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Within two days Bess was vastly improved. The fever left as quickly as it came, and as soon as she began to eat, her energy returned. She took William on long walks around the acres of gardens, where long avenues of trees had been planted and where formal landscaping had transformed surrounding meadows into herb gardens, lawns, stone-edged terraces, and parterres, where the flower beds formed intricate patterns. William drew up a plan to divert a small branch of the River Derwent to run through the gardens and form a trout stream that would cascade into a series of ornamental ponds. It was a safety measure so their lands would not be flooded in times when the river rose.
By the end of the week Bess rode out with William across their vast acres, which now included the villages of Baslow and Edensor. Their older children accompanied them on ponies—Francie, dark and laughing, the very image of her father, and their little sons with their red curly hair, exactly like their mother's. William offered up a prayer of thanks that Bess was so quickly recovered. He marveled at her stamina; watching her, it was impossible to believe she had ever been ill.
That night, in the privacy of their magnificent bed-chamber, Bess became quite playful. She undressed very slowly, her movements calculated and lithe as a cat, then she donned a black silk night rail that clung to every lush curve of her body.
“What do you think of this? I quite like to wear silk next to my bare skin.”
“It was clearly designed with seduction in mind,” William replied, keeping a safe distance between them.
“Yes, black silk begs for seduction.”
He turned his back and poured himself a goblet of Rhenish wine, trying to ignore the sultry tone of Bess's voice. “You'd better put on your bedgown—I don't want you to catch cold.”
“I'm never cold,” Bess purred. “Darling, pour me some malmsey.”
“Malmsey makes you wanton.”
Bess climbed onto the bed and began an undulating dance. “Mmm, it makes me sybaritic.”
“Herbs in milk would be better for you,” he said repressively.
Bess began to laugh. “Aunt Marcy has been feeding me borage, chamomile, and clary, for God's sake. Clary is so lust provoking, I'm going to crawl out of my skin if you don't take off your clothes and pay some pointed attention to me!”
“Bess, no more babies.”
She stopped swaying. “What?”
“We have enough children. I don't want to ruin your glowing health by getting you pregnant every year.”
Her eyes filled with amusement. “But abstaining from sex would certainly ruin my glowing health.”
He took a tentative step toward the bed, desire for her playing havoc with his good intentions. “I … I'll have to withdraw.”
Bess fell down on the bed and rolled about, laughing helplessly.
“What's so bloody funny?”
“Ohmigod, you are, Rogue Cavendish! You could no more withdraw than you could abstain!” Bess kicked her legs in the air, convulsed with laughter.
William grabbed her ankles playfully and pulled her toward him. The silk nightgown climbed up her legs, exposing the fiery triangle at the apex of her white thighs. Her knees fell apart, luring him down to feast upon her. His powerful hands slipped beneath her bottom cheeks and he raised her to his mouth. His thrusting tongue soon found the tiny bud between her hot folds, and as she writhed and arched her beautiful body for him, he felt her woman's center flutter, then pulse, then explode in intense orgasm.
“Rogue, I need more,” she implored, knowing the brief satisfaction would not be lasting.
“And I want to give you more,” he growled.
“I want you inside me. I love to feel your weight and your power. I know you have a fierce desire for me, and I need to feel you unleash it. My body screams out for you to master it.” Her words inflamed him, as she knew they would.
“What the hell am I going to do?” he demanded desperately.
The corners of her mouth went up in a seductive smile. “Fortunately, Marcella has prescribed an herb that prevents conception. It's called dragonwort, and she has a whole bed of the stuff growing in the herb garden.”
William groaned with relief and stripped off his garments with all speed. Bess wasn't the only one with needs. He needed her thighs wrapped about him as he plunged inside her; he needed her moaning and frenzied beneath him. He needed to bring her release at the exact same time as he spent. Then he needed to hold her against him until she softened with surfeit.
