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Bess suddenly smiled. It seemed that anything she wanted was within her grasp. Perhaps all she had to do was reach out her hands and the world would be hers! Bess nodded her head in the direction of the grand salon and slipped away from the others, confident that Elizabeth Tudor would follow her lead.
When Bess closed the door of her private suite, the princess looked about the chamber with glittering amber eyes. “Did you know that my father leased Suffolk House for my mother before they were married, so they could be lovers here? It's only a few steps down the Strand from Whitehall. I picture her awaiting him in bed night after night. I was most likely conceived here! I wonder how many times he made love to her before he planted me inside her?”
Bess was momentarily shocked at Elizabeth's avid interest in the scandalous sexual encounters of her parents. “Suffolk House has a fascinating history.”
“That is patently obvious. I didn't come up here to exchange platitudes. I want to know what it feels like to be bedded!”
“Why are you asking me, Your Grace?”
“Because since we last met you have been wedded, bedded, and widowed! Prithee, who the hell else can I ask?”
“My husband was even younger than I, and he was ill.” Bess suddenly felt ashamed of her ignorance. She was covered with shame that, although she had been a bride, she had little experience of the marital rites.
“Curse you, Bess Hardwick, we swore a pledge to trust in ourselves and trust each other —no matter what!”
“Your Grace, I swear I would tell you if I knew. I have never breathed it to a living soul, but my marriage was not consummated!”
Elizabeth stared at Bess, completely incredulous. “Your husband never fucked you?” Her brows drew together in consternation. “What about Cavendish?”
Splendor of God, there it was again, the implication that she and Cavendish were lovers. “We have never sinned. Sir William is a married man.”
“That doesn't stop men; it certainly never stopped my father!”
“It stops me,” Bess said quietly.
“Hell's teeth, I could shake you!”
Bess's humor reasserted itself. “So could Rogue Cavendish.”
Elizabeth joined in her laughter. “Oh, Bess, are you in love? Does your pulse race madly when you see him? Do you dream about him ravishing you? Does your blood rush through your veins like wildfire when he draws close, and do you want to scream with excitement when he touches you?”
“Aye, I'm in love, or at least lust,” Bess said slowly, “and so are you.”
“Ah, God, 'tis more than love, 'tis a divine madness! Has he ever kissed your breasts? Have you been naked together?”
Bess watched with alarm as Elizabeth became aroused. Her eyes glittered gold and she was panting with desire. Bess knew exactly what was happening to the princess, because it happened to herself when she longed for Rogue Cavendish.
“Has he taught you how to masturbate to safely pleasure yourselves?”
Bess had never heard the word before, but she knew it must be something prurient and erotic. “My God, you once told me you had learned caution. Who is it you are in love with?”
Elizabeth laughed. “I have enough caution not to divulge his name, even to you. I should have known that you and I, being so similar, are at exactly the same place at the same time on the mysterious road to womanhood.”
“Nay, we are not, Your Grace. I am five years older than you—you should not even know about these things. Is it Robin Dudley who has tainted your innocence?”
“Robin is a callow youth,” Elizabeth said with scorn. “I am in love with an older man of the world. I have chosen him for my husband. There, I've said it! You are the only one in the universe who knows my secret. Bess, swear on your life that the moment Cavendish takes your virginity and you become lovers, you will come and tell me what it is like. I have no one else I can ask, and I shall die if I don't soon find out!”
“Your Grace, promise me you will do nothing reckless at such a tender age; it could ruin your life!”
“I may be five years younger in actual age, but I am five hundred years older in wisdom. We will go down now.” Elizabeth Tudor spoke so regally, Bess had no choice but to obey. The royal princess would not be lectured; she made it crystal clear she would do exactly as she wished.
As Bess rejoined Lady Frances she was on the horns of a dilemma and pondered what she should do. If the king's daughter was being compromised by some unscrupulous courtier, was it not Bess's duty to report it before the princess was ruined? Yet, on the other hand, when Elizabeth had confided in her as a trusted friend, how could she betray her? Bess weighed the alternatives and found them both unsatisfactory.
“What does masturbate mean?” Bess asked softly.
“God's balls, for a widow you are woefully ignorant. It is when you take a man in hand, which they all need from time to time.” Frances waved her fan toward an aging earl. “He's too old, and yon fairy fellow is too limp-wristed to masturbate.” Frances roared with laughter at her own wit.
Bess changed the subject. “I shouldn't have come. Everyone thinks of Cavendish and me as a couple, even though they all know he's a married man.”
