Page 132 of A Woman of Passion

“At nightfall will you let me go?”

“If I say no, you won't come.”

She gazed at his mouth. “Then lie to me,” she begged.

Grace turned her small palfrey and cantered back to them. She looked at Bess with great dark eyes and said earnestly, “Father says you can't be my mother unless you marry him.”

“Grace, not one more word!” her father ordered.

“It's all right, Shrew. Children need to have their questions answered. Grace, your father has to observe a mourning period to show his respect for the mother of his children.”

“How long is a mourning period?”

“Traditionally, it is a year.”

“A year! I can't wait a year!” Grace cried.

“That's enough, Grace. Go back to your sisters. Lady St. Loe and I wish to speak privately.”

The child obeyed her father, albeit reluctantly.

A heavy silence hung between them. When Bess summoned the courage to glance at him, he was looking at her with speculative eyes. “Bess—”

“Don't you dare to ask me!” she warned.

“Don't you see it would be the answer to everything?”

Bess felt as if a great red rose bloomed in her heart, and her knees turned to water. Her plan was working, he was on the verge of asking her, but of course it would be on his terms. How tempting he was! If only she could put her children second to her own desires. As the woman and the mother warred within her, her resolve hardened; Shrewsbury's terms would not be nearly good enough for Bess. With a great effort she schooled her features and looked him directly in the eyes. “You have stolen my heart, and I freely give you my body. Isn't that enough, Shrew? Must all I have achieved go to enriching the vast Talbot empire?”

“Splendor of God, Bess, how many times must I tell you I don't want your wealth? Don't you realize how much you would gain?”

“I wouldn't gain anything unless you died, and I cannot bear to think about that.” Suddenly, the reality of her words were brought home to her. A cold hand squeezed her heart and withered the rose that bloomed there. “Let's go on as we are. I vow I'll come to you this week at Worksop. Get rid of the servants.”

“Tomorrow?” he demanded.

“No, no. At the end of the week … I'll come Friday.”

“Swear it!”

Before Bess and her daughters took their leave, Francis Talbot and his bride, Anne Herbert, cornered her.

“Bess, will you use your influence with Lord Talbot? We want to be allowed to set up our own household,” Anne pleaded.

“I shall be sixteen soon. I'm a man, yet Father treats me as a child. We are chaperoned day and night. We never have a moment alone together without the prying eyes of a hundred servants!”

Bess's heart went out to them. Privacy for a Talbot was a rare commodity. “Francis, use your ingenuity. You are heir to a half dozen places in the vicinity that are far more private than Sheffield. Take your bride for a ride in the country to one of the Talbot estates that is more secluded. Some of the manors are quite romantic, I believe, with only skeleton staffs.”

On Friday morning Bess chose a favorite deep purple riding habit and selected outrageously frilly lavender undergarments to go beneath it. She gathered a few toilet articles, her hairbrush and kid slippers, and carried them down to the stables. She chose a sidesaddle, as befitted a lady, and rode out from Chatsworth before her family awakened.

Though the hour was extremely early when she arrived at Worksop, Shrewsbury was there before her. A sigh escaped her lips as his powerful hand reached up to grasp her mount's bridle and lead her into the stables.

“You look ravishing, Vixen.”

A sultry laugh escaped her lips. “And a damned good thing I do, since that's clearly your intent.”

“Ready when you are, milady.” He held up his arms.

Bess glanced about the stables.

---