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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.
She bent low over her mount's neck and urged her on in an encouraging tone. Bess knew it was only a matter of time before he overtook her, if indeed he had taken up the chase. She resisted looking back. She would find out soon enough. His gelding was far more powerful than her horse and he was astride, while she was hampered by the sidesaddle. Once she reached the trees, she could guide her smaller mount more quickly than her pursuer would be able to guide his, but it was inevitable that the hunter would capture his quarry.
