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“Frances, you're bloody incorrigible!” Henry rebuked, hurrying her from the room before she said something even more outrageous.
As Cavendish followed Bess up the gilt staircase, he was afforded a glimpse of heliotrope petticoats and stockings. For a moment he was stunned at the outrageously bold color of her underclothes. Such garments were obviously not meant to be hidden but displayed for some man's eyes. Immediately jealous as fire, he wondered whom Bess had been seeing in his absence or, more to the point, whom had she intended to meet tonight?
The moment they entered her private rooms, Cavendish locked the door. When Bess opened her mouth to protest, he said, “You need to be kept under lock and key, I'd say, by the look of your undergarments.”
“What in the world are you talking about?”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her before her mirror. “In that pale lavender and silver you look sweet and innocent as an angel.” He lifted her skirt to reveal her ankles. “But beneath the gown, you are dressed like a harlot!”
Determined not to lose her temper the moment they were alone together, she laughed up at him in the mirror. “And have you much experience with harlots, Sir Cavendish?”
He groaned and slid possessive arms about her. “Did you go to Brentford?”
“Of course.” Bess saw no reason to lie.
“And?”
“It's going to be lovely. Sir John has a feel for houses.”
“To hell with houses! Did he feel you, that's what I want to know? Or did you hold him off with that fictitious virginity tale?”
Her temper flew up the chimney. Bess spun around from the mirror to face him. “Sir John Thynne is a gentleman, which is more than I can say for you!”
Cavendish made a rude noise. “You forget he's a friend of mine.” He refused to believe that she preferred Thynne to himself. “It's his great country house that attracts you, isn't it? Is that what you want, Bess?”
She drew back her hand to slap his arrogant face, but he seized her arm and pulled her roughly into his embrace. Panting furiously, she said, “I gave up an evening in the company of the King of England to be with you tonight. I must be mad!”
“I smell better than Henry Tudor.” Rogue's mouth came down on hers in a kiss that branded her as his. He lifted his mouth a fraction from her lips and murmured, “I just came from an interview with him.”
“The king?” Suddenly her eyes widened with anticipation.
“He just confirmed my seat on the privy council.”
“William!” Bess's arms went up around his neck, and he lifted her from her feet and swung her about the room. “Who else knows?”
“No one but you, Bess. You are the first.”
Her heart melted with joy. “Why didn't you tell me right away, instead of accusing me of dalliance? I swear you provoke my temper apurpose.”
“Perhaps I do. Anger arouses your passion.” He slid his arm beneath her knees and lifted her high so that the pale lavender velvet fell back, revealing her legs.
“You'll ruin my new gown!”
“Then let me remove it. You're longing to show off your harlot's undergarments anyway.”
“They are perfectly respectable!”
“Then show me.” As he kissed her, his knowing fingers unfastened the back of her gown, and when he set her feet to the carpet, her dress fell in a pool about her.
Bess gasped and scooped up the precious gown to cover herself. “You are far too experienced with women to suit me, Rogue Cavendish.”
“Bess, my sweet, you are a widow,” he reminded her.
“But I told you I'm—” Bess bit her lip, knowing he didn't believe her.
He pried the dress from her fingers and laid it carefully across a chair. “Then you should be thankful that I am experienced,” he said softly. “I know how to give pleasure without any risk to you.” He carried her to the love seat before the fire and sat down with her in his lap. His eyes were alight with devilry. “I brought you a present. All you have to do is find it.”
Her eyes searched his face and then his person. She smiled as her fingers unfastened his doublet and she reached inside. He shrugged out of it, and as Bess ran her hands over his fine linen shirt, he murmured, “Lower.”
