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THIRTY-SIX
Bess was well aware that George Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, was more than a match for her. If anyone in the world had a stronger will than she, it was Shrewsbury. He was so dominant, he even imposed his wishes on Elizabeth Tudor when the mood took him.
At the moment Bess knew that Shrewsbury was in thrall with her, but she also realized that he wouldn't let her have her own way for long. If she wanted that wedding ring on her finger, she would have to plan her strategy with cunning. He had been trapped in a loveless marriage most of his life, and now that he was at last free, it would take extremely clever maneuvering to get him to put his neck in the noose again.
Bess acknowledged that if Shrewsbury had not suddenly become a widower, she would have been more than content to be secret lovers for the rest of their lives. Wild horses could not have dragged her into a fourth marriage; she was far too ambitious for her children to pour the wealth she had accumulated into a husband's coffers. But Shrewsbury was different. He was the wealthiest and most powerful peer in the land, with eight principal houses and castles, in addition to the ones in London and at Chelsea on the riverside. He owned vast tracts of land in five counties and was lord lieutenant of three of them. He was also her heart's desire.
Bess asked herself, what was the irresistible lure that attracted her? Was it the man himself, his wealth, his houses, his power, or his noble title? She was honest enough to admit that she was in love with all of these things. He represented the greatest challenge of her life. Not only did she want him with all her heart, she needed him to love her enough to make her Elizabeth, Countess of Shrewsbury.
He sent her a gift of rubies. It was an exquisite brooch in the shape of a crescent moon. Bess smiled her secret smile and pinned it to her gown so that it curved provocatively about one of her nipples. Two days later Bess received his note inviting her to meet him at Worksop Manor. She blithely ignored it. A second note arrived, furiously demanding why she had not kept their rendezvous. She sent a very sweet reply explaining that his invitation had come too late for her to change her plans.
He wrote again, giving her the time and place for their next tryst, and Bess read his towering impatience between the lines. Though she longed to go to him, Bess was determined to listen to her head and not her heart. She wrote back and explained that her sons had just arrived home and that it would be impossible for her to get away.
His next letter was not an invitation, it was an ultimatum. He threatened that if she did not come to him at Worksop, he would come to her, no matter the consequences. The next day Bess arrived at Sheffield on horseback with all three of her daughters in tow. Shrewsbury greeted her with formality, his blue eyes blazing his anger at the games she was playing.
Bess hid her amusement. “It was such a beautiful day for a ride. June is such a lovely month, don't you think?”
“Too lovely to waste,” he said pointedly. “It's almost over!”
Her heart hammered at the sight of him, and she was thrilled to the core that he could not hide his frustration. “My daughters wanted to visit yours, and of course Francie and Anne Herbert have been friends all their lives. Since they are both newlyweds, they will have much to talk about.”
“My son and Anne may be married, but they have separate households here at Sheffield until they become old enough to cohabit,” he said repressively.
“Shrew, they are mad in love. 'Tis cruel to keep them apart. Still, they do say abstinence builds character.” She watched the muscle in his jaw clench like a lump of iron.
Bess saw Grace peeping over the banister of the ornate staircase and called to her gaily, “Don't be shy, darling. We've come especially to see you.”
Grace ran down the stairs and Bess caught her and swung her around in the air. “Don't you ever slide down the banister? That's what I love to do.”
Grace looked at her father's forbidding face and said, “We're not allowed to.”
“But your father loves to play games!” Bess said mischievously.
“Not this particular game,” he warned Bess.
She chose to ignore his warning, thoroughly enjoying the undercurrents of sexual tension that coiled between them. Bess saw his other daughters and Anne hovering up on the landing. “Why don't we all go for a ride? You can show me about Sheffield's great park; it's too lovely to spend the day indoors.”
The young ladies were so eager to join Bess and her daughters that Shrewsbury had little choice in the matter. At the stables his two older sons, Francis and Gilbert, decided to join the party. “I should have brought my sons along. You boys would have such great fun together. Why don't you come and visit them at Chatsworth?” she suggested, ignoring Shrewsbury's grim face.
“May we come too, Bess?” Grace begged.
“It's very rude to invite yourself, and you must not call the lady Bess,” her father said sharply.
“I gave the girls permission to call me Bess, Lord Talbot, though you may call me Lady St. Loe if you prefer.” She watched him grind his teeth and knew she was teasing him unmercifully. “My lord, you are welcome at Chatsworth anytime, providing you bring your lovely daughters of course.”
They all set off at a gallop across the park, but Shrewsbury took a firm hold of Bess's reins, forcing her to remain at his side. “I don't like this game, Vixen.”
“That is obvious. Your face is as dark and forbidding as a thundercloud. Are you not pleased to see me, after I rode all the way to Sheffield?”
“You did not need to come all this way. Worksop Manor is only half the distance.”
“Oh, darling, don't you think I'd like to be at Work-sop this moment? Just the two of us? Don't you know how I long to be in your arms, to have you carry me to bed and make love to me all night?” Bess cupped her breasts and brushed her thumb across the ruby brooch that encircled her erect nipple. “I ache for you. Every night I lie abed, tossing, turning, burning for you, and when I finally fall asleep, my dreams are so shamefully carnal, the blush never leaves my cheek.” She knew her words were convincing, because she spoke the truth.
“Bess, you must come to me! You were never meant to be a nun, and I'm living like a bloody monk!”
“It's difficult when we must be so careful. For me to stay away all night would prompt questions.”
“Then come to me through the day,” he demanded in desperation.
