Page 17 of A Woman of Passion

FIVE

Bess balled up her fist and thumped him hard in the middle of his chest. “You uncouth swine, your manners are abominable.”

The Lady Elizabeth's eyes took on an avid gleam. “You shouldn't have done that, Old Man.”

“Why not? She's only a servant,” George Talbot drawled.

Bess's anger flared hotly. “You arrogant bastard! How dare you show such disrespect in the presence of Lady Elizabeth Tudor?”

“Ha! He is a Talbot. They think themselves far more aristocratic than the Tudors. They are descended from Plantagenets, don't you know?”

Bess's breasts rose and fell with her anger, and George Talbot found it impossible to tear his gaze away. “Descended from baboons, more likely,” she retorted.

“Is your arse blue, George?” Robin asked with a straight face.

“No, just my blood.”

Elizabeth laughed, thoroughly enjoying herself. “This is my friend, Bess Hardwick.”

“Your friend? I suppose you are going to give me a royal rebuke and jump to her defense,” Talbot challenged.

“No. That is why she is my friend. She's perfectly capable of defending herself. She's worth her weight in gold—she doesn't even know that you are heir to the earldom of Shrewsbury, the wealthiest in the land, and what's more, she doesn't give a pennyworth of piss!”

Bess felt the blood drain from her face when she learned he was Shrewsbury's son. His father was the premier earl, almost considered a monarch, north of the Trent. Not only was his father lord lieutenant of Yorkshire, Nottinghamshire, and Derbyshire, he owned magnificent Sheffield Castle, not a stone's throw from Bess's home of Hardwick.

“I'm Robin Dudley.” The other youth stuck out his hand to Bess. “Any friend of Lady Elizabeth's is a friend of mine. Has she given you a nickname yet?”

Bess finally realized that this young man was the Earl of Warwick's son. He was affable and good-natured, and Bess liked him immediately.

“Vixenwould suit her temper, I think.”

“Who the devil asked you?” Bess spat at Talbot, giving a fine display of that temper.

Elizabeth smiled her approval. “Vixen is good with your coloring, Bess. I call Robin the Gypsy because he's so dark.”

Bess found Talbot far darker than Robin Dudley. His face was dark-complexioned; his light blue eyes were a startling contrast to his swarthy skin. His long hair was so black that the sunlight gave it a blue sheen. The tall youth was extremely lithe, with long legs and wide shoulders. He held his head high with a natural pride that hinted at arrogance, and he seemed to take it as his due that everyone would treat him with deference.

“I call Talbot the Old Man because he's been married since he was twelve. Poor George had no say in the matter. They shackled him to the Earl of Rutland's daughter, Gertrude, to safeguard the Talbot wealth.”

“I pity the lady.” Bess had taken an instant dislike to him and could not help goading him.

“Oh, they don't live together as man and wife yet. Gertrude isn't old enough to be bedded,” Elizabeth explained.

“He'll be an old man by the time he gets some!” Dudley said coarsely, and Talbot cuffed him across the ear.

Bess was appalled at the sexual content of their conversation. It was extremely inappropriate to speak of such matters in front of the young princess, yet the Lady Elizabeth didn't seem shocked in the least.

“Lewd talk is disrespectful to ladies,” Bess said primly. “Hell's teeth, she must be up from the country, with such prudish ideas,” Talbot jibed.

“She's from Derbyshire, the same place as you, Old Man.”

His eyes narrowed. “Hardwick, did you say?”

“Well, I think you are charming, Mistress Hardwick,” Robin Dudley said frankly.

“And I think you are unique,” Elizabeth added.

“Well, at least her name is apt,” Talbot drawled. “She certainly makes my wick hard.”

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