Page 6 of A Woman of Passion

Cavendish saw his old friend, Lord William Parr, just returned from putting down trouble on the Scottish border, and sought his company. Parr was of medium height, but his military bearing and close-cropped beard gave him an air of authority. Cavendish was in time to hear Parr make an assignation with the beauteous Elizabeth Brooke, daughter of Lord Cobham. As she kissed Cavendish, she murmured in his ear, “No tales, Rogue,” so William forebore to tell his friend that she had been spreading her legs for the king.

“You two seem very cozy,” Parr accused.

“That is because I have just betrothed my daughter to the lady's brother.” Marriage was the single most important step to advancement in Tudor society, and the espousal of children was a serious business.

“Splendid!” Parr clapped him on the back. “When I wed Elizabeth, we'll be related.”

Cavendish did not ask Parr what he planned to do with his present wife.

Thomas Seymour, the handsomest man at Court, made his way across the room to greet Cavendish and Parr. Seymour's sister Jane had made him brother-in-law to the king, and though Jane was now in her grave along with three of Henry's other wives, the king was extremely fond of his late wife's brother. Thomas put his arms around both men in a friendly gesture. His golden beard curled about his laughing mouth, making him look like a young god just stepped down from Olympus. “Cavendish, you're a bloody genius. Your plunder of the monasteries has made me a wealthy man.”

“God's death, that incautious tongue of yours will send us all to the block.”

Seymour roared with laughter, and Cavendish couldn't help but like the good-natured young devil who hadn't a cautious bone in his body. Thomas was enjoying the intimate favors of Lord Parr's sister, Lady Catherine, in spite of the fact that she was wed to old Lord Latimer. Seymour thumped Parr on the back and said outrageously, “Do keep me informed of Latimer's health; the old swine can't hang on much longer.” Wealthy widows were snapped up within a week at Court.

William Parr looked at Cavendish and quipped, “Christ, before long we'll all be related.”

When Cavendish caught sight of Lady Catherine Parr Latimer, his gorge rose. Her demeanor was the epitome of respectability, yet she was cuckolding her husband with Thomas Seymour, and according to his friend Frances Grey, Catherine Parr was also the king's latest choice of bedmate. The Court is no better than a brothel—an incestuous one at that!

William excused himself and made his way down the chamber, for once ignoring the inviting female glances being cast his way. He noted with cynicism the men who never left the king's side. Edward Seymour, Thomas's older brother, was fawning on Henry, while the equally ambitious Lord John Dudley monopolized the conversation. Cavendish walked directly to the lord treasurer, Paulet, who immediately held up his hand to stay William's words.

“No need to tell me—your fees are late again, my friend. I am buried beneath an avalanche of paperwork and ask you to exercise patience.”

“I have a solution, my Lord Treasurer. While collecting money for the Crown, I can collect my own fees at the same time. It will relieve your office of unnecessary work. I'll still submit my accounts in detail, but they will be marked paid in full.”

“Yes, I think we can accommodate each other in such a satisfactory manner. I'll get the king's authority for you. You did a most commendable job at St. Sepulchre's in Canterbury.”

William thanked the treasurer and moved off, gratified to have accomplished the profitable business for which he had purposely come. He contemplated the cardroom and the ballroom, both overflowing with predatory, expensively gowned females willing to lift their skirts for him at the crook of his finger. But for some reason he found the company tonight unappealing.

As Cavendish left Whitehall, his mind conjured a picture of a girl with large dark eyes and red-gold hair. Elizabeth Hardwick was the antithesis of the shopworn courtesans who bartered their wares at the Tudor Court. She was so fresh and young and, yes, innocent! His chance meeting with her had shown him just how jaded his palate had become. Rogue Cavendish decided she would make a most enchanting mistress.

The following afternoon, Bess was giving the Zouche girls an embroidery lesson. She had learned needlework at her aunt Marcy's knee. Not only did Bess do exquisite work, she also drew original designs on the cloth. While the girls worked on samplers, Lady Margaret and Bess were putting the finishing touches on a pair of sleeves that were to be a gift for Frances Grey. Bess had drawn the Tudor roses, whose petals were now filled in with Spanish silk.

When the house steward announced William Cavendish, Bess was so disconcerted she pricked her finger. Her mistress, all aflutter, dismissed her daughters and flew to the mirror. When Bess arose to follow them, Lady Zouche said, “I really shouldn't be alone with him —just sit quietly and do your embroidery.”

Cavendish was so gallant, he had Margaret eating out of his hand in seconds. His devilish gaze flicked over Bess in the far corner, and she knew immediately his words were meant for her.

“Forgive me for coming uninvited, but I haven't been able to get you out of my mind since yesterday.”

“Cavendish, you are a flatterer and a rogue. It's been far too long since we've seen you.”

“You are even lovelier than I remember.”

Bess's mouth curved into a smile as she lowered her eyes and bent her head over her work.

William's glance fell on the sleeve that Lady Zouche had been embroidering. “I've interrupted your needlework. Tudor roses—I had no idea you were so talented.”

“ 'Tis a gift for Lady Frances; we are invited to Chelsea next week.”

“I, too, am invited. I was going to decline, but you have quite changed my mind. Suddenly, I cannot wait.”

His voice was deep and, to Bess, held a wealth of hidden meaning. If he did not stop, Lady Zouche would suspect something. She must find a way to warn Cavendish to guard his wicked tongue. When a footman came in with wine and wafers, Bess jumped up quickly, relieved the servant of the tray, and brought it forward.

“Thank you, dear child.” Lady Zouche picked up a wineglass and, turning her back on Bess and Cavendish, carried it to a side table across the room.

With her back to Lady Zouche and a forbidding look of disapproval on her face, Bess offered him the tray and whispered, “Stop!”

His eyes glittered with amusement. He knew Margaret could neither hear him nor see what he did. “No,” he murmured. He noticed the drop of blood on her finger, quickly raised it to his lips, and sucked.

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