A Woman of Passion

by Virginia Henley

  “But your father loves to play games!” Bess said mischievously.

  “Not this particular game,” he warned Bess.

  She chose to ignore his warning, thoroughly enjoying the undercurrents of sexual tension that coiled between them. Bess saw his other daughters and Anne hovering up on the landing. “Why don't we all go for a ride? You can show me about Sheffield's great park; it's too lovely to spend the day indoors.”

  The young ladies were so eager to join Bess and her daughters that Shrewsbury had little choice in the matter. At the stables his two older sons, Francis and Gilbert, decided to join the party. “I should have brought my sons along. You boys would have such great fun together. Why don't you come and visit them at Chatsworth?” she suggested, ignoring Shrewsbury's grim face.

  “May we come too, Bess?” Grace begged.

  “It's very rude to invite yourself, and you must not call the lady Bess,” her father said sharply.

  “I gave the girls permission to call me Bess, Lord Talbot, though you may call me Lady St. Loe if you prefer.” She watched him grind his teeth and knew she was teasing him unmercifully. “My lord, you are welcome at Chatsworth anytime, providing you bring your lovely daughters of course.”

  They all set off at a gallop across the park, but Shrewsbury took a firm hold of Bess's reins, forcing her to remain at his side. “I don't like this game, Vixen.”

  “That is obvious. Your face is as dark and forbidding as a thundercloud. Are you not pleased to see me, after I rode all the way to Sheffield?”

  “You did not need to come all this way. Worksop Manor is only half the distance.”

  “Oh, darling, don't you think I'd like to be at Work-sop this moment? Just the two of us? Don't you know how I long to be in your arms, to have you carry me to bed and make love to me all night?” Bess cupped her breasts and brushed her thumb across the ruby brooch that encircled her erect nipple. “I ache for you. Every night I lie abed, tossing, turning, burning for you, and when I finally fall asleep, my dreams are so shamefully carnal, the blush never leaves my cheek.” She knew her words were convincing, because she spoke the truth.

  “Bess, you must come to me! You were never meant to be a nun, and I'm living like a bloody monk!”

  “It's difficult when we must be so careful. For me to stay away all night would prompt questions.”

  “Then come to me through the day,” he demanded in desperation.

  “At nightfall will you let me go?”

  “If I say no, you won't come.”

  She gazed at his mouth. “Then lie to me,” she begged.

  Grace turned her small palfrey and cantered back to them. She looked at Bess with great dark eyes and said earnestly, “Father says you can't be my mother unless you marry him.”

  “Grace, not one more word!” her father ordered.

  “It's all right, Shrew. Children need to have their questions answered. Grace, your father has to observe a mourning period to show his respect for the mother of his children.”

  “How long is a mourning period?”

  “Traditionally, it is a year.”

  “A year! I can't wait a year!” Grace cried.

  “That's enough, Grace. Go back to your sisters. Lady St. Loe and I wish to speak privately.”

  The child obeyed her father, albeit reluctantly.

  A heavy silence hung between them. When Bess summoned the courage to glance at him, he was looking at her with speculative eyes. “Bess—”

  “Don't you dare to ask me!” she warned.

  “Don't you see it would be the answer to everything?”

  Bess felt as if a great red rose bloomed in her heart, and her knees turned to water. Her plan was working, he was on the verge of asking her, but of course it would be on his terms. How tempting he was! If only she could put her children second to her own desires. As the woman and the mother warred within her, her resolve hardened; Shrewsbury's terms would not be nearly good enough for Bess. With a great effort she schooled her features and looked him directly in the eyes. “You have stolen my heart, and I freely give you my body. Isn't that enough, Shrew? Must all I have achieved go to enriching the vast Talbot empire?”

  “Splendor of God, Bess, how many times must I tell you I don't want your wealth? Don't you realize how much you would gain?”

  “I wouldn't gain anything unless you died, and I cannot bear to think about that.” Suddenly, the reality of her words were brought home to her. A cold hand squeezed her heart and withered the rose that bloomed there. “Let's go on as we are. I vow I'll come to you this week at Worksop. Get rid of the servants.”

  “Tomorrow?” he demanded.

  “No, no. At the end of the week … I'll come Friday.”

  “Swear it!”

  Before Bess and her daughters took their leave, Francis Talbot and his bride, Anne Herbert, cornered her.

  “Bess, will you use your influence with Lord Talbot? We want to be allowed to set up our own household,” Anne pleaded.

  “I shall be sixteen soon. I'm a man, yet Father treats me as a child. We are chaperoned day and night. We never have a moment alone together without the prying eyes of a hundred servants!”

  Bess's heart went out to them. Privacy for a Talbot was a rare commodity. “Francis, use your ingenuity. You are heir to a half dozen places in the vicinity that are far more private than Sheffield. Take your bride for a ride in the country to one of the Talbot estates that is more secluded. Some of the manors are quite romantic, I believe, with only skeleton staffs.”

  On Friday morning Bess chose a favorite deep purple riding habit and selected outrageously frilly lavender undergarments to go beneath it. She gathered a few toilet articles, her hairbrush and kid slippers, and carried them down to the stables. She chose a sidesaddle, as befitted a lady, and rode out from Chatsworth before her family awakened.

  Though the hour was extremely early when she arrived at Worksop, Shrewsbury was there before her. A sigh escaped her lips as his powerful hand reached up to grasp her mount's bridle and lead her into the stables.

  “You look ravishing, Vixen.”

  A sultry laugh escaped her lips. “And a damned good thing I do, since that's clearly your intent.”

  “Ready when you are, milady.” He held up his arms.

  Bess glanced about the stables.

  “No grooms; we are absolutely alone.”

  Her breath caught in her throat at the mere thought of being alone with him in a stable. He wore tight leather riding breeches and a white shirt, unbuttoned to the navel. Her mouth went dry at the sight of such rampant virility, and she went down into his waiting arms in a flurry of lavender petticoats.

  His mouth, already hard with anticipation, took possession of hers and she opened her lips, inviting his tongue to master her. She could feel the hard shank of his thigh thrust between her legs, and she gripped it with her own thighs and pressed her breasts into the solid wall of his chest. The kiss robbed her of all strength, and when he withdrew his arms to look down at her, she staggered a little. With a husky laugh she raised her skirts to her knees. “You'll have to help me with my riding boots.”

  He stared at them, then swallowed hard. “Christ, no. I want everything else off, but we'll keep the riding boots on for now.” He picked her up and carried her to a stall piled high with fragrant hay, then he laid her back and carefully undressed her, kissing every delicious part of her body as he exposed it, until she lay completely naked except for the black riding boots.

  She watched through half-closed eyes as he stripped off his own clothes, revealing the magnificent, hirsute body that had invaded her dreams since she was a young girl. He kissed the inside of her thighs above the boots, then moved up to her belly, teasing and licking her navel with the tip of his tongue. When he tasted her breasts, she knew it gave him untold pleasure. He toyed with them endlessly, weighing them on his palms, stroking them until they quivered, tonguing the bright tips until they turned into hard little berries, then suc
king them whole into his mouth as if they were succulent fruit. Slowly he raised himself up and mounted her, and her boot-clad legs wrapped about his lithe torso.

  “I swear I'm so hard, I could break off inside you.”

  “Mmm, then I could take it home and pleasure myself day and night. I've always wanted a cock.”

  “Vixen, you say the most outrageous things, and they make me insatiable for you.”

  “Insatiable is a lovely word, and a stable is surely one of the most erotic places there is to make love.” She reached down to stroke the intimate place where their bodies joined, then she encircled him with her fingers and squeezed rhythmically. “The smell of the stable, the prickle of the hay under my bottom, the sight of your brute stallion trying to nip my mare's neck with his savage teeth—they do wild and wicked things to my blood.”

  “Tell me what you want, beauty.”

  “When you've ridden me, I want to ride you, you black devil!”

  It was a unique experience for Shrewsbury to be alone at one of his manors, and the pair of lovers took complete advantage, enjoying the gardens, the trout stream, and even the kitchen. He watched, entranced, as Bess, clad only in her frilly petticoat, cooked them an omelet garnished with herbs from the garden for their lunch. They had also picked strawberries for their dessert, and as Bess began to wash them at the sink, his arms slipped about her to distract her with caresses. Laughing, she fed him strawberries between kisses and lamented that they had no cream.

  “I'll give you cream,” he promised wickedly, sliding his bold hand up her bare leg beneath the lavender silk.

  With a squeal she deftly eluded him, and he chased her from the kitchen, along a passageway covered with portraits of his Talbot ancestors, and up a great winding staircase. When she reached the top, he was almost upon her, and knowing there were only bedchambers to run to, she climbed onto the polished banister and slid all the way back down to the ground floor.

  He was after her in a flash, his long legs descending the steps two at a time. He vaulted the last six in time to catch her as she went sailing off the carved newel post. They fell in a heap of petticoat, tangled legs, and laughter, sprawled together like children who had suddenly found themselves without supervision. As they lay catching their breath he said, “I think we need an afternoon nap.”

  “I think we need a bath.”

  “We can do both, if you'll come upstairs with me.”

  “Persuade me,” she purred.

  “If you come up to the master bedchamber, I have something for you I know you'll love,” he tempted.

  “Is it big?”

  “Would I give you anything small?”

  “Is it hard?”

  “Would I give you anything soft?” he teased.

  “I'm baffled; give me another hint.”

  “Mmm, let's see—it's round, it has a thick shank, and it will bring you endless pleasure.” He stroked the backs of his fingers across the swell of her breasts. “The sight of it alone will make you gasp.”

  “It's oversize, like everything else about you?”

  “I promise it will be a snug fit.”

  “How can I resist?” She rolled to her knees, set her slippered feet to the priceless oriental stair carpet, and took off up the steps, knowing he would catch her before she reached the top. The corners of her mouth went up as she felt one hand slip about her waist, while the other slid up her petticoat to fondle her bottom.

  “Did you know you have a heart-shape bum?”

  “I didn't know an earl was allowed to use such common language.”

  “There's lots of things you don't know about me yet.”

  She turned and wound her arms about his neck, fitting her lush body to his. “Will you teach me?”

  He picked her up, carried her into the master bedchamber, and sat her on the edge of the bed. “It will take me a lifetime. Now, close your eyes and hold out your hand.”

  Bess did as he bid her and wriggled her fingers suggestively, thinking she knew exactly what he would put in her hand. But Bess was wrong. As her fingers closed over the ring, her eyes flew open in surprise to see a huge rose-cut diamond, surrounded by emeralds. “Oh, it's exquisite!” She slipped it onto her finger and found it a perfect fit. Though suddenly her heart was singing, her head told her she must make a token protest. Her eyes sought his. “Shrew, I can't accept a ring. It's a symbol that irrevocably binds me to you.” She held her breath, hoping he would say that was exactly what he intended, that he loved her madly and couldn't live without her.

  “Damn it, Bess. It's a love token, nothing more! I want you to have the very best. Don't deny me the pleasure of giving you things. You have beautiful hands—I want to see your fingers sparkling with jewels.”

  She ran the tip of her tongue about her lips. “I would never deny you the things that give you pleasure.” In one sensuous movement she lifted off her petticoat and let it slide to the floor beside the bed.

  During the next hour Bess made good her promise, yielding everything to the man who aroused such heady, violent passion in her. Finally, though they were both sated, he could not bear to withdraw from her warm, languorous body, and they lay together with her legs still cradling him and his face buried in her glorious hair. In this intimate position they drifted to the edge of slumber, isolated from the universe in a cocoon of love.

  They did not hear the ardent voice of the young man who opened the door of Worksop and lifted his young bride over the threshold. They did not hear the soft laugh of the young woman as she shyly allowed her husband to take bold liberties with her.

  “Francis, what about the servants?” she whispered nervously.

  “Anne, sweetheart, we'll use the master bedchamber. If there are any servants about, they'll think it's my father in there, and they won't dare open the door.”

  She allowed him to coax her up the winding staircase, longing to be alone with him in a room with an actual bed, yet afraid of the demands his powerful young body would make on her. His possessive hands were already on her breasts, and she could see the bulge between his legs. Outside the door she tried to pull back.

  “Don't be afraid, Anne. I won't hurt you; I love you.” With determination Francis Talbot swung his bride into his arms and turned the doorknob.

  As the heavy oak door swung open, it creaked on its hinges. Bess's lashes fluttered on her cheeks. Her lover stirred and brushed his lips against her temple.

  “Father!” Francis Talbot blurted out in horror, setting his bride's feet to the floor.

  Shrewsbury rolled off Bess and yanked the cover over her nakedness. “Splendor of Christ, what are you doing here?” Shrewsbury thundered. “Don't bother to tell me; it's obvious, you young lecher!”

  Anne gasped and ran like a frightened rabbit.

  “Oh, no,” Bess breathed as she realized what she had done. What were the odds of them coming to the same place on the same day? The moment Shrewsbury absented himself from Sheffield, Francis had obviously seized the moment.

  Francis stood his ground. “I wouldn't have come if I'd known you were here with your whore!”

  Shrewsbury shot from the bed and grabbed his son by the scruff of his neck. “Apologize!” he demanded.

  Red in the face, Francis looked truly sorry. “Forgive me, Lady St. Loe, I had no idea you were Father's mistress.”

  His father cuffed him across the ear. Francis staggered slightly and fled downstairs.

  “Shrew, go after him. None of this is his fault.” Bess padded from the bed and picked up his clothes. “Go, darling. I'll speak with Anne.” She flung on her petticoat and searched the upstairs chambers until she found the young woman she had known since Anne was a baby.

  “I'm so sorry, Bess.”

  “Anne, what can I say? We are in love, just like you and Francis. Come help me dress and we'll talk.”

  Wearing her purple riding habit, with every hair brushed and coiled in place, Bess entered the downstairs drawing room, holding the bride's hand. W
hen Anne saw the intimidating figure of her dark, dominant father-in-law, she began to tremble, but Bess squeezed her hand to imbue her with courage. “Don't be angry with them, Shrew. It's all my fault. I suggested they come here.”

  His blue eyes narrowed, and his voice took on an icy tone. “I've just explained to Francis that we are going to be married. Show them your betrothal ring, darling.” His eyes blazed their accusation, but somehow he managed to keep his tongue clamped between his teeth.

  The moment Francis and Anne left Worksop, Bess and the earl had a towering row. She was covered with guilt for inadvertently causing their sexual relationship to be revealed but was furious that he thought her so devious and calculating, she had done it apurpose so she would be compromised. She slapped his dark, cynical face and departed without another word.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  The next morning Shrewsbury arrived at Chatsworth, determined to settle matters once and for all. With blazing eyes Bess took him into the library and carefully closed all the doors. He propped himself on the edge of her carved oak desk, while she paced up and down the room like a tigress. She knew she must convince him that she had not set a trap for him, so she snatched the offensive position before he did.

  “Why did you have to lie to them? If you did it out of some ridiculous chivalrous notion that it would save my reputation, you have insulted me. If it was to save your own face, you've just made matters worse.”

  “I didn't lie to them; we are going to be married,” he said implacably.

  She knew by his tone that he would have it all his own way. He would concede her nothing. He was a law unto himself, and she protested with the only argument she could think of. “You are the Earl of Shrewsbury. You cannot marry the minute your wife dies; the scandal would be horrendous! My reputation would be blackened beyond redemption. They would say I trapped you into marriage because I am an avaricious bitch! My own brother accuses me of marrying one man after another to acquire property.” She stopped before him and threw out her hands. “If I married you my name would be dragged through the mud from one end of England to the other.”