A Woman of Passion (5 page)

“Then perhaps Bess will help me out?”

“Yes, yes, Bess, do attend Lady Frances.”

“But I have no skill, my lady.”

“Nonsense, a clever girl like you will pick it up in a trice.” Frances took her arm and led Bess down the salon.

The two men greeted Bess, and Henry Grey, with his impeccable manners, helped her into a chair.

“Bess may partner me since she doesn't know how to play.” Frances sat down facing her and the two men took their seats. Cavendish picked up the cards, shuffled them, and informed Bess, “We'll play long whist. We use all fifty-two cards; each player gets thirteen.” He dealt them out one after the other in rotation. “A game is for ten points—the holding of the honor cards is counted.”

Bess nodded her head, even though she didn't fully comprehend. She focused her complete attention on Cavendish, listening to his every word, watching his every move. Gradually, it came to her that each pair of partners tried to take tricks. The ladies lost every hand against the men, and Bess was grateful that Lady Frances seemed not to mind. Bess grasped the concept quickly, learning the honor cards; then it occurred to her that if she kept track of the cards that had been played, her chances of winning would be vastly improved.

They changed partners so that Bess and Henry Grey were pitted against Lady Frances and Cavendish. “Enough pissing about, Henry, it's time to play for stakes. Rogue and I will clean you out!” Frances declared.

Bess watched the men put money on the table and place wagers. She felt terrible, for she knew that with her for his partner, Henry Grey would lose his money.
Whenever she and Henry did manage to take a trick, Bess whisked it from the table with a feeling of triumph.

The three friends carried on a running conversation, rich in gossip and punctuated with jibes at each other. Bess didn't listen; she gave her whole attention to the cards and the way Cavendish played them. With every subsequent hand she picked up more nuances of the game. A footman served them wine, and after she drank a little, everything came into sharper focus. Bess now watched their faces as well as the cards, and she realized how easy it was for a player to signal his partner in subtle ways. Inside her, excitement mingled with apprehension as she anticipated that soon she would be partnered with Rogue Cavendish.

“Pay up, you damned tightwad,” Frances twitted her long-suffering husband, then raked in half the silver coins that she and Cavendish had won.

As Henry and William changed seats, Bess drained her wineglass to give herself courage. Then she felt Cavendish's amused eyes on her from across the table. “Let's double the stakes.” His mouth curved in a smile of pure confidence.

Bess felt as if her heart were in her mouth as she gazed back at him. He was like a master with a pupil in whom he had every faith. She experienced a moment of panic that he was putting all his trust in her. Then Cavendish winked at her boldly. Suddenly, she was filled with assurance. All her uncertainty fell away. Without him she would be vanquished; but with him she could do anything!

It was as if lady luck sat on her shoulder advising her which cards to play. Like magic, she and Cavendish could do no wrong. Bess began to enjoy herself. As well as whist, she and her partner were engaged in another
game, quite overt and open, but at the same time they were linked together in something far more subtle and personal, something that excluded everyone else in the universe, something intimate and private.

They communicated in a language that had no words. Each knew the thoughts of the other; each gave and received pleasure from the other. It was not a flirtation; Bess would have lost her concentration immediately if she had engaged in dalliance. It was more basic and elemental, not only a meeting of minds, but a sharing of passionate enjoyment for what they did, like true kindred spirits.

When they had soundly trounced the Greys, Cavendish pushed half their winnings before her. “Clever girl.” It was the first money Bess had ever had in her life.

“Beginner's luck!” cried Henry, rising so he could change partners.

“Sit down,” Rogue murmured. “I have no intention of relinquishing her.”

Bess blushed and caught the eye of Lady Frances, who gave her an admiring look. She had acquitted herself at cards and performed even better in the more exciting game played by men and women.

The hours melted away, and the pile of silver coins before Bess doubled. When Frances refused to lose one more time and their game broke up, the hour was late and most of their guests had retired. Frances handed Bess a cloth purse. “You cleaned me out; you might as well have the purse as well.”

“Thank you, Lady Frances. I had a wonderful evening.”

“I should thank you. … I was entertained simply watching you.”

“It isn't over yet.” Cavendish was at her elbow. “I
know what both of us need,” he murmured suggestively. Bess glanced up at him, trying to keep her alarm at bay. “Fresh air.” He took her arm and led her from the salon toward doors that opened onto the balustrade.

The night air was cool as it touched their faces and ruffled their hair. “Mistress Hardwick, you are a most apt pupil.”

“You are so experienced, you make an excellent teacher, sir.” She spoke to him formally, and he got the impression the intimacy they had shared during the game had somehow vanished. Her words also made him acutely aware of the age difference between them.

“God's death, you make me sound ancient.” “You mistake my words; I am most grateful to you.” How grateful? he wondered. “Well, what plans do you have for your ill-gotten gains?”

Bess had gathered forty silver shillings into her purse, which amounted to two whole pounds. “Oh, I've always wanted a little neck ruff; now I'll be able to indulge myself.”

He stopped walking and looked down at her, astonished at how unspoiled she was. “A ruff? Do you not long for jewels?”

“Of course I do, and someday I shall have them,” she said matter-of-factly.

His fingers reached out to touch her collarbone. “I could give you jewels, Elizabeth.” His suggestive offer hung upon the night breeze. She gave no response. They were standing on the balustrade, and he watched her step back and glance upward at the unlighted windows.

“I must go up. I don't wish to disturb Lady Zouche or her daughters.”

Lady Zouche can go to the devil!
“If you come to my
chamber, you won't disturb them,” he urged persuasively.

“If I were gone all night, sir, I would be instantly dismissed, and rightly so.”

He slipped his arm possessively about her small waist, drawing her back to him, and pledged, “I would take care of you, Elizabeth.”

She gave him a level look. “I have more good sense than to allow you to seduce me, milord. I have no dowry; I must make my own way in this world. I want a respectable marriage, and without my honor that would be impossible.”

Impatience rose up in him. “God's death, you are an innocent wench!”

Bess flashed him a radiant smile. “Ah, and therein lies the attraction.”

Cavendish threw back his head and laughed. She was part girl, part woman, yet wise beyond her years. Her candor held him in thrall. The perfume of the night-scented stocks stole to them from the garden beyond the balustrade, beckoning them into the velvet blackness. He saw the longing in her eyes, then heard her sigh with regret.

“I must go. Now. You are far too tempting, Rogue Cavendish.”

He felt his body stir with soaring desire, but crushed it down for the moment. “I'll let you go, but I give you fair warning that tomorrow I will take up exactly where I left off.”

Bess picked up her skirts and hurried toward the French doors, but before she disappeared inside, she called provocatively over her shoulder, “You may try, milord, but it remains to be seen if you will succeed.”

*   *   *

As William Cavendish sought his chamber, he was deep in thought. He dismissed his manservant, James Cromp, who had waited up for him. James knew his place and would have vanished discreetly if his master had not been alone.

As Cavendish lay abed, willing his body to relax, a full-blown picture of Elizabeth Hardwick filled his imagination. “Bess,” he murmured aloud. That's what Frances had called her, and the diminutive suited her. It was softer, more intimate than
Elizabeth.

He smiled ruefully. He had fully expected that she would share his bed tonight, but the little beauty had a mind of her own. He laughed and shook his head at her refusal. The devil of it was, he doubted that it was morals or prudery that made her hold him off. He suspected that it was her practical common sense that told her not to play the slut. She valued herself highly enough to hold out for marriage, and he grudgingly admired her for it.

Of course, he'd overcome that obstacle. Persuading her to be generous would be pure pleasure; it would simply take more effort than he had anticipated. He allowed his imagination free rein. She had proved a perfect partner tonight at cards. Following his lead, her mind in tune with his own, she had picked up every nuance and learned everything he had to teach her. Instructing her excited him. Deep in his bones he knew she would make a superb life partner … an exciting wife. The concept was a novel one; in his experience, wives were anything but exciting. Cavendish sighed inwardly and, turning over, fell instantly asleep.

*   *   *

In her own bed, in the suite of rooms assigned to the Zouches, Bess lay reliving every detail of her exciting evening. The luxury of her surroundings and the exalted company at Chelsea made everything seem fanciful and illusionary. Was she really here, and were these things really happening to her? She pinched herself, then stifled a giggle as she felt the pain. She reached beneath her pillow to touch the purse of silver coins and found that they, too, were real.

But the most thrilling part of the evening had been getting acquainted with William Cavendish. Just the thought of him made her feel as if she were floating on a cloud. Cavendish was an important official of the Court who worked for the king! Yet he gave her his undivided attention, and she had never been so flattered in her life.

Bess knew it would be easy to fall in love with him, but she preferred that it be the other way around. Oh, if only he would fall in love with her, just a little bit. He had offered her jewels and he had offered to take care of her if she lost her position. She had nearly screamed with excitement when he touched her. It had been almost impossible to deny him and to deny herself, but somehow she had found the strength to tell him plainly that she would not allow him to seduce her.

Bess knew a moment's panic. How foolish she had been to refuse him; he would definitely ignore her tomorrow. But hope would not be denied and rose up again to fill her heart. If he did pursue her in the hunt, after she had told him she wanted marriage, surely it would indicate that he was courting her.

*   *   *

In the east wing, in a great carved gilt bed, Henry Grey sank himself into the plump depths of his wife's voluptuous body. After he satisfied himself and his wife, he lay contentedly cushioned upon her generous curves.

“What do you think of Bess Hardwick, Henry?”

“Glorious breasts.” His mouth sought a large, florid nipple.

“There's more to Mistress Hardwick than tits.” Her hands came up to knead his buttocks.

“Mmm, breasts and brains. I wish him joy of her.”

Frances milked him to the last drop. “Breasts and brains can be a lethal combination.”

Despite the late hour at which the Greys got to sleep, they were up at the crack of dawn to lead the Chelsea hunt. Every neighbor who owned a mansion in the vicinity took part, including their children and their grooms. Bess accompanied Lord John and Lady Margaret Zouche and their daughters to the vast stables. When she emerged, riding the small chestnut Cavendish had suggested, the courtyard was a deafening welter of horses, hunters, and hounds.

The head huntsman was shouting orders that were largely being ignored, the hounds were baying wildly and circling on their leashes, horns were blaring, men were arguing, children squealing, as servants carried around stirrup cups and grooms attended the young ladies who needed assistance.

Bess wore her green velvet dress; it wasn't exactly a riding habit, but it was the most suitable garment she owned. Her blazing hair was gathered neatly into a matching snood she had crocheted herself. She craned her neck looking for Cavendish, but the moment she
spotted him, she pretended not to notice him. When she saw that he, too, was wearing green, her pulses quickened.

Cavendish greeted the Zouches and reined in beside Lord John to exchange a few words. Bess hoped he wouldn't single her out in front of Lady Zouche, but he did it so deftly, no one seemed to notice. His big bay gelding sidestepped away from a pair of hounds, and as he curbed its agitation, their stirrups almost touched. “Follow my lead,” Cavendish instructed, then moved off to greet his friend Henry.

Three grooms joined the Zouches, one each for Lady Margaret and her two young ladies. Bess maneuvered her mount away from the family and walked her horse slowly to the outer perimeter of the hunters. If she meekly did as Rogue Cavendish bade her and followed him it would be tantamount to throwing in her hand and conceding him victory. It would signal to him that she would obey his every command, and Bess had no intention of sending him such a signal of compliancy. Since he enjoyed the chase, she was determined to lead him on one.

When the hunt master released the hounds and sounded his long brass horn, most of the hunters thundered off after the dogs. Bess watched Cavendish. Without a backward glance he kept pace with the pack across the fields, then veered off to the left when he reached the woods.

Bess sat her horse, keeping it reined in so it could not follow the others. She wondered if her ploy would work. She had almost given up hope when she saw the lone rider emerge from the trees. Her heart soared. Cavendish had circled back to see where the devil she was. The corners of her mouth lifted triumphantly as she dug her heel into her chestnut's flank and sped off across the
fields in the opposite direction of the hunt and Cavendish.