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“There's lots of things you don't know about me yet.”
She turned and wound her arms about his neck, fitting her lush body to his. “Will you teach me?”
He picked her up, carried her into the master bedchamber, and sat her on the edge of the bed. “It will take me a lifetime. Now, close your eyes and hold out your hand.”
Bess did as he bid her and wriggled her fingers suggestively, thinking she knew exactly what he would put in her hand. But Bess was wrong. As her fingers closed over the ring, her eyes flew open in surprise to see a huge rose-cut diamond, surrounded by emeralds. “Oh, it's exquisite!” She slipped it onto her finger and found it a perfect fit. Though suddenly her heart was singing, her head told her she must make a token protest. Her eyes sought his. “Shrew, I can't accept a ring. It's a symbol that irrevocably binds me to you.” She held her breath, hoping he would say that was exactly what he intended, that he loved her madly and couldn't live without her.
“Damn it, Bess. It's a love token, nothing more! I want you to have the very best. Don't deny me the pleasure of giving you things. You have beautiful hands—I want to see your fingers sparkling with jewels.”
She ran the tip of her tongue about her lips. “I would never deny you the things that give you pleasure.” In one sensuous movement she lifted off her petticoat and let it slide to the floor beside the bed.
During the next hour Bess made good her promise, yielding everything to the man who aroused such heady, violent passion in her. Finally, though they were both sated, he could not bear to withdraw from her warm, languorous body, and they lay together with her legs still cradling him and his face buried in her glorious hair. In this intimate position they drifted to the edge of slumber, isolated from the universe in a cocoon of love.
They did not hear the ardent voice of the young man who opened the door of Worksop and lifted his young bride over the threshold. They did not hear the soft laugh of the young woman as she shyly allowed her husband to take bold liberties with her.
“Francis, what about the servants?” she whispered nervously.
“Anne, sweetheart, we'll use the master bedchamber. If there are any servants about, they'll think it's my father in there, and they won't dare open the door.”
She allowed him to coax her up the winding staircase, longing to be alone with him in a room with an actual bed, yet afraid of the demands his powerful young body would make on her. His possessive hands were already on her breasts, and she could see the bulge between his legs. Outside the door she tried to pull back.
“Don't be afraid, Anne. I won't hurt you; I love you.” With determination Francis Talbot swung his bride into his arms and turned the doorknob.
As the heavy oak door swung open, it creaked on its hinges. Bess's lashes fluttered on her cheeks. Her lover stirred and brushed his lips against her temple.
“Father!” Francis Talbot blurted out in horror, setting his bride's feet to the floor.
Shrewsbury rolled off Bess and yanked the cover over her nakedness. “Splendor of Christ, what are you doing here?” Shrewsbury thundered. “Don't bother to tell me; it's obvious, you young lecher!”
Anne gasped and ran like a frightened rabbit.
“Oh, no,” Bess breathed as she realized what she had done. What were the odds of them coming to the same place on the same day? The moment Shrewsbury absented himself from Sheffield, Francis had obviously seized the moment.
Francis stood his ground. “I wouldn't have come if I'd known you were here with your whore!”
Shrewsbury shot from the bed and grabbed his son by the scruff of his neck. “Apologize!” he demanded.
Red in the face, Francis looked truly sorry. “Forgive me, Lady St. Loe, I had no idea you were Father's mistress.”
His father cuffed him across the ear. Francis staggered slightly and fled downstairs.
“Shrew, go after him. None of this is his fault.” Bess padded from the bed and picked up his clothes. “Go, darling. I'll speak with Anne.” She flung on her petticoat and searched the upstairs chambers until she found the young woman she had known since Anne was a baby.
“I'm so sorry, Bess.”
“Anne, what can I say? We are in love, just like you and Francis. Come help me dress and we'll talk.”
Wearing her purple riding habit, with every hair brushed and coiled in place, Bess entered the downstairs drawing room, holding the bride's hand. When Anne saw the intimidating figure of her dark, dominant father-in-law, she began to tremble, but Bess squeezed her hand to imbue her with courage. “Don't be angry with them, Shrew. It's all my fault. I suggested they come here.”
His blue eyes narrowed, and his voice took on an icy tone. “I've just explained to Francis that we are going to be married. Show them your betrothal ring, darling.” His eyes blazed their accusation, but somehow he managed to keep his tongue clamped between his teeth.
The moment Francis and Anne left Worksop, Bess and the earl had a towering row. She was covered with guilt for inadvertently causing their sexual relationship to be revealed but was furious that he thought her so devious and calculating, she had done it apurpose so she would be compromised. She slapped his dark, cynical face and departed without another word.
