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Bess ran the tip of her tongue over dry lips and said carefully, “What makes you think I would agree to any of this?”
“Because I know you desire me. Not as much as I want you—that would be impossible. Bess, you are a woman of passion, and you know I could satisfy you as no other man ever has or ever will.”
He was so cocksure, but Bess knew that's why she wanted him. He was all male, and he appealed to every one of her womanly senses. Bess wanted him to make love to her, all right, if only he could do it without making her his mistress. She remembered the first time he saw her; he'd said with youthful arrogance, She's only a servant. If she let him make love to her, he could say, She's only a mistress, and what would be the difference?
Bess looked at his beautiful, sensual mouth and took refuge in a lie. “You are wrong, Lord Talbot. I do not desire you; I feel completely indifferent.”
His gaze smoldered. He was certain she lied. “A wager, Bess. Give me an hour to persuade you. If at the end of that time you are not begging me to make love to you, I'll let you go in peace.”
It was a challenge she knew she could not refuse. She had to prove to him that she could indeed resist him, but even more she had to prove it to herself. “Why not?”
She watched him pick up a golden hourglass with black sand and turn it upside down. The window seat upon which she reclined was nearly as wide as a bed, and Bess thought he would immediately come down to her and take her in his arms, but he did not. Instead, he propped one booted foot on the ledge and leaned his weight on his raised knee.
His voice was husky. “Bess, I know you've had two husbands.… How many lovers have you had?”
“Only Cavendish,” she answered truthfully.
His dark gaze studied her face. “Then you've never been loved by a man of your own age—a man in his prime. Jesus, you've no notion what our mating could be like. I'd want you in a sable bedgown with nothing beneath it. I'd carry you off at midnight on a black stallion and impale you right there in the saddle. I'd take you to one of my castles and lock us naked in its tower for a week and keep you at the peak of your arousal so that you would respond to my lightest touch.” His voice became intense. “Always when I think of you, I see myself deep within you. I see your lips open and hear you cry out with passion as I sheathe myself to the hilt inside you.” He reached down for her hands, holding them so close to his body, she could feel his heat leap into her fingers and race up her arms.
“Every night I would carry you to bed. The first coupling would be savage of necessity, the second so slow and sensual you would writhe for an hour, moaning and frenzied, until I brought you to climax. But the third time I would make real love to you, cherishing and worshiping you with my body until you dissolved in liquid tremors and yielded everything I ever wanted from you.” His dark, erotic fantasies poured over her like wine, until she felt drunk with need.
Lord Talbot's mouth found hers, and Bess opened her lips in wanton invitation. The kiss was not savage, it was perfect. His mouth was firm and demanding, but not brutal. When the kiss deepened, he almost stole her senses. Bess expected to feel his hands upon her, undressing her, and she knew she would yield to him. What she felt was not love, it was pure lust. He was the most attractive and sexually arousing man she had ever encountered. Her breasts and belly ached with need. She wanted his hands and his mouth on her body, she wanted his long, thick, marble-hard manroot filling her emptiness, and, above all, she clamored to be taken by a man her own age.
“Please.” Bess was suddenly horrified. Was that her voice begging? She did the only thing she knew would save her pride. She cried out her husband's name. “Please, William!”
She felt him go rigid at the insult, and she opened her eyes to watch the outrage on his face. But it was fleeting, gone in an instant, as his sensual mouth curved into a smile.
“Bess, you are so damned clever, and that is one of the reasons I am obsessed by you. It is part of your fatal allure.”
“All right, my lord, I wasn't being honest with you, but I am now. I won't allow my heart to rule my head. I refuse to be any man's mistress. I am worth more than that.”
“I am not any man, Bess. I am the wealthiest noble in the realm. I will give you anything, you only have to name it.”
“Will you give me a wedding ring? Will you give me your name? Will you divorce your wife and marry me?”
Talbot was aghast. “Bess, I don't want you for a wife! Marriage is anathema to me! I've been wed since I was twelve. Wives are the dullest, most stupid and boring creatures on earth. Marriage is a death knell to love and pleasure.”
“If that is how you feel about your wife, divorce shouldn't upset you overmuch. Many nobles have availed themselves of divorce—Edward Seymour, William Parr, even Henry Tudor.”
“I am not a Tudor, I am a Talbot, and Talbots do not divorce.” The air fairly crackled with his arrogance. “I would never disgrace my children.”
Bess realized that, even if he had no wife, he would never marry her. He was a member of the upper aristocracy, while to him she would always be Bess Hardwick, a farmer's daughter. “I will not become your mistress, Lord Talbot. I would never disgrace my children. Your hour is up, milord; you had better take me home.”
He bowed to her wishes. “All right, Vixen. Just remember, we always deeply regret the things we never do.”
