you divorce your wife and marry me?”

Talbot was aghast. “Bess, I don't want you for a wife! Marriage is anathema to me! I've been wed since I was twelve. Wives are the dullest, most stupid and boring creatures on earth. Marriage is a death knell to love and pleasure.”

“If that is how you feel about your wife, divorce shouldn't upset you overmuch. Many nobles have availed themselves of divorce—Edward Seymour, William Parr, even Henry Tudor.”

“I am not a Tudor, I am a Talbot, and Talbots do not divorce.” The air fairly crackled with his arrogance. “I would never disgrace my children.”

Bess realized that, even if he had no wife, he would never marry her. He was a member of the upper aristocracy, while to him she would always be Bess Hardwick, a farmer's daughter. “I will not become your mistress, Lord Talbot. I would never disgrace
my
children. Your hour is up, milord; you had better take me home.”

He bowed to her wishes. “All right, Vixen. Just remember, we always deeply regret the things we never do.”

W
hen Bess arrived back at Court, she was surprised to learn that Elizabeth had given Robin Dudley apartments that adjoined the queen's. The conspirators were waiting for Bess to return before he moved in.

Elizabeth asked Bess and Mary Sidney, Robin's sister, to attend her in her private sitting room. “I trust the ankle is healed well enough to allow you to dance, Lady Cavendish?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. It was most kind of you to let me go home for a few days.”

“Perhaps you can go home more often if we work out a schedule that is mutually beneficial. I have so many ladies-in-waiting and ladies-of-the-bedchamber that I will not need you two in attendance through the day.”

Bess and Mary exchanged a puzzled glance.

“The nights are another matter entirely. I want one or the other of you on duty every night, except Sunday of course. None of my other ladies will do. Each week I would like Bess on duty for three nights, and then Mary
for the other three. The rest of the time you are free to do whatever you wish.”

Bess thanked the queen profusely. It meant that for four days each week she would be able to be with her family at Brentford.

Elizabeth eyed her pale green gown with approval. “I am pleased to see you are no longer in mourning, Bess. It is time to start thinking about marriage. Mary here is wed, and I am being pressed on all sides to take a husband, so why should you be spared?”

“I am in no haste, Your Majesty,” Bess said dryly.

The first night that Bess was on duty, the dancing ended early, just after midnight. The queen bade her courtiers good night in the Presence Chamber and withdrew with her ladies to the Privy Chamber, where only her intimates were allowed. Bess went through the anteroom to Elizabeth's private apartments and continued on into the queen's bedchamber. She drew the heavy drapes across the window and checked to make sure the queen had a supply of her favorite Alicante wine and water. She checked the supply of scented candles, then moved to the wardrobe to take out a furred bedgown. Bess opened a drawer and selected a nightdress of delicate white lawn embroidered with gold thread.

Suddenly, a man's arm slipped about Bess's waist, and the night rail was plucked from her fingers. “I'll do that, my sweet.” She looked up into Robin Dudley's dark eyes, and he gave her a bold wink. “We need you on guard in the anteroom, Bess. We have very few friends we can trust.”

She swept into a curtsy before the man and the woman in the shadows behind him, then, as if moving in
a trance, she walked through the apartment to the anteroom. It suddenly became clear why Elizabeth had insisted on either herself or Robin's sister attending her at night.

How naive she was to be surprised. Elizabeth allowed Robin to kiss her in full view of the Court, and their sexual attraction for each other was obvious. Why had she not guessed they were lovers? Bess sank into a chair and closed her ears to the whispering laughter that floated to her from within. If Elizabeth was being pressured to take a foreign husband for political purposes, why shouldn't she take what pleasure Robin could give her?

More and more Bess found herself in the company of the captain of the queen's guard. She was flattered that St. Loe seemed so fascinated by her and knew he was becoming enamored. He was the complete opposite of Cavendish, who had been a rugged, self-made man. The captain was a polished gentleman from an ancient and landed family of wealth.

One day in early summer, the queen asked her captain of the guard to attend her. Elizabeth did not beat about the bush, but came to her point directly. “My dear Syntlo, you are much in the company of Lady Cavendish these days.”

Sir William flushed. “Your Majesty, if I have offended—”

She cut him off. “That depends upon whether your intentions are honorable or not.”

“I hope I am an honorable man in all things, Your Majesty.”

“I would not look unfavorably upon such a match.
Since you are comtemplating marriage, I've decided to appoint you chief butler of England.” If he wasn't contemplating marriage, her tone indicated that he should.

“Your gracious Majesty, I am honored by your trust in me.”

Elizabeth said dryly, “You will need the money. Brides are expensive.”

Sir William, on the horns of a dilemma, flushed again. Was the queen suggesting he wed Lady Cavendish so that he would pay off her massive debt to the Crown? He cleared his throat. “Your Majesty, the lady's debts are crippling—”

Elizabeth waved her hand imperiously. “I have decided to reduce her debt to one thousand pounds. Her services are indispensable.”

St. Loe almost sagged with relief. Bess would be overjoyed at the news. She filled his every waking thought. He couldn't believe his good fortune. Not only had the queen appointed him to the highest post regarding her daily life and ritual, Elizabeth had given him leave to pursue his heart's desire.

“Would you be good enough to summon Lady Cavendish for me, Syntlo?”

Sir William found Bess on her way out of the palace. She had been on duty the last three nights and was on her way to Brentford. “Lady Cavendish, Her Majesty requests your presence.”

Bess bit back a curse. She never swore in Sir William's presence; it was far too unladylike.

“After your audience it would give me great pleasure to escort you home, my lady. There is something I would like to ask you.”

Bess felt a measure of panic begin to rise. She knew instinctively he was going to propose marriage, and her
thoughts darted about, trying to think of some kind way to refuse him. Although she was fond of him and enjoyed his attention, Bess knew she would never love him, and he could never, ever replace Cavendish in her heart. “I welcome your safe escort, my lord.” She would find the right words on the way to Brentford.