Page 55 of A Woman of Passion

“No, Rogue, please,” Bess protested.

“I'm teasing you! Here, open this.”

Bess removed the lid from a large box and gasped with delight. The light from the courtyard torches reflected on the sheen of silver-fox pelts. She lifted the fur cloak and saw that it was lined with amethyst velvet. Bess pulled it around her immediately and blew upon the silvery fur, reveling in its luxury. “I love it! It's the first fur I've ever owned.”

“It won't be the last,” he promised.

She lifted her lips for his kiss.

“Happy New Year, Bess.”

“Happy New Year, William.” She snuggled against him, and as the carriage started to move, she proceeded to tell him of the evening's disasters. Soon he had her laughing, and she realized that one of the things she loved about him was that he saw the amusing side of every situation. Suddenly, she didn't want to go back to Suffolk House. She wanted to stay in the safe, warm cocoon of the carriage and watch the new year dawn.

Rogue sighed. He had hoped the fur would persuade her to relent and put an end to their celibacy. Resignedly, he instructed his driver to take them to Richmond Hill with its spectacular view, where they could watch the sunrise over the Thames Valley and welcome in the dawning of the brand new year of 1547.

It was the last week of January before Cavendish saw Bess again. He'd had to go into Hertfordshire on the Crown's business, to inquire into disputed leases of the Abbey of St. Albans. In addition to his secretary, he took his team of surveyors, because the lands and property owned by St. Albans were vast, much of it leased out in an effort to keep the Church coffers filled. The Church lands extended as far as Northaw, which boasted a lovely country manor house where Sir William and his men were given hospitality.

Whenever he was away from London, Bess was never far from William's thoughts. He knew he had rivals who were free to offer her the security of marriage, and he wished he had the means to bind her more closely. As he surveyed the Northaw manor house, Cavendish wondered if he had found the solution to his dilemma. Gifts of jewels and furs had certainly not been the answer.

He recalled the day they met and how she was incensed that her home had been taken away when she was a child and how she longed to have a house of her own. William remembered her words exactly: Don't laugh at me, sir. I shall have my own household!

The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was. Bess had never given herself to him because she needed the security of marriage. She had suffered insecurity all her life and needed a safe haven. Perhaps that was even part of the reason she was attracted to him. He was an older man with a certain wealth and power and was experienced in the ways of the world.

Cavendish decided to do nothing until Bess had seen Northaw for herself. If she fell in love with it, he would find the means of acquiring it for the two of them.

Cavendish arrived at Suffolk House in time to dine with the Greys. Thomas Seymour was also there, giving them the news that the king had finally appointed him to the privy council. The meal was extremely merry, with many toasts of congratulations.

By the time dinner was over, it was apparent to the admiral that Bess had not divulged his dalliance with Elizabeth to either the Greys or Cavendish, and he was relieved. Thomas kissed Bess's hand with gratitude and murmured, “I am so pleased that we are friends who know the value of discretion.” He turned to Cavendish and placed Bess's hand in his. “You are a lucky man, William. The lady refuses to be seduced, though I have tried my damnedest.”

William steered Bess to the relative privacy of a drawing room. “Have you had much chance to ride lately?”

She hoped he wasn't questioning with whom she had ridden. “We rode every day at Chelsea, though we seldom went farther than the park. I miss my long rides over the Derbyshire fells and moors.”

“Would you like to ride out with me, Bess?”

“Why, I would love it!” Her dark, almond-shape eyes took on an excited sparkle.

“I'd like you to come to St. Albans. I'm handling a dispute over the abbey's land leases. It's a long ride, about eighteen miles,” he warned.

Bess suddenly looked uncertain.

“Is that too far in this brisk weather?”

“No, no, it isn't that, Rogue.” She gave him a level look and told him honestly how she felt. “I don't relish watching you crush a religious order beneath the heel of your jackboot, even if it is by the king's order.”

“Bess, sweetheart, I can't believe you know so little about me. I don't use bullying tactics; I use the golden spur.”

She looked at him blankly.

“Little innocent. The golden spur is a bribe. It's what makes me so successful at what I do. It's the oil that smooths away the difficulties in every negotiation I undertake.”

“Surely you are not telling me that priests and nuns take bribes?”

“Of course not!” The amusement came back into his eyes. “The abbots and abbesses at the heads of these orders, however, are a different breed. Dealing with them successfully requires a deft touch; I succeed at what I do, where many others have failed.”

Bess laughed. “You are a damned rogue!”

“Come with me and I'll show you how I go about my business.”

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