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“Indeed, I love to dance. Sir John, would you partner me?”
As Bess swept off in his friend's arms, Cavendish wanted to throw her across his knee and give her a good spanking. He returned to Frances, who had been standing on the sidelines, enjoying the byplay.
Frances shrugged, not even trying to mask her amusement. “What can you do? He has such an advantage over you.”
“You think so?” Cavendish said dangerously.
“Sir John is a bachelor.”
“Sir John can piss off!”
“I love a cockfight!” Frances exclaimed.
Cavendish strode onto the dance floor and unceremoniously tapped Sir John Thynne on the shoulder. “Excuse me, John.”
Surprised, yet suddenly realizing there was more between Bess and Cavendish than met the eye, Sir John stepped aside with grace.
While Bess strove with every bit of her willpower to appear cool and unaffected by Rogue Cavendish's proximity, on the inside her emotions were running amok. The only reason she hadn't fainted dead away at the sight of him was that she had been expecting to meet him at the ball tonight and had steeled herself for the encounter.
Even so, the moment she heard his deep voice caressing her name, she had experienced a deep sensation of pleasure. The tension of forcing herself to appear indifferent to him while they conversed had taken its toll. She suddenly realized her fingernails were cutting deeply into her palms each time she spoke. Damn him to hellfire; why did he have this compelling effect on her?
Bess braced herself for the moment his hands would touch her body during the dance. But she was not prepared for the devastation he wrought. The heat from his hands felt as if it were scalding her through her clothes. Her blood seemed to turn into liquid flame and run along her veins like wildfire. Her breasts tingled, her nipples peaked painfully, her belly went taut with longing, and she could feel her pulse quicken between her legs.
Half-closing her eyes, Bess swayed toward him as if in a mating dance. Then his powerful hands were on her waist, his thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts, as he lifted her high in the galliard. Time seemed to stand still, and Bess wanted to throw back her head and laugh, perhaps even scream with arousal. She longed to do something wanton, like pull his hair and bite him in a frenzy of passion. Bess did none of these things. It was pure rage that saved her. How dare he abandon her, then come back into her life and within minutes make her feel this way?
As Cavendish swung her back to the floor and she felt the polished parquet beneath her toes, Bess cried out with pain. “Oh, dear, I've twisted my ankle! I am so sorry that I cannot continue, Sir William, please excuse me.” She had every intention of walking away from him without so much as a limp, but Cavendish thwarted her intent. He gently lifted her up into his arms and gallantly carried her to a chair at the side of the dance floor. He knelt before her and tenderly examined her ankle. Was he really concerned, or was the rogue aware of her ploy and using it so he could touch and caress her?
“It's fine now; you may leave me.” She prayed he could not hear how loudly her heart was hammering.
“Bess, it's wonderful to see you again. You are even more beautiful than I remember. It's been so long; can't we find a spot that is more private so we can talk?”
He is attempting to charm and seduce me already. I must get away from him.With relief she saw John Thynne approaching with a concerned look on his face.
“Are you all right, Mistress Barlow?”
“I shall be if you will lend me your arm, sir, and help me find our hostess. I mustn't trouble Sir William any further.” Bess dismissed him and walked pridefully off on the other man's arm.
***
Cavendish prowled the rooms at Suffolk House, looking for Frances. He was in a dangerous mood and had decided that come hell or high water he would make Bess listen to reason. He knew he couldn't do it in public and would need an accomplice to get her alone. When he spotted his best friend, he assumed Henry would aid and abet him. He didn't expect an argument.
“I won't trick Bess into being alone with you; I'm her friend too. I always feel the urge to protect her when you're about.”
“Protect her from what?” Cavendish demanded.
“Your lust! You behave like a rampant stallion around Bess.”
“She's no longer a sixteen-year-old virgin, Henry; she's a widow, for Christ's sake!”
“Frances and I are very fond of her.”
“Frances my arse! You're half in love with Bess yourself; admit it.”
“At least I don't have seduction in mind.”
Rogue Cavendish suddenly saw the humor in the situation and began to laugh. “One little wench has us all jumping through hoops.”
Henry grinned. “Perhaps you've met your match at long last.”
