She gasped as he went down on his knees before her, cupped her bare bottom with his hands, and brought her close to his mouth. He covered her creamy thighs with kisses, then blew softly upon her curls to separate them. The tip of his tongue unerringly found the bud at the top of her cleft, and he began to make love to her with his mouth.
Before Bess could protest, she became highly aroused and stared mesmerized into the mirror. She watched her fingers thread through his hair to hold his head to her hot center and saw her body arch with the unbelievable pleasure he gave her. A deep, sultry laugh escaped from her lips as she remembered what Frances had said. Unbelievably, Rogue's head was between her legs!
Bess cried his name over and over when she reached climax. She was unable to stand and slid down on her knees, sagged into his arms, and buried her face against his chest. When the room stopped spinning, she drew back and looked into his eyes.
“Am I very wicked?” she whispered.
“Bess, my darling, you are the most innocent yet the most passionate woman I have ever known.”
A shocking thought suddenly struck her: This is what the princess was talking about. My God, this is what the admiral is doing with Elizabeth!
FOURTEEN
The Holy Days of Christmas were upon them before they knew it. The Greys moved their entire household to Chelsea, as Lady Frances declared that Christmas was for children and she wanted to bring Lady Jane from Hampton Court Palace to spend this time with her parents and her sister, Catherine.
“I'll be glad when Christmas is over,” Frances sighed, “and we can enjoy ourselves at the New Year's celebrations. I remember in the good old days, when the king finally rid himself of that religious fanatic, Catherine of Aragon, and was in hot pursuit of Anne, Christmas was spectacular fun. We celebrated with such racy abandon and merriment that the entire Court never slept and was intoxicated for all twelve days!”
Bess closed her eyes as the painful memories of last Christmas washed over her. During the year of her marriage to Rob, the days had seemed endless, yet looking back she realized they had passed in the blinking of an eye. When Bess lifted her lashes and saw herself surrounded by the luxury of Chelsea Palace, she put the bittersweet past behind her. The year 1546 had begun with such deep despair for her, yet it had gone on to be incredibly good to her. Bess offered up a fervent prayer of thanks. If fortune continued to smile upon her, 1547 promised to be the best ever!
Bess knew she wouldn't see much of Rogue this month, as the privy council sat every day, either at Whitehall or at Baynard's Castle, nearby in the Strand. Baynard's Castle was the magnificent abode of William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, whose countess was sister to Queen Catherine Parr. But Bess decided this was most fortunate. Their relationship had become dangerously intimate, and a figurative step back to cool off would be best. She, too, would be busy accompanying the Greys, who would be dividing the Holy Days between Chelsea and Hampton Court.
On the short barge ride upriver, the air was freezing. Henry Grey's glance moved from Frances, huddled in furs, over to Bess, who wore only a woolen cloak. “Aren't you cold, my dear?”
She smiled up at him. “Nay, milord, I'm far too excited about visiting Hampton Court Palace. This time I intend to have a good look at the king, the queen, Prince Edward, and Princess Mary.”
“Brace yourself for disappointment, darling,” Frances warned dryly. “The Tudors are an unpalatable lot.”
Young Catherine Grey, wearing a little fur cape, shivered, and Bess pulled her close to keep her warm.
“Lady Mary is nothing like the Lady Elizabeth, even though they are sisters—rather like Lady Jane and myself.”
“You, my poppet, take after your mother,” Bess told her. “Do you miss your sister Jane?”
Catherine put her lips to Bess's ear. “Even though she's too prim and proper to piss, I do miss her sometimes.”
Bess laughed and hugged her close. As the barge pulled in at the Hampton landing, a picture of Elizabeth in Tom Seymour's arms flew into her mind, and with her newfound knowledge of sexuality, Bess wondered how she would be able to look Elizabeth in the eye.
As it happened, the moment Elizabeth welcomed the Greys, she turned questioning amber eyes on Bess and, as she kissed her cheek in greeting, whispered, “Do you still have your hymen?”
Bess blushed and whispered back, “Yes! Do you still have yours?”
“Unfortunately, my answer would have to be in the affirmative,” Lady Elizabeth said without lowering her voice. “Do let us hurry from the vicinity of the chapel before I'm coerced into attending Mass with the hypocrites. Oh, Lud, speak of the devil!”
As two ladies and their female attendants approached down the Long Gallery, Elizabeth swept to the floor in a graceful curtsy. Bess, Lady Frances, and little Catherine Grey all followed suit.
“Your Royal Highness, Lady Mary, may I present Mistress Elizabeth Hardwick?” The Lady Elizabeth's demeanor was regal.
Bess stared in disbelief at the two middle-aged women whom Elizabeth addressed. Since Queen Catherine Parr had had three husbands and numerous lovers, Bess had expected her to be an alluring courtesan. Instead, she saw a prim and proper figure who could have been mistaken for a respectable vicar's wife. “Your Royal Highness,” Bess murmured.
The Lady Mary was an even greater shock to her. Bess had always imagined the princess to be young and fair, but she was neither. Mary was a little, dumpy, thirty-year-old spinster, with graying hair escaping from her starched cap. “Lady Mary,” Bess murmured.
The two royal ladies clutched their bibles and stared back at the vivid creature in peacock-blue velvet. Bess sensed immediately that the Lady Mary disliked her on sight. She watched her eyes flick over both her and Elizabeth with disapproval, as if to say: Birds of a feather! Finally, the royal ladies turned their attention to Lady Frances and little Catherine, greeting them warmly.
Elizabeth gave them a direct lie. “I was on my way to join you at Mass, but Cousin Frances has asked me to take her to Father. I beg you to excuse me today.”
“That was a narrow escape,” Frances said with her usual irreverence. “The queen looks worn out; what the hell has Harry been doing to her? Not his husbandly duty, by the look of her.”
“I cannot believe that was your sister,” Bess said softly.
“Neither can I,” Elizabeth said dryly.
“Looks like a bloody suet pudding,” Frances declared. “Why doesn't she get that hair dyed, instead of eating pickled bibles!”
“Come to my apartments so we may be private!” Elizabeth commanded Bess.
“That's it, run off and leave me to the wrath of your father,” Frances complained.
“There's hardly a man breathing you couldn't handle, sweet coz.”
“Well, there certainly isn't a hard man breathing I couldn't handle. Run along and have fun. I'll be in Lady Jane's apartments if you're looking for me.”
The Lady Elizabeth's rooms were elegantly appointed, reflecting her innate good taste. As they passed through the chambers, Bess saw that many of the walls were covered with shelves of books, and there was a writing desk in almost every room, reflecting Elizabeth's thirst for knowledge and love of reading and writing. There were also bolts on most of the doors, reminding Bess that the princess was an obsessively private person. Elizabeth had four ladies-in-waiting in her household, but none of them was in evidence save a large, motherly-looking woman, who sat in a cushioned window alcove, plying her needle.
“This is Mistress Cat Ashley. She used to be my nurse but is now head lady. This is Bess Hardwick, the friend I told you about. She is lady to my cousin Frances.”
“Another redhead—may the good Lord save us!” Mistress Ashley's eyes twinkled with mischief.
“Ashcat is privy to all my secrets. She is the only one in the world I trust entirely. I'm taking Bess into the inner sanctum; don't let anyone disturb us.”
It was as if they passed from one world into another. The chamber was large and l
ined with Murano mirrors. Hundreds of candles set in crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, ready to light up the room when darkness fell. At the moment sunshine streamed in through the long leaded windows.
The chamber boasted many musical instruments: fiddles, lutes, a harpsichord, and a pair of virginals. The princess took Bess into the adjoining dressing room. Bess's eyes widened in astonishment. At least two dozen magnificent gowns hung in splendor. Some were elaborately embroidered with gold thread, while others were encrusted with brilliant beads.
Hanging beside the dresses were a half dozen fantastic costumes, suitable for masques. There were wigs of every style and color, high-heeled slippers, undergarments, and a great casket of jewelry. There was also a dressing table laden with creams, perfumes, and pots of makeup.
“I cannot wear any of these garments at Court, because I am continually censured, but they cannot stop me from owning them and adorning myself in private. Sometimes I dress up and dance until dawn in my mirrored chamber.” Elizabeth pulled out two gowns. “Look at these.”
One was black satin, the other black velvet with trailing angel sleeves lined with silver tissue. Both were designed in the shocking French style, with the bodice cut low enough to reveal a female's nipples and to show off precious jewels. The gowns were highly inappropriate for a young lady, and Bess opened her mouth to remark upon their unsuitability.
“These were my mother's!” Elizabeth whispered.
Bess touched the gowns with awe. “They are exquisite; how did you get them?”
“Cat Ashley married my mother's cousin. They secretly managed to save some of her things for me. I have more hidden at Hatfield.”
Bess touched a glossy black wig. “Do you ever disguise yourself?”
Elizabeth laughed and arched a plucked brow. “How did you guess?”
“It is what I would do if I were watched day and night,” Bess admitted.
“Once I even disguised myself as a boy,” Elizabeth confided. “It greatly amused him.”
Bess knew Elizabeth was speaking of the admiral, and she was afraid for her. She felt compelled to caution her. “You cannot meet him here?” In spite of the locks on the doors and his reckless nature, surely this was impossible.
“Nay. Always outdoors. The gardens have numerous bowers, I rode and hunted in the forest when the weather permitted, and now that winter is here, the river will always be at hand.”
The admiral had ships of every size, as well as his barge on the Thames. Under cover of darkness she could slip aboard, Bess realized. “Your Grace—” Bess hesitated. She knew how Elizabeth hated being told what to do and how at all costs would do as she pleased. Bess continued, choosing her words carefully, using her own situation to caution her friend. “I, too, am in love with an older man, who has sworn there will be no risk to me. Yet even so I will not allow him to consummate our union until he is free to wed me. The consequences would ruin my reputation—yet my reputation is as nothing when compared with yours. Your father would run mad. The consequences for you and your lover would be disastrous! Your Grace, please let us pledge, here and now, that we will not yield our virginity until we wed!”
A loud scratching sounded on the locked door. Like a hissing swan, the princess glided to the door and raged, “I told you none was to disturb us!”
“Your Grace, you are summoned by His Majesty.”
“Peste!”
Elizabeth carefully locked the door behind them with a key she wore on a chain about her neck. She led Bess into her bedchamber, where two of her ladies awaited her with a fresh white gown and rose water to bathe her hands and face. “Hurry, hurry!” she ordered impatiently.
Bess suddenly realized that Elizabeth was afraid of her father, the king, just as was every other female who'd ever been close to him. Bess felt a wave of relief. Fear of her all-powerful father would keep her virgin more surely than all the pledges in the world!
The royal page led the way to the king's privy chambers and stopped outside one of Henry's private dining rooms. Elizabeth was white with relief. “Thank God, we are only summoned to dine.”
Inside the chamber those who had been invited to luncheon with His Majesty stood talking and laughing while they awaited the king's exalted presence. Bess took a tentative step in the direction of Lady Frances, who was talking with her daughter, little Lady Jane Grey. Elizabeth put out a hand to stop her. “I don't want to waste my time with the little dog turd when the Dudleys are here.”
Three well-made young men were gathered about a fair-haired boy who looked about nine. “This is my brother, Prince Edward. … Your Grace, may I present my friend, Bess Hardwick.”
Once more Bess was taken off-guard. The slightly built boy had the face of a saint. How on earth could this be ruddy King Hal's son? Bess curtsied low and saw that the young heir to the throne studiously avoided looking at her breasts. Not so the Dudley brothers, who couldn't keep their eyes off them.
“You remember Cock Robin?” Elizabeth asked. “He certainly remembers you, or parts thereof.”
“Mistress Hardwick.” Robin's eyes were a warm dark brown, glossy as chestnuts.
Bess smiled and said softly, “It is Barlow. … I am a widow.”
“Hardwick is easier to remember,” Elizabeth asserted.
Robin Dudley laughed. “George Talbot did make your name unforgettable.” As Bess blushed becomingly, he introduced his brothers. “This is Ambrose and Guildford.” Both were well-built youths with pink cheeks and golden hair.
Robin gets his swarthy good looks from his mother, Nan, Bess thought as she pictured the attractive Countess of Warwick.
“Are you invited to the New Year's costume ball?” Ambrose Dudley asked Bess, licking his lips in anticipation.
“Yes, she is, but Bess will be disguised to protect her from uncouth louts like you,” Elizabeth informed him.
“I'll be able to see through her disguise,” Ambrose boasted, staring at her breasts.
“Stop trying to see through her gown, you jackanapes!” Elizabeth cuffed him on the ear.
Bess was not offended. The Dudley brothers were all younger than she, and their youthful lust didn't threaten her at all.
When the Lady Mary arrived, Bess curtsied to her. Elizabeth did not, however, and Mary threw her a look of disdain before joining Frances and Lady Jane. Mary and Elizabeth loathe and detest each other! Bess realized. Then Queen Catherine Parr arrived, accompanied by Henry Grey. Trust Henry to do the proper thing, Bess thought. This time Elizabeth sank to the floor with all the other ladies, while the young men, including the heir to the throne, bowed low.
Finally, King Henry arrived, and all in the room made their abject obeisance. When he bade them rise, it was the signal for everyone to take their place at table in strict order of rank. Next to the queen came the heir, then the Lady Mary and the Lady Elizabeth. Frances Grey sat on the king's left, then her daughters, Lady Jane and Lady Catherine, and then their father, Lord Henry Grey. He smiled at Bess and indicated that she should sit beside him. It was fortunate he did so, for Bess had seemed rooted to the floor at the sight of King Henry Tudor.
Never in her life had Bess seen such an imposing figure. His vast bulk clearly showed that he was grossly overweight. On top of this, he was swollen and bloated, making his stomach bulge obscenely below his huge barrel chest. The king's face, once ruddy, was now purple, pouched, and puffy. An expression of discontent marred it further. His neck was nonexistent. He did not walk but lumbered forward, dragging a huge bandaged leg. His gentlemen followed at a safe distance.
Judas! No wonder Rogue Cavendish was insulted when I mistook him for the king when we first met!
King Henry's garments were resplendent. He wore a ruffled silk shirt beneath a heavily embroidered velvet doublet whose sleeves were slashed with scarlet and gold, then overall came a sleeveless brocade coat. Across his chest sat a massive gold chain with an emerald the size of a duck egg. Its weight would have brought a slighter man to his knees. Henry
Tudor did not wear a crown; he did not need to. Instead, he wore a plumed velvet cap adorned with another emerald, surrounded by diamonds.
Catherine Parr hurried forward to assist him. “Where the devil have you been? The queen's place is beside her king!” he roared.
“Your Grace, forgive me, I attended Mass with the Lady Mary.”
Henry shot his elder daughter a venomous look, then threw himself into a high, carved chair and lifted his hand to indicate that everyone might now be seated.
Bess shuddered, imagining his hands upon her. His fingers looked like fat sausages, albeit they were adorned with more than a dozen jeweled rings.
A hushed silence blanketed the room as Henry Tudor spoke. “Some of you will be leaving us to spend the Holy Days of Christmas with your families.” He paused, looked around the room, then with feigned bluffness continued, “When you return, Christmas will give way to the feasts and revels of the New Year and Twelfth Night. We will celebrate together.” The short speech gave the king's subjects permission to leave Court and, more importantly, permission to return.
Now that the king had spoken, all were free to resume their conversations. Elizabeth immediately turned her back upon her sister, Mary, and began talking to Robin Dudley on her other side. Frances Grey waited until the king's food taster sipped the wine, then she raised her goblet. “Merry Christmas, Harry.”
Henry Tudor was in a decidedly peevish mood, and he had monstrous reason to be, he told himself. His vigorous youth and virility were gone. Age crept upon him as insidiously as the foul ulcer crept up his leg. What he wouldn't give to ride his great stallion again or, better yet, ride a woman!
He fingered his codpiece with disgust. What good was a weapon that remained flaccid no matter what stimulation his wife applied? Might as well cut the useless thing off! He had been so proud of it once—its inordinate size, its staying power. His beady eyes slid to Catherine Parr. Mayhap it was her fault? She was hardly a woman to inspire lust.