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At Brentford, Syntlo set Lady Cavendish on the couch, and Aunt Marcy elevated Bess's ankle on a cushion. When Bess introduced Sir William to her children, her two eldest sons inundated him with questions about his office of captain of the queen's guard. They dragged him off to the stables to show him their horses and dogs, and when Syntlo asked them about their studies, they took him to the schoolroom and eagerly answered all his questions regarding the subjects their tutors were teaching them.
Sir William lingered all afternoon, and when Bess thanked him for bringing her safely home, he asked her if he could come again. “I envy you your sons, Lady Cavendish. They have such keen minds. Are you considering them for Eton?”
“Alas, there is no money for that, Syntlo, much to my sorrow.”
“I beg your pardon, my lady, that was clumsy of me.”
“Nonsense. I have no secrets from you, Sir William. I don't feel uncomfortable discussing my circumstances.”
After he departed, Marcella brought her a posset of herbs to ease her discomfort. “William and Henry took to him like ducks to water. Instead of running about like wild men, they actually carried on an intelligent conversation. Those boys need a father, and it is your duty to provide them with one!”
***
All that week, away from the frenzied activities of Court, Bess had ample time to think. Her grief had undergone many stages. At first she had suffered total shock and isolation as she withdrew from the world. Then came sleeplessness, loss of appetite, guilt, and finally anger, all followed by acute anxiety over the ruinous debt she owed. It had been a powerless time, filled with such hopelessness, she felt she would go out of her mind.
Finally, when her intense sadness brought the torrent of tears every night, Bess experienced a dramatic emotional release. Her Court appointment had come at the right time. It had been a good and positive experience, and Bess knew she had no choice but to let go of her death hold on the past and focus on the future.
Her week at home was almost up, and because she had kept off her ankle, only a slight tenderness remained. Spring had come early, and the February sunshine slanting through the latticed windows lured Bess outdoors. The gardens were awash with crocus, tulips, and a sea of yellow daffodils. Francie and Jane carried cushions out to a garden lounge chair where Bess could look down the grassy bank and watch the swans gliding on the calm water of the river.
Bess could not afford to be completely idle. She had brought her account books outside and worked diligently bringing them up to date. Francie soon grew bored and begged Jane to come and pick strawberries for supper. Left alone, Bess soon tallied the accounts and made a list of food supplies that must be ordered.
There was no breeze, and the afternoon was warm. Bess looked down at her black velvet and decided that when she returned to Court, she would put away her mourning clothes. She fingered the gown; it was one of her very favorites, whose soft black sleeves were embroidered with bright golden leaves and acorns. Bess closed her eyes, feeling a measure of contentment steal over her.
When she lifted her lashes, she saw a wooden skiff gliding across the water to the bottom of her garden. She watched the man in it idly, and when he stepped from the boat and came up the grassy bank toward her, she was not the least bit surprised to see that it was Lord Talbot. Shrewsbury House was not a great distance from Brentford, and Bess realized that she had been half-expecting him.
“How are you feeling?”
“Rested.” Bess recalled vividly another time when they had been in a garden by the river. Talbot had stood before her naked, proudly displaying himself. With a smile Bess remembered her outrage at his blatant arrogance. She also recalled every detail of his lithe sixteen-year-old body. He had stood six feet tall even in his youth, and his muscular torso had been covered by black hair. His compelling image, so virile and magnetic, had come to her when she had been married to young Rob Barlow, and lately it had come again in her dreams.
“Come for a row on the river.” He neither asked nor ordered, he simply invited. “You'll be safe with me.”
Bess knew she would not be safe, she would be in the gravest danger, but the moment had come for her to face up to his devilish attraction and her fear of it. She would never dispel it otherwise. “Why not? You'll have to carry me, though.” She saw his body tense up and the desire flare in his eyes. She knew she was playing with fire.
He picked her up easily, as if she were thistledown, and strode down to the punt. Her body reacted to him the moment he touched her—nay, it had been before that. It had quivered the moment she sensed it was he on the river. He set her down gently, then climbed in facing her and took up the oars. He wore no doublet, only a black silk shirt, open at the throat. He rowed smoothly, with long strokes, and her mouth went dry at the sheer sensuality of her own thoughts. Beneath the silk she saw his supple muscles gather and ripple effortlessly.
There was something too intoxicating about his male power, and Bess forced her gaze away from him to look across the dappled sunlit water. The slow realization came that he had some purpose in mind. She felt almost mesmerized as she saw Shrewsbury House and knew that was where he was taking her. The boat glided to the water steps, and he jumped out to secure it.
“What are you doing?” she asked softly.
“Abducting you.”
“You said I'd be safe with you.”
“You knew I was lying, Bess.”
“Yes.” She could have taken refuge in anger, but that would have been taking the easy way out.
He came back into the punt, splayed his legs wide apart to balance himself, then lifted her high in his arms. As he strode into Shrewsbury House and headed purposefully for the stairs, there were no servants in evidence and Bess knew he had laid his plan carefully and issued his orders for privacy.
He took her into a spacious room she knew was his, and his alone. It was the most magnificently masculine chamber she had ever seen. The entire room was done in black and gold, a great deal of it real gold. The bed-curtains were black velvet, the matching bedcover was embroidered with an immense gold initial S that reminded her of a coiled serpent. The bedposts were covered with beaten gold leaf. The walls were dull gold, the carpet thick and black. The fireplace looked like onyx with a heavy gold mantel. Solid gold chessmen marched across an onyx games table.
Talbot set Bess upon a deep window seat piled with black and gold pillows and stood gazing down at her. Bess realized her gown matched the room perfectly. It was uncanny, as if she had worn it especially for him. Everything in the chamber appealed to her flamboyant taste—especially its owner.
“Bess, I want to be your secret lover.”
Oh, God, Bess thought, why couldn't there be just the two of them in the whole world? Why couldn't there be only this present time, with no past and no future?
“When I say secret, I mean secret. I won't flaunt you, I won't parade you about for decoration—though, God knows, you're the most decorative female I've ever seen. I have a dozen residences in the north. Just choose one and it will be ours alone. I will guarantee complete privacy. You may see me as often or as seldom as you wish.”
