A Woman of Passion

by Virginia Henley

  He is attempting to charm and seduce me already. I must get away from him. With relief she saw John Thynne approaching with a concerned look on his face.

  “Are you all right, Mistress Barlow?”

  “I shall be if you will lend me your arm, sir, and help me find our hostess. I mustn't trouble Sir William any further.” Bess dismissed him and walked pridefully off on the other man's arm.

  * * *

  Cavendish prowled the rooms at Suffolk House, looking for Frances. He was in a dangerous mood and had decided that come hell or high water he would make Bess listen to reason. He knew he couldn't do it in public and would need an accomplice to get her alone. When he spotted his best friend, he assumed Henry would aid and abet him. He didn't expect an argument.

  “I won't trick Bess into being alone with you; I'm her friend too. I always feel the urge to protect her when you're about.”

  “Protect her from what?” Cavendish demanded.

  “Your lust! You behave like a rampant stallion around Bess.”

  “She's no longer a sixteen-year-old virgin, Henry; she's a widow, for Christ's sake!”

  “Frances and I are very fond of her.”

  “Frances my arse! You're half in love with Bess yourself; admit it.”

  “At least I don't have seduction in mind.”

  Rogue Cavendish suddenly saw the humor in the situation and began to laugh. “One little wench has us all jumping through hoops.”

  Henry grinned. “Perhaps you've met your match at long last.”

  Cavendish returned to the Great Chamber and sought out Lady Zouche. “Margaret, you're in fine feather tonight.”

  “Sir William, I'm so happy to be able to congratulate you on your knighthood. It is long overdue.”

  “My sentiments exactly, Margaret. I hear that Mistress Hardwick has returned to your household.”

  “She's Mistress Barlow now. Widowed, you know. So very sad. My household is overcrowded with servants, but how could I refuse her a place under the circumstances?”

  William fought the urge to strike her. The woman had Bess's services twenty-four hours a day, and she had them free of charge. “Would you tell her that Lady Frances needs her upstairs?”

  Half an hour later, when Bess entered Frances Grey's sitting room on the third level, she found William Cavendish pacing the floor. Abruptly, Bess turned on her heel to leave.

  He beat her to the door, slammed it, and leaned his full weight against it. “We have to talk, Bess.”

  “Indeed?” She arched one of her dark brows as she waved her black fan in front of her face.

  He searched his mind, wondering where to begin. His marriage was the sticking point between them, so he knew he must begin there. “Bess, I swear to you that I thought you knew I was married. It was common knowledge; everyone in London knew.”

  “Indeed?” Bess continued to wave her fan languidly, apparently indifferent to his words.

  “What the devil do you expect? I'm thirty-nine, more than twenty years older than you!”

  “Indeed?” Bess stifled a yawn behind the black ostrich feathers.

  William clenched his fists and prayed for patience. “I was left a widower with a young daughter. I wed Eliza Parris to give my child a mother and to sire a son. It wasn't until after we were wed that I learned she had a history of miscarriage that left her barren. We've always had separate bedchambers and led completely separate lives.”

  “Indeed?” Bess said coolly.

  “Put that bloody fan down and stop this ridiculous act of indifference!” William snatched the fan from her fingers and flung it to the floor.

  She raised her chin, her eyes glittering dangerously. “Whatever makes you think it an act?” she drawled.

  “Because you're punishing me, and you wouldn't feel the need to inflict pain on me if you were indifferent!”

  Bess flew at him and raked his face. “Bastard! Whoreson! Ravisher of virgins!”

  He grabbed her hands and forced them behind her back. His arms were around her now and he arched her body forward against his. “Little bitch,” he murmured. “I warrant you know just how magnificent you look when you are in a temper.”

  Tears of utter rage filled her eyes, and her lips began to tremble. “Damn you, Cavendish, damn you to hell-fire!”

  “Too late, Bess. The king's work has already done that.” He brought his mouth down over hers and kissed her deeply, thoroughly.

  Bess's temper flared higher, and she pulled away from him. Now she had to fight herself as well as him. “Ravisher!” she accused.

  “I wish to God I had taken your maidenhead that day in the forest, and I wish I'd taken you to Ireland as my mistress. Instead, I did the noble thing and urged you to make that honorable marriage that was so bloody important to you. I cared about you so deeply, my conscience wouldn't allow me to despoil you.”

  “Your conscience?” Bess laughed in his face. “Don't you dare speak to me of conscience, Rogue Cavendish! You concealed not one but two wives from me, to say nothing of a daughter. You told me when you returned from Dover you'd have a question to ask me about a permanent relationship. You said you wanted us to be together. I was so young and naive, I thought you were going to ask me to marry you. But you knew that was impossible. You had every intention of seducing me! Rogue Cavendish, you have no conscience!”

  “Not from this moment on I haven't, my beauty.”

  “Oooh!” Bess pounded her fists against his chest and burst into sobs. William swung her up into his arms and carried her to a love seat before the fire. He sat down with his arms still about her and cradled her in his lap. Without a word he removed her lovely black lace ruff and brushed his lips against her throat. Then he threaded his fingers through her hair and kissed her gently, soothingly. “You are still in mourning; when did your husband die, Bess?”

  “A year ago Christmas Eve,” she whispered. “He was too young to die.”

  “Were you in love with him?” he asked possessively.

  “He loved me too much … he adored me. Rob was younger than I was. … He was ill, weak; I had to be the strong one. I'm very wicked. … I felt as if I was just marking time until I could return to London,” she confessed.

  “Bess, listen to me. In almost every relationship one loves more than the other, and the one who loves is the lucky one, the happy one. If Robert loved you, then he must have been happy.”

  “Oh, he was … even though he knew he was dying, he was happy.”

  “Then you can have no regrets. The past is over and done; the future lies before us. I would like to take up where we left off. You and I are well-matched. It is very rare for a man and a woman to love equally, but we could be such a couple. Bess, will you let me take care of you? Will you let me buy you a little house in London? Will you let me love you?”

  Bess sat perched upon his knee, her head at war with her heart. She suspected she was in danger of falling in love with Rogue Cavendish all over again. The sight of him made her faint, his voice made her quiver, his touch made her burn. He was so strong; how wonderful it would be to be able to be weak for once. Yet she knew if she became his mistress, that would be all she would amount to in this world. And Bess wanted more. Bess wanted it all, and her ambitious dreams would not allow her to accept less. She picked up the lace ruff and slowly fastened it about her neck.

  “You haven't given me your answer, sweetheart.” He looked sure of himself, quite confident she would do as he wished. His eyes looked at her possessively.

  She looked at him with tears still clinging to her lashes. “My answer is no, William. I want more.”

  ELEVEN

  Within the month Sir William Cavendish was appointed treasurer of the King's Chamber, and because he was so familiar with both church and royal lands across the whole of England, he was appointed to the Court of General Surveyors. He reported directly to the powerful lord high treasurer, William Paulet, who had just been made Marquess of Winchester, a rank below duke but above ev
ery earl in the land.

  Cavendish and Wily Winchester now controlled the purse strings of the entire nation and were besieged by the nobility for favors, patronage, and appointments, for which they were well-paid. The highest and most ambitious in the land now curried favor with Sir William Cavendish, and he realized the next post he must attain in his upward climb to power was that of privy councillor.

  His time was no longer his own. Although he now had a secretary and a huge staff of clerks, he spent endless hours at Court and had rooms at Whitehall, where he spent most nights. His only respite was with his friends the Greys at Suffolk House, just a short distance from Whitehall down the Strand, where he could escape for a few hours. Although it was impossible to see Bess often, since she worked for Lady Zouche and lived in her household, she was never out of his thoughts. Her sparkling vision rose ever before him, always irresistibly radiant. She was easily the most attractive female he'd ever seen. He pictured every detail—her dark eyes flashing and her breasts heaving quickly. Sometimes she became so intense she actually quivered. Bess was a natural coquette without even knowing it. Whenever she gave him that level look without a trace of flirtation, it held him in thrall.

  All his life, by hard work, boldness, and ruthless determination, Cavendish had achieved every goal that he desired. And now he desired Bess, for what good was such heady success without someone to share it with? The fact that Bess had refused to become his mistress did not deter him in the least. To William it was quite simple and straightforward. He wanted her. He would have her.

  It was close on midnight when he arrived at Suffolk House, but the lights were ablaze and he knew he would find Frances Grey still playing cards or backgammon.

  “Rogue! I'm bored to death. Please save my life by throwing me a tidbit of Court gossip.” Frances dismissed her yawning ladies-in-waiting, who were thankful to escape to bed.

  “Well, let's see, our good friend William Parr has finally been granted his divorce, and Elizabeth Brooke is up to her pretty eyes in wedding plans.”

  “Well, I'll be damned! It seems that nothing is impossible for Parr since his sister became queen! First he's made Marquess of Northampton, and now he's rid himself of an aging wife. Actually, I'll be double damned! How the devil did you learn of it before I did?”

  “My daughter, Catherine, is espoused to Elizabeth Brooke's brother, Thomas. It so happens I visited her today at Lord and Lady Cobham's.”

  “I had forgot Catherine no longer lives at home. I warrant she's far happier in the Cobham household. Why don't you take a page from Parr's book and divorce that wretched Eliza Parris?”

  “When I was in Ireland, I had made up my mind to do just that, but when I returned, Eliza's doctor took me aside and told me she has a malady that is almost always fatal. Divorce seemed a shabby thing to do under the circumstances.”

  “And why cover yourself with the scandal of divorce when the angel of death is about to grant your dearest wish?”

  Completely used to her cynical irreverence, he rebuked her only lightly. “Frances, my dear, is nothing sacred to you?”

  “Very bloody little, I'm afraid.” Her eyes swept over him with speculation. So the rumor that she is dying is true! He'll have to fight off the women. Heigh-ho, they'll be scratching out each other's eyes to become the next Lady Cavendish. How utterly divine that I'll have a front-row seat!

  Cavendish picked up her plump hand and toyed absently with her fingers for a moment. “Darling Frances, I need yet another favor from you. I would like you to make Bess one of your ladies-in-waiting.”

  Her eyes widened with comprehension. “Why on earth didn't I think of it before? She's exactly what I need to banish my boredom. My latest ladies have less wit than head lice.”

  “How much do you pay your ladies?”

  “Five pounds a year, I believe.”

  “Offer her ten; I'll give you the money. I want her to be able to dress well.”

  “You'll do no such thing! What is money to a Tudor? Whatever gowns she wants will be provided by the Royal Wardrobe. Harry's purse pays for every garment at Suffolk House, from the servants' liveries to the nursemaids' corsets.”

  “Mmm, as treasurer I'd better look into such extravagance,” he said with a grin, happy that she was amenable to his suggestion.

  “You can look into my underdrawers if it makes you happy, darling, just don't expect me to exercise restraint. Intemperance is my middle name.”

  “Nay, Frances, you are not intemperate, you are most generous, and I love you dearly for it,” he said before he kissed her hand.

  Bess was ecstatic when Frances Grey offered her the position of lady-in-waiting; she could hardly believe her great good fortune. Margaret Zouche did not stand in Bess's way of advancement and reluctantly let her go to Suffolk House immediately.

  Frances took the greatest delight in giving Bess a spacious suite of rooms, complete with bedchamber, sitting room, and its own dressing room. It was in another wing entirely from the chambers of her other ladies, and the sheer luxury of the furnishings momentarily stunned Bess. But within days she adapted to her elegant surroundings as if she had been born at Suffolk House.

  New gowns were the first item on the agenda, and Lady Frances decided that she along with Bess would have an entirely new wardrobe. They spent endless hours discussing style, choosing colors, and selecting material.

  Bess knew exactly what suited her best and had a flair for the dramatic, which she was free to indulge for the first time in her life. While Frances needed darker shades to minimize her full figure and contrast with her blond hair, Bess chose the bold jewel tones of sapphire, amethyst, turquoise, and emerald. She indulged herself with black taffeta petticoats that rustled deliciously, black lace stockings, and satin high-heeled slippers that made her feel quite wanton.

  Bess was so regal that the servants ran to do her bidding and the noble guests who streamed through Suffolk House treated her as an equal, since it was clear to everyone that she and the Marchioness of Dorset had become intimate friends. Bess had no real duties, so she was free to study and learn exactly how Suffolk House was run and to acquire the skills necessary to entertain on a lavish scale. She had boundless energy; all that was expected of her was to help Lady Frances entertain until midnight almost every night of the week, then rouse her in the mornings with a cup of chocolate accompanied by a generous serving of the latest gossip.

  Bess entered the luxurious bedchamber of Lady Frances and drew back the heavy brocade drapes. “Good morning.” She set the tray with the porcelain cups and saucers and the jug of steaming chocolate on the bedside table.

  “God's balls, surely it's still the middle of the night!” Frances protested. “Go away!”

  Bess ignored her protests. “It's almost ten; you'll sleep the day away, and you asked me to remind you that you had a special dinner party to plan this morning.”

  “Lud, how do you put up with me?” She picked up a hand mirror and stuck out her tongue. “My mouth tastes like I've been licking the bottom of the parrot cage.”

  Bess handed her a cup of chocolate and sat down on the wide bed. “Lady Frances, I don't know how to thank you for everything you've done for me. I am so very grateful—”

  “Rubbish, I'm the one who's grateful. Bess, we deal so comfortably together. I'm not the least ashamed of letting you share all my tawdry secrets, because I know I can count on your discretion. I have a new groom I'm absolutely panting for—he's such a big young brute! You will accompany us when we go riding and make sure we are not disturbed. I need absolute privacy while he gives me equestrian lessons.”

  Bess laughed, thinking Frances was simply being her outrageous self and trying to shock her.

  “And of course I'll make sure you are not disturbed when you entertain a lover. Speaking of Rogue Cavendish brings me to the dinner party we must plan.”

  The smile left Bess's face and was replaced by a blush. “Cavendish isn't my lover.”

  Frances stared
at her in utter amazement. “You clever girl! You've put the ultimate price on your favors as Anne Boleyn did. No bedding without a wedding! How in the name of God have you managed to hold that rampant stallion at bay? Or for that matter, how do you control your own lust, darling? I know I can't!”

  It suddenly dawned on Bess that lust was exactly what she felt when Cavendish touched her. “I refuse to play the whore.”

  “Darling, we're all whores under the skin, whether we give ourselves by calculation or by desire. It's just that some of us demand a higher price than others. You are quite clever to demand marriage when you know he'll be widowed shortly. Just don't let any other woman steal your candy. While you're pushing him off with one hand, be sure to keep him hot for you with the other. Remember that the steps to the mating dance are advance as well as retreat. I told you years ago that cockteasing was the surest method of trapping a husband; I'm most flattered you are taking my advice.”

  It's not like that! Bess protested silently, then her innate honesty came to the fore. It's exactly like that! she admitted to herself with a blush.

  “This dinner for Sir William could be as important for you as it is for him, if you have ambitions to become Lady Cavendish.”

  Bess did not deny her ambition. Instead, she stopped protesting and listened carefully.

  “To become a privy councillor, Sir William must have the approval and backing of the other privy councillors— hence the dinner party. Since the lord high treasurer, William Paulet, is William's patron, he'll be amenable, as will his friend Parr, and of course William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke.”

  It was suddenly brought home to Bess just how important marriage was at the Tudor Court. One of Parr's sisters had become queen by marrying King Henry, while Parr's other sister had long been Countess of Pembroke by marrying William Herbert. Parr himself was about to wed Elizabeth Brooke, daughter of Lord Cobham, while Elizabeth's brother, Thomas, was espoused to Cavendish's daughter.