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“I wish I'd never married you!” she screamed.
“But you did,” he said quietly, “and you also vowed to obey me. Bess, make no mistake, I will bring you to heel if I have to.”
She gasped, speechless, as he turned his back on her and left the room. She stood there, stunned that she did not hold him in the palm of her hand. “To hellfire with you, Shrewsbury!” She put her hands to her temples and felt her blood pounding. Son of a bitch, son of a bloody bitch! Bring me to heel, begod! I'll show him; I'll leave him! I'll go home to Chatsworth! Tonight! Bess summoned her maid. “Cecily, we are leaving. No, don't bother with the damned baggage.” Bess raised her voice in total defiance. “And you know what you can do with your bloody pearls too!”
The following morning Bess's mother and Marcella were amazed to find her sitting at the breakfast table.
“What are you doing here?”
“I live here,” she snapped.
“Where's Shrewsbury?” her mother ventured.
“Never utter that name in this house again!” Bess summoned her secretary. “Robert, bring the accounts up to the library.”
Marcella rolled her eyes. “We are in for a monumental battle of wills between the earl and his new countess, I'm afraid.”
Bess's mother whispered, “It's a miracle it lasted this long.”
Bess threw herself into her work. After the accounts were done, she visited her tenant farms, ordered the necessary repairs, and she waited for Shrewsbury to come. When he did not she inspected her mines and rode over to Hardwick, where a great seam of coal had just been discovered. She vowed to herself that when Shrewsbury came she would be ready for him. But Shrewsbury did not come.
During the next week Bess raved and cursed and swore and threw things. Then she flung herself on her bed and sobbed. When she was finally drained of her temper and her self-pity, she began to think more clearly. She still felt that the betrothals were right, but she admitted that she had been wrong not to broach the subject before they were married. When he came she would admit it.
Bess managed to fill her days, but her nights were endless. She missed Shrewsbury so much, she thought she would surely die. Damn the man, why is he taking so long to come? She answered herself. Because he's arrogant, and stubborn, and willful, and expects everyone to do his bidding without question! She pressed her lips together, knowing she had just described herself. What if he never came? The thought was unendurable. What if he was finished with her? She'd never live down the scandal— she'd be a laughingstock! Yet deep down it was another matter that was breaking her heart. She loved him madly, more than she'd ever admitted, more than she'd ever realized, and obviously a thousand times more than he loved her! What in God's name was she going to do?
Bess cringed at thoughts of going to Sheffield, begging for forgiveness. She had too much pride; it would choke her! She concocted a dozen plots that might bring him to Chatsworth but abandoned them, knowing he would see through her deceit. She hadn't slept in a week and in desperation took a full bottle of malmsey to bed with her.
Bess awoke, terrified. The room was empty, stripped bare. She ran downstairs and found the bailiffs carrying off everything she possessed in the world. Bess begged and pleaded and cried, all to no avail. Outside, all her lovely possessions were being piled on a cart. She had been put out of her beautiful house and had nowhere to go. Fear washed over her in great waves. Panic choked her. When she turned around, the cart was gone, her family was gone, and even Chatsworth had vanished. Bess had lost everything she had in the world. The suffocating terror mounted until it engulfed her, the waves of fear almost drowning her. The hollow, empty feeling inside herbelly was like ravenous hunger, only worse: Shrewsbury was gone! She was overwhelmed with helplessness, hopelessness.
Bess awoke and heard herself crying his name, “Shrew … Shrew.” As she lay trembling, recovering from the nightmare, she knew that she never wanted to be alone again. She had done this to herself. She had been too pushy and had tried to dominate him. Shrewsbury was a man who would not be controlled by a woman, and therein lay his great attraction. And the only thing that was keeping them apart was her pride. She had always accused Shrewsbury of being too blood proud, but she suddenly realized her own towering pride was every bit as great as his. We are a good match—nay, we are a perfect match! she told herself.
By the time dawn arrived, Bess knew what she must do. “Cecily, what happened to that outfit I designed especially for my first entrance to Sheffield Castle as Countess of Shrewsbury?”
Cecily hid a smile. Bess spoke of her “entrance” as if she were the queen. “I'll speak to your sewing women, my lady; it must be finished by now.”
As she stepped in front of her mirror to inspect her appearance, Bess knew she looked spectacular. The tight-fitting cream velvet jacket showed off her high breasts to perfection, and the brilliant peacock velvet she had chosen for the full skirt contrasted dramatically. Beneath it, her three petticoats were in varying shades of the same color, while her gloves and riding boots were made of soft kid leather, dyed peacock color to match her skirt exactly. The outfit was sewn all over with seed pearls, as if they had been scattered by a careless hand.
The pièce de résistance, however, was the saucy hat with its sweeping ostrich feather that curved down one side of her flaming tresses and tucked beneath her chin. Bess adored the hat; it made both the outfit and her look absolutely ravishing. She carried her hat and gloves downstairs and was just about to send orders to the stable to have Raven saddled, when a footman announced that the Earl of Shrewsbury had arrived.
Bess drew in a swift breath, and her pulses began to race madly. She watched the tall, dark figure stride into the room and felt his presence dominate it. “You came,” she murmured in wonder.
His eyes swept her from head to foot. “I came to bring you to heel, Vixen.”
Her eyes flashed and her chin went up as a defiant phrase sprang to her lips. Bite your tongue, Bess, he's baiting you, her inner voice whispered. “Say what you have come to say, my lord, I will listen,” she said evenly.
“I've come to take you back to Sheffield with me, where you belong. From now on you will be an obedient wife.” He paused to give his ultimatum emphasis. “If you refuse, the marriage is over, here and now. I won't ask you again, Bess.”
You are not asking me now, you black devil, she thought wryly but bit down on her wayward tongue. “Since you give me no leeway, it seems I must obey you, my lord husband.” She quickly pushed away thoughts of all she intended to take with her. Just go; don't keep him waiting. Bess pinned on her hat and picked up her gloves. “I'm ready, my lord.” Though her words were soft, there was nothing meek about her demeanor as she sailed through Chatsworth's front door, like a ship proudly flying her colors.
When she saw the carriage, she bit her lip. Damn, he wants me to arrive like a lady. I was looking forward to a wild gallop. “How thoughtful of you to bring the carriage for me,” she said softly. She did not see the look of amusement Shrewsbury quickly masked as he climbed into the saddle. It's just as well we are not riding together. I couldn't keep this charade up for ten miles!
Bess made a triumphant entrance into Sheffield Castle just as she had planned, with her husband, the earl, at her side. He was extremely proud of this beautiful, vibrant woman as she stood in the Great Hall before hundreds of Talbot attendants and servants. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have the great honor of presenting my wife, Elizabeth, Countess of Shrewsbury.”
Bess thanked every single person who welcomed her, and it was two hours before Shrewsbury could maneuver her up to the library and shut the doors so they could be private. She unpinned her hat, and he took it from her and set it aside. Then he opened the desk drawer, took out a document, and placed it in her hands. She read it quickly, breathlessly, hardly daring to believe it espoused her daughter Mary to Gilbert Talbot, and his daughter Grace to her son Henry Cavendish. Her fingers traced his signature and his seal.
As her eyes sought his, her heart was singing. “Shrew, why did you do this?”
“It is a reward for your obedience,” he said solemnly.
“You arrogant swine!” She flew at him, ready to rake his face.
With a whoop of laughter, he pinned her arms behind her and gathered her close. His demanding mouth descended on hers, mastering her, then his lips softened in a kiss that was perfect. He lifted her and sat her on the edge of the desk to explain his reasoning. “That night at Rufford, when my anger cooled, I began to see the advantages of what you proposed. I saw that it would keep our wealth in our own family and benefit not just our children but our grandchildren and their children for generations.
“When I awoke and found you gone, I couldn't believe it. I was ready to murder you. I was incensed that you would put anything before our love, even the welfare and interests of your own children. And then it began to dawn on me that you were fighting for a principle, and you were ready to sacrifice everything for what you believed in your heart was the right thing for them. You were not only willing to risk the wealth and title, you were ready to sacrifice your own happiness. I thought that was rather a noble gesture, Bess, and I was proud of you.”
Bess was speechless. He thinks I'm noble! Thank God he doesn't know I was on my way here to beg him to take me back!
He cupped her face and lifted it for a kiss. Then his glance was drawn lower. “You look ravishing, Vixen.” The backs of his fingers stroked down her cheek and over the curve of her throat and over the swell of her breasts. Thank God she came with me. I almost had heart failure when I saw her all dressed up for London. His fingers unfastened the tiny pearl buttons, and her lush breasts spilled into his possessive hands. Their desire flared up instantly, threatening to consume them.
Bess glanced down at the wide polished surface of the desk, assessing its possibilities. How many titled ladies had lain naked across this massive desk in the Sheffield library? None, she'd be willing to bet. “Shrew, as Countess of Shrewsbury, I'd like to set a precedent!”
