A Woman of Passion

by Virginia Henley

  The Fifth Earl of Shrewsbury raised Bess up and gallantly kissed her fingers. “It was my pleasure. It's not often a man of my age can serve a beautiful young woman and make her happy.”

  The double entendre showed a ribald wit, and Bess's low, sultry laugh told him she appreciated it. “I believe we are dinner partners tonight, my lord, so once again you will make me happy,” Bess said, taking his arm.

  “Then I warrant I'll be the envy of every red-blooded male in the room. This is my daughter-in-law, Lady Gertrude Talbot, and my son, whom I believe you've already met.”

  Startled, Bess looked up into George Talbot's ice blue eyes and found them undressing her. He wore an expensive black velvet tunic and a heavy gold chain studded with Persian sapphires that matched his eyes. His dark hair curled about his collar, longer than the current fashion set by the king. She looked away quickly to keep herself from uttering a biting retort that would perhaps alienate the powerful Earl of Shrewsbury. Her glance fell on Talbot's wife, and she immediately saw that the plain-faced girl was breeding. Bess blushed as Robin Dudley's words from years ago rushed back to her: He'll be an old man by the time he gets some!

  She glanced quickly at the tall, dark, arrogant Talbot and saw that he had read her mind. The corner of his sensual mouth quirked, and Bess's blush deepened.

  “We meet again, Mistress Elizabeth Barlow.” He used her widowed name. “How are you faring?”

  “I am well, my lord.”

  His appreciative glance lifted from her gown to her face, lingering on her mouth, then her eyes. “Blooming, in fact. London suits you, mistress. It is a place that rewards ambition.”

  To cover her embarrassment Bess spoke to Gertrude. “I am delighted to meet you. The Lady Elizabeth has always spoken so highly of you, my lady.” The princess had done no such thing, of course. She said they had shackled George to the wealthy Earl of Rutland's daughter, Gertrude, to safeguard the Talbot fortune! Bess examined the young woman closely. She had such a petulant look on her face that Bess felt sorry for the child she was carrying.

  After dinner Lady Frances encouraged the guests to talk and wander freely about Suffolk House. There was to be no masque or entertainment to distract those invited, but she provided strolling musicians and card tables, since many a deal had been struck while gambling.

  Bess found Frances and Cavendish conversing with Henry Grey and William Parr. “The dinner seemed to be a great success. Is all going well?”

  “I believe it's in the bag, darling. The only one we couldn't manipulate was Shrewsbury, but you are such a clever girl, you have him eating out of your hand.”

  “I think he's attracted to me,” Bess confided in a whisper. Each of the three men ran appreciative eyes over her low-cut gown and luscious perfumed breasts, then exchanged knowing glances.

  “I wonder why?” asked the queen's brother with a perfectly straight face.

  Bess gasped as a pair of strong arms slipped about her waist and she was pulled back against a hard male body.

  “Trust you three to monopolize the most seductive woman in the room. I insist you share her; isn't that what friends are for?”

  Bess swiftly extracted herself from the admiral's bold embrace and instinctively moved closer to Cavendish.

  “A friend doesn't poach on a man's private preserve, Thomas,” Cavendish warned.

  Bess was suddenly furious. She was no man's private preserve, and the moment she was alone with Cavendish she would tell him so.

  “Of course he does,” Tom Seymour said, laughing. “In the hunt all partridge are fair game.”

  Fury almost choked Bess. She guarded her virtue scrupulously, yet here was Tom Seymour speaking as if she were a strumpet. “Not all quarry are easy game, my lord.”

  Seymour bowed his golden head gallantly. “Forgive me? There is just something about vivid redheads that makes other women seem colorless drabs.”

  “Curse you for a damned knave, Thomas!” Lady Frances struck him with her fan, pretending to take offense, and everyone laughed as the moment's tension melted away.

  Thomas became serious, something he seldom did. “I'll use my influence with the king to appoint you to the privy council, William, if in return you use your influence with the other members to get me appointed also.”

  Bess listened intently to the methods these courtiers used to further their ambition. She soaked up everything like a sponge, sensing that the lessons she was learning would prove invaluable. When she glanced across the room and intercepted the Lady Elizabeth's signal, all seemed unreal for a moment. Was she actually here, a lady-in-waiting to the king's niece, rubbing shoulders with the queen's brother, fending off advances from the king's brother-in-law, and secretly conspiring with a royal princess?

  Bess suddenly smiled. It seemed that anything she wanted was within her grasp. Perhaps all she had to do was reach out her hands and the world would be hers! Bess nodded her head in the direction of the grand salon and slipped away from the others, confident that Elizabeth Tudor would follow her lead.

  When Bess closed the door of her private suite, the princess looked about the chamber with glittering amber eyes. “Did you know that my father leased Suffolk House for my mother before they were married, so they could be lovers here? It's only a few steps down the Strand from Whitehall. I picture her awaiting him in bed night after night. I was most likely conceived here! I wonder how many times he made love to her before he planted me inside her?”

  Bess was momentarily shocked at Elizabeth's avid interest in the scandalous sexual encounters of her parents. “Suffolk House has a fascinating history.”

  “That is patently obvious. I didn't come up here to exchange platitudes. I want to know what it feels like to be bedded!”

  “Why are you asking me, Your Grace?”

  “Because since we last met you have been wedded, bedded, and widowed! Prithee, who the hell else can I ask?”

  “My husband was even younger than I, and he was ill.” Bess suddenly felt ashamed of her ignorance. She was covered with shame that, although she had been a bride, she had little experience of the marital rites.

  “Curse you, Bess Hardwick, we swore a pledge to trust in ourselves and trust each other —no matter what!”

  “Your Grace, I swear I would tell you if I knew. I have never breathed it to a living soul, but my marriage was not consummated!”

  Elizabeth stared at Bess, completely incredulous. “Your husband never fucked you?” Her brows drew together in consternation. “What about Cavendish?”

  Splendor of God, there it was again, the implication that she and Cavendish were lovers. “We have never sinned. Sir William is a married man.”

  “That doesn't stop men; it certainly never stopped my father!”

  “It stops me,” Bess said quietly.

  “Hell's teeth, I could shake you!”

  Bess's humor reasserted itself. “So could Rogue Cavendish.”

  Elizabeth joined in her laughter. “Oh, Bess, are you in love? Does your pulse race madly when you see him? Do you dream about him ravishing you? Does your blood rush through your veins like wildfire when he draws close, and do you want to scream with excitement when he touches you?”

  “Aye, I'm in love, or at least lust,” Bess said slowly, “and so are you.”

  “Ah, God, 'tis more than love, 'tis a divine madness! Has he ever kissed your breasts? Have you been naked together?”

  Bess watched with alarm as Elizabeth became aroused. Her eyes glittered gold and she was panting with desire. Bess knew exactly what was happening to the princess, because it happened to herself when she longed for Rogue Cavendish.

  “Has he taught you how to masturbate to safely pleasure yourselves?”

  Bess had never heard the word before, but she knew it must be something prurient and erotic. “My God, you once told me you had learned caution. Who is it you are in love with?”

  Elizabeth laughed. “I have enough caution not to divulge his name, even to you. I s
hould have known that you and I, being so similar, are at exactly the same place at the same time on the mysterious road to womanhood.”

  “Nay, we are not, Your Grace. I am five years older than you—you should not even know about these things. Is it Robin Dudley who has tainted your innocence?”

  “Robin is a callow youth,” Elizabeth said with scorn. “I am in love with an older man of the world. I have chosen him for my husband. There, I've said it! You are the only one in the universe who knows my secret. Bess, swear on your life that the moment Cavendish takes your virginity and you become lovers, you will come and tell me what it is like. I have no one else I can ask, and I shall die if I don't soon find out!”

  “Your Grace, promise me you will do nothing reckless at such a tender age; it could ruin your life!”

  “I may be five years younger in actual age, but I am five hundred years older in wisdom. We will go down now.” Elizabeth Tudor spoke so regally, Bess had no choice but to obey. The royal princess would not be lectured; she made it crystal clear she would do exactly as she wished.

  As Bess rejoined Lady Frances she was on the horns of a dilemma and pondered what she should do. If the king's daughter was being compromised by some unscrupulous courtier, was it not Bess's duty to report it before the princess was ruined? Yet, on the other hand, when Elizabeth had confided in her as a trusted friend, how could she betray her? Bess weighed the alternatives and found them both unsatisfactory.

  “What does masturbate mean?” Bess asked softly.

  “God's balls, for a widow you are woefully ignorant. It is when you take a man in hand, which they all need from time to time.” Frances waved her fan toward an aging earl. “He's too old, and yon fairy fellow is too limp-wristed to masturbate.” Frances roared with laughter at her own wit.

  Bess changed the subject. “I shouldn't have come. Everyone thinks of Cavendish and me as a couple, even though they all know he's a married man.”

  “They all know he's about to become a widower, and they see that he has already chosen someone to be the next Lady Cavendish, who is capable of becoming his social and intellectual equal. All are impressed and immensely relieved.”

  Cavendish, accompanied by the Earl of Shrewsbury, joined them. “I shall take my leave of you lovely ladies, and thank you for the invitation, Lady Frances,” the earl said. “I cannot remember when I had a more stimulating dinner partner. Cavendish, I shall see you at Whitehall next week.”

  Bess rewarded the earl with a radiant smile and a curtsy. Suddenly she felt someone staring at her and lifted her eyes to meet George Talbot's. For a brief moment his gaze was predatory, as if given the chance he would devour her. Then he smiled as if the two of them shared a secret. “It was my pleasure to find you here at Suffolk House, mistress. Perhaps our paths will cross again in the near future.”

  Not if I can help it! Bess returned his smile. “None of us knows what the future holds.”

  “May fortune follow you.” His tone was far too intimate.

  Bess lowered her lashes. “And you, my lord.”

  Before the Talbots were barely out of earshot, Frances commented, “Did you see that whey-faced Gertrude was wearing a rope of the famous Talbot pearls? Young Talbot soon got his mare in foal once he got her to bed.”

  “She has such a haughty air, her face would crack if she smiled. I feel sorry for her,” Bess murmured.

  “You must be mad. When Shrewsbury sticks his spoon in the wall, Gertrude will become a countess and her husband will inherit a king's ransom. The Talbots have ten times the wealth of the Tudors, to say nothing of at least eight more ropes of priceless pearls in their jewel coffers.”

  “I much prefer my amethysts,” Bess declared, suddenly glad that the highest in the land linked her with William. This time she saw the hunger in Cavendish's eyes and loved the strange sexual power it made her feel.

  One by one the guests began to take their leave. A gentleman approached Bess and bowed elegantly. “Permit me to introduce myself, madam. I am St. Loe, captain of the guard to the Lady Elizabeth. I am afraid I cannot find her, and the royal barge is ready to depart.”

  Bess smiled at him. “She has given you the slip.”

  “Yes, madam. Something she delights in doing.”

  “Perhaps you should guard her more carefully,” Bess hinted with concern.

  “Lady Elizabeth hates being monitored with a passion. She has little freedom and even less privacy. I try to guard her without being intrusive.”

  “I think I know where she might be, my lord. I will relay your message to Her Grace.”

  Bess hurried through the grand salon and up the staircase that led to her own private suite. As the door swung open, Elizabeth and Thomas Seymour sprang apart.

  “You intrude!”

  “Forgive me,” Bess declared, trying to mask the shock that must have registered on her face. “Your captain of the guard asked me to inform you that the royal barge is ready to depart.”

  “Then let it depart!” Elizabeth looked ready to defy the world. “The admiral will escort me safely home aboard his own barge.”

  The golden god opened his mouth to admonish the princess, who was his niece by marriage. “Elizabeth, that would not be wise.” He stroked her hair with a possessive hand. “Be a good girl.” Tom Seymour looked Bess directly in the eye, then gave her a suggestive wink of conspiracy. “We are all friends here, who know the value of discretion.”

  Seymour departed, and the two young women faced each other like protagonists ready to fight. Elizabeth, who had the palest of skins, was flushed and her eyes were fever-bright. Suddenly, the blood left her cheeks and her haughty stare became beseeching.

  “Can I truly trust you, Bess Hardwick?”

  She supposed to Elizabeth she would always be Bess Hardwick. In that moment Bess's heart went out to her. Elizabeth Tudor had no one in the world in whom she could place her trust. Bess sank to the carpet, her skirts forming a pool of deep purple.

  “Your Grace, you can trust me with your life —no matter what !”

  Elizabeth sagged with relief and came forward with outstretched hands. As their fingers clasped tightly, she said, “Someday I shall repay your loyalty to me. I have never forgotten that you were the one to warn me of Catherine Parr's ambition to become queen.”

  “Is she a dreadful stepmother?” Bess asked with compassion.

  “She would be, had I not learned to manipulate her. We have learned to give each other what we need. She lets me stay at Court, and in return I make her look like a devoted stepmother. I translate French into English for her and English prayers into Latin, making her look both educated and pious. In return she has made it possible for me to have my own tutors. She is working on my father to have my sister, Mary, and me declared legitimate again, so she has her uses.”

  “Does she exercise great influence over the king?”

  “Yes, but not by sexual congress, as she thought before they were wed. She is more nurse than lover these days; my father's temper is intolerable. He is a selfish, monstrous tyrant, and Catherine has aged ten years in as many months trying to appease him. Like all his other wives, she is afraid of him.”

  “You cannot appease a tyrant,” Bess said quietly.

  “Exactly! Thank God I don't need to.” A wild peal of laughter escaped Elizabeth. “I have Catherine to do it for me!”

  THIRTEEN

  Cavendish expected to escort Bess to the wedding of William Parr and Elizabeth Brooke, but she refused him. “It is all right to court me in private, but certainly not in public. I shall accompany the Greys,” Bess told him firmly.

  Although William Parr was the queen's brother, because of the divorce scandal the wedding had to be a private one rather than a lavish Court affair.

  “The bride looks lovely,” Bess murmured to Frances, wishing it were her own wedding.

  “Elizabeth Brooke has a very shrewd head on her shoulders. Today, not only did she become Marchioness of Northampton, but the cleve
r little jade made herself sister-in-law to the Queen of England. How's that for sleeping your way to the top?”

  Bess's low, sultry laugh caught the attention of the bride's eldest brother, Harry, heir to the Cobham title and fortune. He begged an introduction, then danced attendance on her throughout the celebration. Young Harry Brooke suddenly decided he was in the market for a wife, and the vivacious flame-haired widow made his blood thicken in his veins.

  Cavendish seethed quietly as he sat with his daughter, Cathy, who was espoused to Harry Brooke's younger brother, Thomas. As Bess and Harry danced down the length of the ballroom, Cathy said, “You have acquired marvelous taste in ladies, Father. I liked her the moment I saw her.”

  “She had the same effect on me, sweetheart.” William recalled the first time he laid eyes on her from the Suffolk House terrace, and suddenly he wanted to choke his friend Harry Brooke.

  “Why don't you ask Bess to dance?”

  “Last time she left me standing in the middle of the dance floor, and the little hellcat wouldn't hesitate to do it again.”

  A short time later Bess danced the galliard in the arms of Sir John Thynne. The couple were engrossed in deep conversation, seemingly oblivious to anyone else in the room. “Who is that gentleman? He looks familiar,” Cathy asked.

  “Too bloody familiar,” Cavendish muttered. “He is my good friend John Thynne, Lord Edward Seymour's property agent. He's building his own country house at Brentford.”

  “I hope he isn't looking for a wife,” Cathy said innocently.

  Cavendish shot to his feet. “Come, sweetheart, I'll introduce you to him.” When the dance ended, Sir William greeted Sir John warmly. “John, may I present my daughter, Mistress Catherine Cavendish. She's betrothed to young Thomas Brooke, but I'm sure he won't object if Cathy dances with you.”

  As Sir John, ever the gentleman, bowed to his friend's daughter, Cathy and Bess exchanged a highly amused glance. When the music started, Sir John murmured politely, “Would you do me the honor, mistress?”

  Sir William bowed formally to Bess and solemnly echoed the question. “Would you do me the honor, mistress?”