Page 13 of A Woman of Passion

“Oh!” Her lips parted in genuine shock. “Is that what men think about?”

“A thousand times a day,” he said solemnly.

She decided he was teasing her unmercifully. “Damned rogue.”

“A truthful rogue.” His hands left her hair to cup her face, then slowly, with great reverence, he lifted her mouth to meet his.

Bess closed her eyes so that her other senses became heightened. His male scent enveloped her, his touch and taste intoxicated her. She opened her lips and kissed him back. “Ooh, I've wondered so long what a kiss would be like. It's such a relief to know I like it excessively!”

“Have you never been kissed before?” he asked, stunned.

Her dark eyes were luminous, her lips trembled. He reached out to trace the outline of her mouth, and her body was taken by a great shudder. Suddenly she grabbed his hand and bit down on the fleshy part of his thumb, then looked appalled.

“You shouldn't have done that, Bess.”

She stared at him with enormous dark eyes.

“It reveals far too much about you, sweeting.”

She managed a breath when she saw his amusement.

“It tells me your emotions run deep. It tells me you are a woman of passion. Though barely awakened, you possess an earthy sensuality that men will respond to all your life.” He swept her into his arms and this time kissed her thoroughly. His mouth became insistent, and her lips parted beneath his. As he molded his mouth to hers, she clung to him, responding with fire. Heat leapt between them, threatening to melt and fuse them together permanently.

His hand was on her breast, and Cavendish knew if he did not put some distance between them he would have her naked in the grass. To his utter consternation he realized his conscience was pricking him. Abruptly, he got up from his knees and went to his horse. What the hell was the matter with him? Making love to Elizabeth Hardwick had obsessed him since the minute he'd laid eyes on her. The whole point of coming to Chelsea was to get her to lie with him!

Now they were alone in the woods; what was there to stop him? With a little gentle persuasion he could arouse her to the point where she would willingly lie naked in the grass. She was clearly virginal, with no notion that full, intense arousal was so compelling there would be no stopping, no turning back. But afterward she would believe he had betrayed her, and the trouble was, he desired more than one tumble. He wanted her on a more permanent basis. Immediately, he realized the responsibility was his.

William opened his saddlebags and took out food and a wineskin. He closed the distance between them and unwrapped the linen cloth that held roast capon, sharp cheese, and crisp apples. Bess smiled her delight, and he knew he had himself under control. There was nowhere on earth he would rather be at this moment, and they were going to enjoy their time alone together. He would temper his wooing with soft words and gentle hands that would not take them beyond the point of no return.

William enjoyed watching her eat. She bit into a capon leg with gusto, and when the tart juice from a green apple ran down her chin, she licked it off with relish. “Let me show you how to drink from a wineskin.” With his hands guiding hers, he showed her how to squeeze it with just the right pressure and how to position her mouth to catch the dark red stream of wine. The lesson involved a great deal of laughter, and William realized just how wonderful it was to be with a female who enjoyed laughing as much as he did.

When the wine was done, he lay back in the warm sunshine and pulled her down so that her breasts were cushioned on his broad chest and he could look up into her beautiful face. They spent the next hour kissing, whispering, touching, and laughing. With much difficulty William kept his rampant desire under control, but he was amply rewarded by knowing how much pleasure Bess received from his nonthreatening dalliance.

When they heard a distant hunting horn, she sat up and searched for her snood. William found it and put it on her, gathering her wildly disheveled hair into the confining net.

“Sweetheart, I have to go to Dover to do an inventory of the monastery of St. Radegund. It will take some time because I have to assess their lands and rents.”

“When must you leave?”

“Tomorrow. Will you miss me?”

“Perhaps … a little,” she teased.

“Tell the truth! You'll miss me fiercely!”

With mock solemnity she placed her hand upon her breast. “You take my heart with you, William.”

He sat up and kissed her temple. “Sweetheart, when I return I'll have a question to ask you regarding a more permanent relationship. I want us to be together.”

The horn sounded again, closer. William got to his feet and pulled Bess up beside him. “You go first so we are not seen together. Chelsea is in yonder direction. I'll join the hunt for a couple of hours.” He lifted her into the saddle with possessive arms, kissing her in the process. “Remember that I adore you.”

Bess rode back to Chelsea Palace in a state of wonder. Was this what it felt like to tumble head over heels in love? Rogue Cavendish adored her, he had admitted it freely. When he returned from Dover, would he ask her to marry him? It all seemed too fantastic to be real, yet Bess believed with all her heart that fate had something glorious planned for her.

The king's red-haired daughter, Elizabeth Tudor, had spent days wandering about Hampton Court Palace, exploring every nook of every chamber, antechamber, gallery, and staircase. The most spectacular of these was the King's Staircase, whose walls and ceiling had been painted by Italian masters. Remembering that this staircase led to the State Apartments was more important to the Lady Elizabeth than its artwork.

Learning the layout of a royal residence was the first order of business for Elizabeth Tudor. It gave her a measure of confidence and security, as well as providing her with an escape route from unpleasant scenes and people she detested. She remembered Hampton so vividly, recalling the happy moments with her mother and the hours of shattering sadness.

She paused as she reached the Long Gallery. An unbearable lump of sorrow rose in her throat for her sweet stepmother, Catherine Howard. Elizabeth pictured her running down this gallery, screaming for the king when she learned she had been charged with adultery. Lord God, was it only a year ago February that she was beheaded? Itfeels as if I've been mourning for years. Then she thought again of her mother, Anne Boleyn, and knew she would always be in mourning.

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