A Woman of Passion

by Virginia Henley

  “Have you never been kissed before?” he asked, stunned.

  Her dark eyes were luminous, her lips trembled. He reached out to trace the outline of her mouth, and her body was taken by a great shudder. Suddenly she grabbed his hand and bit down on the fleshy part of his thumb, then looked appalled.

  “You shouldn't have done that, Bess.”

  She stared at him with enormous dark eyes.

  “It reveals far too much about you, sweeting.”

  She managed a breath when she saw his amusement.

  “It tells me your emotions run deep. It tells me you are a woman of passion. Though barely awakened, you possess an earthy sensuality that men will respond to all your life.” He swept her into his arms and this time kissed her thoroughly. His mouth became insistent, and her lips parted beneath his. As he molded his mouth to hers, she clung to him, responding with fire. Heat leapt between them, threatening to melt and fuse them together permanently.

  His hand was on her breast, and Cavendish knew if he did not put some distance between them he would have her naked in the grass. To his utter consternation he realized his conscience was pricking him. Abruptly, he got up from his knees and went to his horse. What the hell was the matter with him? Making love to Elizabeth Hardwick had obsessed him since the minute he'd laid eyes on her. The whole point of coming to Chelsea was to get her to lie with him!

  Now they were alone in the woods; what was there to stop him? With a little gentle persuasion he could arouse her to the point where she would willingly lie naked in the grass. She was clearly virginal, with no notion that full, intense arousal was so compelling there would be no stopping, no turning back. But afterward she would believe he had betrayed her, and the trouble was, he desired more than one tumble. He wanted her on a more permanent basis. Immediately, he realized the responsibility was his.

  William opened his saddlebags and took out food and a wineskin. He closed the distance between them and unwrapped the linen cloth that held roast capon, sharp cheese, and crisp apples. Bess smiled her delight, and he knew he had himself under control. There was nowhere on earth he would rather be at this moment, and they were going to enjoy their time alone together. He would temper his wooing with soft words and gentle hands that would not take them beyond the point of no return.

  William enjoyed watching her eat. She bit into a capon leg with gusto, and when the tart juice from a green apple ran down her chin, she licked it off with relish. “Let me show you how to drink from a wineskin.” With his hands guiding hers, he showed her how to squeeze it with just the right pressure and how to position her mouth to catch the dark red stream of wine. The lesson involved a great deal of laughter, and William realized just how wonderful it was to be with a female who enjoyed laughing as much as he did.

  When the wine was done, he lay back in the warm sunshine and pulled her down so that her breasts were cushioned on his broad chest and he could look up into her beautiful face. They spent the next hour kissing, whispering, touching, and laughing. With much difficulty William kept his rampant desire under control, but he was amply rewarded by knowing how much pleasure Bess received from his nonthreatening dalliance.

  When they heard a distant hunting horn, she sat up and searched for her snood. William found it and put it on her, gathering her wildly disheveled hair into the confining net.

  “Sweetheart, I have to go to Dover to do an inventory of the monastery of St. Radegund. It will take some time because I have to assess their lands and rents.”

  “When must you leave?”

  “Tomorrow. Will you miss me?”

  “Perhaps … a little,” she teased.

  “Tell the truth! You'll miss me fiercely!”

  With mock solemnity she placed her hand upon her breast. “You take my heart with you, William.”

  He sat up and kissed her temple. “Sweetheart, when I return I'll have a question to ask you regarding a more permanent relationship. I want us to be together.”

  The horn sounded again, closer. William got to his feet and pulled Bess up beside him. “You go first so we are not seen together. Chelsea is in yonder direction. I'll join the hunt for a couple of hours.” He lifted her into the saddle with possessive arms, kissing her in the process. “Remember that I adore you.”

  Bess rode back to Chelsea Palace in a state of wonder. Was this what it felt like to tumble head over heels in love? Rogue Cavendish adored her, he had admitted it freely. When he returned from Dover, would he ask her to marry him? It all seemed too fantastic to be real, yet Bess believed with all her heart that fate had something glorious planned for her.

  The king's red-haired daughter, Elizabeth Tudor, had spent days wandering about Hampton Court Palace, exploring every nook of every chamber, antechamber, gallery, and staircase. The most spectacular of these was the King's Staircase, whose walls and ceiling had been painted by Italian masters. Remembering that this staircase led to the State Apartments was more important to the Lady Elizabeth than its artwork.

  Learning the layout of a royal residence was the first order of business for Elizabeth Tudor. It gave her a measure of confidence and security, as well as providing her with an escape route from unpleasant scenes and people she detested. She remembered Hampton so vividly, recalling the happy moments with her mother and the hours of shattering sadness.

  She paused as she reached the Long Gallery. An unbearable lump of sorrow rose in her throat for her sweet stepmother, Catherine Howard. Elizabeth pictured her running down this gallery, screaming for the king when she learned she had been charged with adultery. Lord God, was it only a year ago February that she was beheaded? It feels as if I've been mourning for years. Then she thought again of her mother, Anne Boleyn, and knew she would always be in mourning.

  Elizabeth Tudor forced the tragic memories away and let happier thoughts fill her mind. Catherine, so young and gay, had been unfailingly kind to her, mothering her as no other woman had done. Catherine Howard had been cousin to her real mother, Anne Boleyn, and she had answered all Elizabeth's questions about her mother and the fateful marriage to her father, King Henry. Elizabeth had been wildly curious for years, but whenever she had dared whisper her mother's name, she had been hushed up with slaps.

  Elizabeth remembered her other stepmother, Jane Seymour, who had liked to walk in the Clock Court here at Hampton before she gave birth to the little prince Edward. Elizabeth was only four at the time, but she remembered how cruel her stepmother had been to her, coldly banishing her to Hatfield so that she would be eighteen miles away from her father, King Henry.

  Elizabeth Tudor smiled a secret smile of satisfaction. Jane Seymour schemed to replace my mother, but the sly bitch also ended up in her grave. Still, Jane's short reign as queen hadn't been a total loss. It had produced a brother for Elizabeth and provided her with an uncle, Thomas Seymour. Elizabeth smiled again, just thinking about him. Thomas was like a golden god and one of the very few people she loved and trusted in the entire world.

  Elizabeth moved toward the latticed window, opened it, and leaned out. It was much too pleasant a day to stay indoors, and she decided to explore the gardens. She saw a barge arrive at the landing stage, and curiosity kept her at the window to see who arrived. When a gaggle of females disembarked, Elizabeth squinted her eyes to see if she knew them. She recognized Frances Grey, Marchioness of Dorset, because of her girth. She liked Frances, who never put on airs, but thought her young daughter, Lady Jane Grey, was a pious little dog turd, utterly devoid of wit or mischief.

  Elizabeth was well aware the child was being considered as a consort for Prince Edward and would likely soon join the royal nursery so they could be educated together. A few nobles' sons already were being educated at Court along with Prince Edward; the schoolroom would soon bulge at the seams. Elizabeth laughed out loud as she thought of the Earl of Warwick's sons. The Dudley brothers would make Lady Jane's life hell!

  Elizabeth slipped into the library and selected a book of verse to take into the
gardens. Any day now the cruel winds of autumn would denude the lovely flower beds and strip the leaves from the shade trees. To avoid the visitors she made her way from the royal lodgings toward the lesser rooms of the outer courtyard.

  As she cut through the Silver Stick Gallery, Elizabeth saw a female coming toward her from the opposite end of the gallery. When they got within five feet of each other, both stopped dead in their tracks and stared. Both girls, gowned in purple, had the same startling red-gold hair. Both were slim, of the same height, and each carried a book. The striking resemblance did not end there, for both had the same straight carriage and held their proud heads high. The encounter was like looking in a mirror.

  “Who the devil are you?” Elizabeth demanded.

  “I am Mistress Elizabeth Hardwick. Who the devil are you?”

  “I am the Lady Elizabeth.”

  “Your Grace,” Bess gasped, sinking into a curtsy.

  “Nay, I have no such title these days.”

  “I cannot call you lady when you are a royal princess.”

  “Ha! Behind my back they call me the little bastard.”

  “They will regret it someday, when you are queen.”

  Elizabeth's amber eyes turned to glittering gold. They will indeed. “Why have I never seen you before?”

  “I am from Derbyshire, Your Grace. Lady Zouche found me a place in her household as companion to her daughters.”

  Elizabeth stared at her. Mistress Elizabeth Hardwick was a farmer's daughter, while she was the daughter of a king. How was it possible they were so alike? “We even have the same name.” She walked a circle around Bess, examining her closely. “Look at our hands—’tis uncanny.” They had the same graceful hands, with long, delicate fingers, though the Lady Elizabeth's were adorned with many rings. “I'm not old enough to have breasts yet, but when I am, I hope and pray to God they resemble yours, mistress.”

  “Please call me Bess, Your Grace.”

  The girl is so easy to talk with, as if we have known each other for years. “We could be sisters, Bess. In fact, I wish you were my sister; we have far more in common than the one with whom I have been saddled.” Elizabeth watched closely for Bess's reaction to her slur against her Catholic half-sister, Mary. When Bess seemed amused rather than shocked, Elizabeth took a cautious liking to her. “What are you reading?”

  “Oh, Your Grace, it isn't my book; it belongs to Lady Jane Grey. I was sent to retrieve it from the barge, but I have become hopelessly lost. The rooms at Hampton have no imaginable order.”

  Elizabeth almost choked with glee. “ 'Tis my father's pride and joy. None has ever dared criticize it before. How refreshing to know someone who speaks her mind.”

  “I am cursed with an impulsive tongue.”

  Elizabeth nodded her understanding. “Retorts spring quickly to my lips also, but I have learned a measure of caution. What is Lady Jane reading?”

  Bess showed her the book.

  “Latin! The little dog turd carries it with her just to impress everyone. What the hell pleasure can a little girl derive from Latin?”

  Bess burst into laughter, amused to hear the young princess swear.

  Elizabeth joined in her laughter. “My uncle Tom Seymour taught me to swear. He's a sailor—they have very salty vocabularies. My father is going to make him admiral of the fleet.” Though the princess was younger than Bess, she was wise beyond her years. “Come into the gardens with me; I want to talk.”

  Bess looked uncertain. “I'll be in trouble if I don't return with the book, Your Grace.”

  “I'll take care of that,” Elizabeth said decisively. “Come.” It took only a few minutes for the Lady Elizabeth to lead them into the State Apartments and ferret out the whereabouts of Lady Frances Grey.

  With a murmured apology Bess handed the book to Lady Jane and saw Lady Zouche gape at the resemblance between the two redheaded young women.

  “Lady Elizabeth, how lovely to see you! May I present my friend, Lady Margaret Zouche?” Frances sounded genuinely happy that Elizabeth had been brought back to Court where she belonged.

  “Lady Margaret,” Elizabeth acknowledged. “It is always a pleasure to see you, Frances. I would like Mistress Hardwick to attend me, if you can spare her for an hour.”

  When Lady Zouche appeared to have been struck dumb, Frances said, “By all means. Jane is here to visit with Prince Edward; we are presently awaiting an audience with your father.”

  “Good morrow, Lady Elizabeth,” Lady Jane said gravely.

  “Age quod agis— attend to what you are about,” Elizabeth translated the Latin for her. “Vivat rex!”

  “Long live the king!” Lady Jane said piously.

  The last thing Elizabeth wanted was to be present when her father arrived. His mood was so uncertain. Her earliest memories of him tossing her in the air were mixed up with the times he had pointed his all-powerful finger and raged at her. Both were terrifying. She had learned to hold her own in his presence, sensing that he despised cowardice in anyone but himself. People said she was so like him—there was no denying that she was Old Harry's daughter—but Elizabeth knew that when he saw her red hair and witnessed her temper, he could be either amused or enraged.

  Elizabeth took Bess by the hand and swept her from the room. The two girls walked through the Privy Garden and into the Great Fountain Garden. Bess spotted a fat bumblebee struggling in the water and immediately scooped it out and set it on the stone ledge so it could dry off its wings.

  “God's death, you are impulsive. You acted without thinking.”

  “Nay, I thought about it. I weighed the bee's life against my being stung and decided the risk was worth it.”

  “Your thought processes work rapidly, as do mine, but I have learned to act with caution,” Elizabeth explained.

  “Perhaps because you have been stung too many times.”

  When they came to the maze, Elizabeth said decisively, “We'll go in here where we can be private.” At the center of the maze, the pair sat on a bench. “Tell me about yourself. I want to know your philosophy, your hopes and dreams. I want to know what is in here,” Elizabeth touched her forehead, “and in here,” she touched her heart. “No! On second thought, let me tell you.”

  Bess nodded eagerly.

  “You have a hot temper; you are vain; you have a thirst for knowledge and a passion for life. To top it all off, you are extremely ambitious.”

  “You are describing yourself as well as me, Your Grace.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “You are also clever, witty, and blunt.”

  “Do you believe in destiny?” Bess asked eagerly.

  “I do. I believe in my own destiny.”

  “Do you believe you will be queen someday?”

  Elizabeth pressed her lips together, caution coming to the fore.

  Bess touched her hand. “You don't need to tell me, I know! I am so certain about what my future holds that I warrant you are too.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I shall make a great marriage and have many sons and daughters. I shall have a town house in London and a magnificent home in the country, where one day I shall entertain Queen Elizabeth the First of England!”

  “It is dangerous to share secret dreams. I trust no one.”

  “Let's swear a pledge to trust in ourselves and trust each other,” Bess said impulsively.

  Elizabeth placed her hand over her heart. “No matter what.” They smiled at each other. “Do you know any gossip?”

  “Well …” Bess had heard gossip about King Henry but suddenly realized the impropriety of repeating it to his daughter.

  “You do know some gossip! Tell me or I shall never forgive you!”

  “Do you know a lady named Catherine Parr?”

  “Certainly I do. She has become thick as thieves with my sister, Lady Mary. They go to Mass together.”

  “I dare not say more, Your Grace; it involves your—”

  “My father? God's death, how could I have been so blin
d? The woman has ambitions to become queen!”

  “So I have heard.”

  Elizabeth put her finger to her lips in warning as she heard male voices through the hedge. Two extremely dark youths came crashing through the maze. They looked inordinately pleased with themselves when they saw the females.

  “Lady Elizabeth, how delightful. We were looking for a diversion.” The dark boy who was Elizabeth's age made a gallant bow.

  “Robin Dudley, you intrude.”

  The taller youth, who looked about sixteen, was even swarthier than his companion. His eyes widened as they gazed at Bess. Then he reached out a hand and touched her upthrust breast. “Are they real?” he demanded.

  FIVE

  Bess balled up her fist and thumped him hard in the middle of his chest. “You uncouth swine, your manners are abominable.”

  The Lady Elizabeth's eyes took on an avid gleam. “You shouldn't have done that, Old Man.”

  “Why not? She's only a servant,” George Talbot drawled.

  Bess's anger flared hotly. “You arrogant bastard! How dare you show such disrespect in the presence of Lady Elizabeth Tudor?”

  “Ha! He is a Talbot. They think themselves far more aristocratic than the Tudors. They are descended from Plantagenets, don't you know?”

  Bess's breasts rose and fell with her anger, and George Talbot found it impossible to tear his gaze away. “Descended from baboons, more likely,” she retorted.

  “Is your arse blue, George?” Robin asked with a straight face.

  “No, just my blood.”

  Elizabeth laughed, thoroughly enjoying herself. “This is my friend, Bess Hardwick.”

  “Your friend? I suppose you are going to give me a royal rebuke and jump to her defense,” Talbot challenged.

  “No. That is why she is my friend. She's perfectly capable of defending herself. She's worth her weight in gold—she doesn't even know that you are heir to the earldom of Shrewsbury, the wealthiest in the land, and what's more, she doesn't give a pennyworth of piss!”