A Woman of Passion (15 page)

Frances tucked her arm beneath his and guided him back toward the Great Chamber. “Don't think you're getting off that lightly, you wretched swine. I've a room filled with dowagers, duchesses, and debutantes simply dying for dancing partners.”

He swept her into a coranto, grimacing at the roiling sea of white gowns. “Good God, they all look like un-made beds!”

“Any you'd care to sleep in?”

“Not a dowager, duchess, or debutante,” he assured her flatly.

With great cunning Frances maneuvered their dance steps so that he could not fail to see Bess, who stood out so dramatically from the crowd. “Are you sure I cannot tempt you with a widow?”

Cavendish stopped dancing. He stood as if rooted to the floor, staring at the beauteous redhead who was having an animated conversation with his friend John Thynne. “Excuse me, Frances,” he said absently, and walked directly to the object of his desire.

As the tall figure loomed beside him, John Thynne looked up, recognition lighting his face. “William! Congratulations are in order.”

“Sir John,” Cavendish murmured without looking at him. His entire attention was focused upon the female standing next to his friend. “Bess.” His deep voice made a caress of her name.

Bess looked at him blankly, then allowed a tiny frown of puzzlement to crease her brow. “Do I know you, sir?”

John Thynne, ever affable, rushed in. “Permit me to introduce you. Mistress Elizabeth Barlow, this is my good friend Sir William Cavendish, newly knighted by the king.”

Bess forced herself to remain outwardly cool and calm, though she felt her very blood rush hotly through her veins at the nearness of him. It had been two and a half years since she had laid eyes on him, yet he made her feel exactly the same, damn him! He looked rugged and vital, and now that he had been knighted, she'd warrant he'd be even more cocksure of himself. She was determined to show him her indifference.

Bess plied her fan languidly. “What an honor. How proud your wife must be,” she said politely. “Is she here tonight?”

Cavendish saw how her eyes glittered and knew she was punishing him. “My wife is ailing,” he said shortly. To John he said, “Mistress Elizabeth and I met over two years ago, when we were both last in London.”

Bess pretended to search her mind. “Surely I would have remembered you? Yet you seem a complete stranger to me. Well, 'tis of little consequence. If we did meet, I have completely forgotten you.”

Rogue Cavendish ground his teeth. Just then the musicians struck up the introduction to a galliard. “Do you care to dance, mistress?”

“Indeed, I love to dance. Sir John, would you partner me?”

As Bess swept off in his friend's arms, Cavendish wanted to throw her across his knee and give her a good spanking. He returned to Frances, who had been standing on the sidelines, enjoying the byplay.

Frances shrugged, not even trying to mask her amusement.
“What can you do? He has such an advantage over you.”

“You think so?” Cavendish said dangerously.

“Sir John is a bachelor.”

“Sir John can piss off!”

“I love a cockfight!” Frances exclaimed.

Cavendish strode onto the dance floor and unceremoniously tapped Sir John Thynne on the shoulder. “Excuse me, John.”

Surprised, yet suddenly realizing there was more between Bess and Cavendish than met the eye, Sir John stepped aside with grace.

While Bess strove with every bit of her willpower to appear cool and unaffected by Rogue Cavendish's proximity, on the inside her emotions were running amok. The only reason she hadn't fainted dead away at the sight of him was that she had been expecting to meet him at the ball tonight and had steeled herself for the encounter.

Even so, the moment she heard his deep voice caressing her name, she had experienced a deep sensation of pleasure. The tension of forcing herself to appear indifferent to him while they conversed had taken its toll. She suddenly realized her fingernails were cutting deeply into her palms each time she spoke. Damn him to hellfire; why did he have this compelling effect on her?

Bess braced herself for the moment his hands would touch her body during the dance. But she was not prepared for the devastation he wrought. The heat from his hands felt as if it were scalding her through her clothes. Her blood seemed to turn into liquid flame and run along her veins like wildfire. Her breasts tingled, her nipples peaked painfully, her belly went taut with longing, and she could feel her pulse quicken between her legs.

Half-closing her eyes, Bess swayed toward him as if in
a mating dance. Then his powerful hands were on her waist, his thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts, as he lifted her high in the galliard. Time seemed to stand still, and Bess wanted to throw back her head and laugh, perhaps even scream with arousal. She longed to do something wanton, like pull his hair and bite him in a frenzy of passion. Bess did none of these things. It was pure rage that saved her. How
dare
he abandon her, then come back into her life and within minutes make her feel this way?

As Cavendish swung her back to the floor and she felt the polished parquet beneath her toes, Bess cried out with pain. “Oh, dear, I've twisted my ankle! I am so sorry that I cannot continue, Sir William, please excuse me.” She had every intention of walking away from him without so much as a limp, but Cavendish thwarted her intent. He gently lifted her up into his arms and gallantly carried her to a chair at the side of the dance floor. He knelt before her and tenderly examined her ankle. Was he really concerned, or was the rogue aware of her ploy and using it so he could touch and caress her?

“It's fine now; you may leave me.” She prayed he could not hear how loudly her heart was hammering.

“Bess, it's wonderful to see you again. You are even more beautiful than I remember. It's been so long; can't we find a spot that is more private so we can talk?”

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.”

W
ithin 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 every 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.