A Woman of Passion

by Virginia Henley

  Bess studied him for a moment. It came to her in a flash that he was one of those men who had sexual fantasies about Elizabeth. And then a second thought occurred to her. When Sir William married her, he had been a virgin, or next thing to it! His trouble did not stem from shyness; he was completely inexperienced. In a boy it would have been delightful; in a middle-aged man it was not. Bess smiled her secret smile. She would have to take him in hand, as Frances Grey had once indelicately put it.

  “Will, darling, would you help me with my gown?”

  He was beside her in a moment, his eyes alight with eagerness. “Are you sure you don't want me to call your maid?”

  She slid her arms about his neck. “I want you to undress me, darling. I love the feel of your hands upon my body.”

  Bess had never been disrobed as quickly in her life. He pulled the silk nightgown over her nakedness. “Slip into bed, Elizabeth,” he said urgently, moving to blow out the candles.

  “No, Will, I don't want to get into bed, and please leave the candles burning so I can watch you undress.”

  He licked his lips in a fever of excitement and tore off his doublet and linen shirt. He hesitated, then his hands moved on.

  When he hesitated, Bess moved toward him and pushed him down on the bed. She removed his boots and her hand moved to his codpiece.

  “Bess, don't,” he said desperately. “I'll spend.”

  “Yes, my darling, you'll spend. And then you'll spend again.” She unfastened the laces on his codpiece, and his sex sprang free of its confinement. She encircled him with her fingers and began to caress him.

  Will groaned and gasped and began thrusting in a frenzy of excitement. Bess knew he could last no more than a minute. She leaned over him, palmed his testes and rolled them together, then her fingers tightened on his erection and she felt him explode. The pearly drops of his semen arced like a fountain onto the nightgown that covered her breasts and belly, and he collapsed onto the bed in ecstasy.

  His eyes devoured her as she moved over him and took his hand. Then she deliberately rubbed his ejaculation over her belly and up across her lush breasts. She encircled her nipples with his fingertips until they stood erect. The material turned transparent. “It feels hot and wet through the silk.”

  “My God, Bess, I want you!” He was hoarse with desire.

  “There is no hurry; we have all night. Why don't we finish undressing?” She helped him remove his remaining garments, then slipped the wet night rail from her body. She slid naked against the length of him and touched her lips to his.

  With a low moan he thrust his tongue into the hot cave of her mouth, and Bess felt his sex start to rise against her soft thigh. She whispered against his lips, “You are a very selfish lover, my lord. I will build and climax just like you, if you arouse me.” He gazed at her, not quite believing, but with hope in his eyes. She guided his fingers to her high mons, separated the red-gold curls, and found her woman's center with his fingertip.

  “I have a tiny bud; can you feel it? If you play with it, my passion will be aroused. Then, when you enter me and slide your hardness across it, the bud unfurls, and as my desire builds you will give me delicious pleasure.”

  When he stroked her bud with the pad of his finger, Bess moaned softly to show him she enjoyed what he did. When he slipped a finger into her sheath, she writhed to encourage him. “Bess, I can't wait,” he gasped intensely.

  She smiled into the candle glow. He was calling her Bess. Elizabeth had vanished. “Neither can I. Hurry, darling.” When he mounted her and plunged deep, Bess made a splendid show of her enjoyment. She cried out his name and screamed as she felt a mild climax. She knew that bringing her to fulfillment would give him more pleasure than he had ever known before. And if they were lucky, next time would be even better. She would never experience a grand passion, but a little of the emptiness would be gone.

  Sir William's duties demanded he arise with the dawn. When Bess opened her eyes, she found her husband, already bathed and dressed, gazing down at her with adoration. He sat down on the edge of the bed. “Bess, I've decided to leave all my lands in Somerset and Gloucestershire to you, to be passed on to your children.”

  “But surely your brother is entitled to a portion of the estates if we have no children together?”

  “My brother is debased. He taints everything he touches. The lands are mine to do with as I please. I know you have debts, my dearest, and my estates will give you security.”

  Bess knew just how vulnerable Sir William was to her. He wanted to give her the moon and the stars, but she did not wish to be accused of manipulating him to make herself wealthy at his family's expense. “Will, I don't want to be the cause of trouble between you and your brother. As your wife I am legally entitled to one third of your estates, and I am more than satisfied with that.”

  After her husband left, Bess began to shiver for no apparent reason. She slipped on a warm bedgown and moved toward the fire. As she stood looking down into the blue flames, she had a premonition that something evil hovered close by. She turned and peered into the shadowed corners of the bedchamber, unable to dispel the nameless disquiet she felt.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  When news of the death of the Earl of Shrewsbury was brought to Court that winter, Bess was deeply saddened. She was convinced that this was what her premonition had been about. Death sometimes had a foreshadowing that could not be denied. These days she never allowed her thoughts to dwell on Lord Talbot, but after the news of his father's death, she could not get him out of her mind.

  Queen Elizabeth declared a day of mourning for her premier earl, and Bess put on her black dress whose sleeves were embroidered with gold leaves and acorns. She sat down to pen a letter of condolence to Talbot but had no idea what she would say to him. She ran her fingers over the soft material of the gown and saw herself reclining on the window seat in the magnificent black and gold bedchamber at Shrewsbury's house.

  Then, though it hadn't happened, she pictured the dress lying abandoned on the carpet while she lay in Talbot's arms, oblivious to the world and everyone in it. They had all but become lovers that afternoon. He had been on the brink of domination, and she had been on the verge of submission. Whenever they saw each other, they engaged in the compelling steps of some strange mating dance. What was the irresistible lure that drew them together?

  It was purely a physical thing, Bess told herself, that was the reason it was so seductive. If they had coupled, would they have touched each other's hearts or souls? She would never know. With an effort Bess abandoned her daydreaming and focused on the letter she must write.

  When she reread the condolence letter, it was formal and stilted, and to her dismay she had addressed it to Lord and Lady Talbot. But he was Lord Talbot no longer. He was now Sixth Earl of Shrewsbury, lord lieutenant of Derbyshire, Nottingham, and Yorkshire, and the chief justice north of the Trent. As well as wielding immense power, he was the wealthiest man in the realm. A smile touched the corners of her lips. He had been dominant and autocratic before; what in the name of God would he be like now? Bess quickly rewrote the letter to the Earl and Countess of Shrewsbury and signed it Sir William and Lady Elizabeth St. Loe.

  When Frances Grey, Duchess of Suffolk, died suddenly in the spring, Bess was devastated. She cried for days, and the only thing that brought her out of her grief was the thought of her friend's daughter, young Lady Catherine Grey, who was now all alone in the world. When Catherine was growing up, Bess had often mothered her and called her poppet, and the young woman now turned to Bess for comfort.

  Catherine was a lady of the queen's Privy Chamber, rather than a lady-of-the-bedchamber, and Elizabeth made a special show of taking her late cousin Frances's daughter under her protective royal wing. Queen Elizabeth discussed Catherine's plight with Bess.

  “The thought occurred to me that I might adopt Catherine; what do you think, Bess?”

  “Adopt, Your Majesty? Lady Catherine has just turned twenty-one; surely
she is too old to be adopted.”

  “Mayhap you are right, but it would certainly send a strong message to that presumptuous Mary Stuart that there are other heirs to my Crown of England besides herself!”

  Bess hid her feeling of cynicism. She should have realized that Elizabeth seldom did anything unless it enhanced her political position. Elizabeth was a master of deceit and loved the role. Bess gathered her courage. She had promised her friend Frances that she would ask the queen to allow Catherine to marry. Here was her opportunity. She took a deep breath and plunged in.

  “Your Majesty, I believe Frances would want you to find a suitable husband for Catherine. Queen Mary declared that Lady Catherine Grey must never wed, and Frances wrote to her, begging her to alter that cruel edict.”

  “Cruel? I see nothing cruel about it. Rather, it was politically astute of my sister. Lady Catherine Grey is the heiress presumptive to my throne. It would be suicidal of me to permit her to marry and produce heirs of her body. It would be an open invitation for some madman to pull me from my throne and replace me with another. I will hear no more from you on this subject! Do I make myself clear, Lady St. Loe?”

  “Crystal clear, Your Majesty.” Bess realized that Elizabeth was a queen first and foremost, a woman second, and a woman of compassion almost never.

  Bess was in low spirits. She was superstitious and believed that death always came in threes. Shrewsbury had died, and then her dearest friend, Frances, who had been so generous to her in the early days. Bess found herself wondering fearfully who would be next. Who would be the third to die?

  Bess wasn't alone in her superstition; the Court was steeped in it. Mary Sidney told her of an astrologer her sister Kitty had consulted, so Bess asked Mary to arrange for him to come to Court. It would be an evening of entertainment, held in the St. Loe apartment, with just a few intimate friends.

  Lettice Knollys and Catherine Grey came, as well as Mary Sidney and her sister, Kitty, along with their brothers Robin and Ambrose Dudley. The astrologer, Hugh Draper, who was also rumored to be a sorcerer, arrived with his two assistants. They gave everyone present a sphere and then proceeded to cast each guest a horoscope for their future.

  All those present were relieved that no deaths were foreseen, but an amazing number of marriages were predicted. Robin Dudley, Lettice Knollys, Catherine Grey, and even Bess had future marriages show up on their spheres. The evening was declared a success, and everyone left in a happy state of mind. This all changed, however, the following night when Bess and Sir William supped together.

  St. Loe had something to tell Bess, and he waited until Otewell Greves cleared the table and poured them wine.

  “Bess, a few days ago my brother came up to London, and I informed him that I intend to change my will and leave all my lands to you.”

  “Oh, Will, I know he will make trouble for us, I feel it in my bones.” Bess set down her wine goblet and clutched her stomach. “Dear God, I feel it in my belly!” she said shakily.

  Sir William gulped down the contents of his goblet and rushed around the table to Bess. “Dearest, what is it?”

  Bess moaned and gripped the edge of the table. “Will … the pain is cutting me in half … it feels as if I've been poisoned!” She tried to stand but was taken by a spasm of agonizing cramps and rolled to the floor, pulling the tablecloth and its contents down with her.

  Otewell Greves came running. “Fetch Cecily, her maid,” Syntlo shouted in panic. “Fetch the queen's doctor!” Suddenly, Sir William himself doubled over with gripes. “The food or the wine has been poisoned!” he gasped.

  Bess bit her lips to keep from screaming at the searing, burning pain that knifed through her. “Cecily, quick, bring olive oil!” Bess held her nose and gulped down a few mouthfuls of oil, then immediately began to vomit. By now her husband was rolling about the carpet with his knees drawn up to his chin. “Will, drink the olive oil!” Bess cried between bouts of spewing.

  They were put to bed in separate bedchambers, and the Court physicians eventually came to tend them. The doctors concluded that indeed Lord and Lady St. Loe had been poisoned, and if it had not been for a remedy of sorts being at hand, the lady might have died. Sir William's condition was far graver than his wife's, however, and the doctors did not know if he would recover.

  Within two days Bess was on her feet and helping to tend Sir William, who lay listless, with a green-tinted pallor. She dosed him with syrup of balm to soothe the irritated lining of his stomach and prayed fervently that her husband would not be the third person to succumb in the trinity of death.

  Syntlo's recovery was excruciatingly slow, and Bess tended him with loving hands and gentle patience. His liver had been affected by the poison and he became yellow and jaundiced, but gradually Bess nursed him back to health. She noticed immediately that the ordeal had aged him, and her heart was filled with pity when he did not regain his former wiry strength.

  The queen ordered an immediate inquiry into the disturbing near-tragedy that had taken place at her Court. Elizabeth, who had a morbid fear of poison and ate and drank as little as possible, always used a food taster for anything that passed her lips. Suspicion immediately fell upon the astrologer, Hugh Draper, who was the only stranger who'd had access to the St. Loe rooms.

  When he was arrested and sent to the Tower, along with his assistants, it was learned that Sir William's brother, Edward, had been seen frequenting the astrologer-sorcerer's establishment in Red Cross Street, and the Court was abuzz with the shocking news that Edward St. Loe had tried to murder William and Bess.

  “Darling, they won't arrest Edward unless you press charges against him.” Bess would have felt much safer with Edward St. Loe in the Tower with his evil associates.

  “My dearest, I have no proof that Edward was involved, but even if I had, the scandal would be horrific. For your sake I don't want notoriety connected to the St. Loe name. There is a better way to be sure no further attempts will be made upon us. Today I made an indenture to hold my lands jointly in both our names. When I die you will get all the lands, so the incentive for Edward to get rid of me has been removed.”

  “Oh, Will, you are so generous. How can I ever thank you for all you have done for the children and me?”

  “Consenting to be my wife is all the thanks I will ever need. You fill up my heart, Bess.”

  She could not help feeling guilty, for though she loved Sir William St. Loe, she was not in love with him, and Bess wished with all her heart that it could be otherwise.

  “You need a change of air, dearest. A summer at Chatsworth will do you a world of good. I'll go over to Eton College and make the arrangements for the boys to take their holidays.”

  “You are coming too, Will. You look positively haggard these days. Elizabeth works you far too hard.” Bess knew he would never criticize the queen, so she did it for him.

  The week after they arrived at Chatsworth, Bess's stepfather, Ralph Leche, passed away. After the funeral Bess crossed herself, realizing this was the third death. The following week Sir William received a dispatch from the queen, requesting his immediate return. Elizabeth had decided to move her Court to Greenwich Palace for the summer and could not manage without her captain of the guard and chief butler of England.

  “Damn Elizabeth; she treats you like a lapdog. The minute you leave her side, she calls you to heel.” Bess vented her anger, because Syntlo looked as if he needed a rest. “I shall come back with you. It is my duty as your wife to see that she doesn't work you day and night!”

  “My love, I am used to the queen's whims and know how to take care of myself at my age, I should hope. I think you should stay here to comfort your mother in her loss. The summer is so short, my dearest. Spend it with the children and your family. Perhaps you will get the third story of Chatsworth finished this year.”

  Bess felt humbled. He was such a devoted man, who always put her needs before his own. She felt torn, but in the end Chatsworth won. Bess was afraid that it alwa
ys would.

  When he returned for her at the end of August, however, Bess regretted her decision. Her husband looked as if he had aged ten years in one short summer. He was stooped and his pallor was yellowish, making Bess fear that the poison he ingested had permanently damaged his liver.

  Marcella dosed him with the herb allheal, which had a hot, biting taste and was extremely good for the liver and spleen. The jaundice disappeared, but unfortunately the stoop was permanent.

  When the door closed on their luxurious bedchamber at Chatsworth, Bess was happy that Syntlo became excited at the thought of sleeping with her, but an hour later, when he had not been able to achieve an erection, she became concerned.

  Sir William flung himself from the great carved bed in frustration. “I'm sorry, Bess, I'm useless!”

  “It's all right, Will, it doesn't matter.”

  “It matters to me! My God, I've dreamed of you every night. You wouldn't believe how erotic those dreams were, and now this!”

  “Come back to bed, Will. Perhaps it was something I did, or didn't do. Come, we'll try again.”

  After much persuasion he got back into bed and lay staring at the canopy. Realizing he was afraid of failure, Bess moved close and lifted his arm about her. Then she began to kiss him. Her kisses were not aggressive or demanding in any way, but soft and gentle. Slowly, she stroked her hand down his chest, across his hip, then cupped him with the palm of her hand. When he grew half-erect, she closed her fingers about him and squeezed. Then, with featherlike strokes, she drew her fingers up his shaft to the head and pulsed her fingertips until he engorged with blood.

  He gasped and moved over her immediately to mount her, but his erection shriveled instantly. Bess was willing to keep trying, but Sir William was not. “It's too humiliating. I'll never be able to satisfy you.”

  “Hush, Will,” Bess soothed, “it's probably the herbs Marcella dosed you with. It will be fine tomorrow. Let's get some rest.” She enfolded him in her arms and cushioned his cheek against her breast. It was another hour before she heard his breathing alter and she knew he slept.