Free A Woman of Passion by Virginia Henley

a glare. “I have no betters, and respect must be earned.”
    “Look your fill.” His eyes mocked her, dared her.
    Slowly, Bess let her glance slide across his hirsute chest, then down his belly to his groin. Suddenly, his phallus thickened and hardened and stood out rigid from his lithe body.
    “Do you like what you see?” he drawled confidently.
    Bess was stunned. She had never seen a naked male before, let alone one with a jutting arousal. “You look like a river rat,” she disparaged.
    “Vixen!”
    “Knave! Fool! Black devil!”
    “Hell's teeth, you don't even swear well.”
    Bess took a deep breath and spat, “Whoreson!”
    “Bravo, you have a temper worthy of a lady.”
    “I
am
a lady, Talbot!”
    “Never in a million years; your breasts are too big, Mistress Tits.”
    “A pox upon you,” cursed Bess, turning on her heeland leaving. It was the second day in a row he had made her retreat, and she hated him for it.
    That night there was a terrible thunder and lightning storm, and Bess was up half the night comforting the Zouche girls. Even the placid Frances Grey became upset when her daughters, Jane and Catherine, screamed with hysterics and cried that it was the end of the world. Dawn arrived to prove them wrong, but it
was
the end of summer. The temperature plummeted, and the north wind stripped the beautiful gardens of Chelsea with a vengeance.
    On the barge ride back to London, Margaret Zouche praised Bess's forethought in packing warm cloaks for them. “We would perish out on this river today, Bess, if it wasn't for your efficiency. I never had anyone who planned so well. I warrant you could pack up an entire household in a day.”
    When they arrived home Lady Zouche ordered that all the fires be lighted and set the cook to preparing some hearty soup to warm the cockles of the travelers' hearts.
    A letter from Derbyshire had arrived for Bess in her absence, but she slipped it into her pocket to read in privacy when all her household tasks had been completed. In no time at all she had unpacked for Lady Margaret and her daughters and found time to check up on her young friend Robert Barlow. Bess was distressed to find that the page had caught cold and was coughing his head off. “Rob, when did this happen?”
    “I only started coughing today, Bess. The house got so cold, and the butler refused to order the fires lit until her ladyship arrived.”
    “Bloody servants need a flogging. When I have servantsof my own, I won't countenance high-handedness. Before you go to bed tonight I'll bring you a posset. One my aunt Marcy taught me to make with sack and milk and herbs.”
    It had been a long day, and when Bess finally climbed the stairs to her chamber, she could hear Robert's racking cough from up in his attic room. She went back down to the kitchens to get some camphor grease from the medicinal cupboard. Then she climbed to the attic and rubbed the youth's chest and back with the concoction.
    He pulled his flannel nightshirt on over his head and sat on the side of the bed. “I love you, Bess,” Robert Barlow whispered.
    “I love you too, Rob. Get under the covers and keep warm. Let's hope you feel better tomorrow.”
    When she was finally in her own chamber, Bess took out the precious letter from home and broke the seal. It was from her older sister, Jane, and Bess was surprised at the news.
    Dearest Bess:
    I am to be married soon to Godfrey Boswell, who comes from Gunthwaite in Yorkshire. He is a farmer who has leased land from your friend Robert Barlow's family. I wasn't sure at first, but Godfrey is in need of a wife, and conditions here at home grow desperate. Our stepfather, Ralph Leche, has also been farming land he leased from the Barlows, because Arthur Barlow has been too ill to farm it himself. But Ralph has fallen behind in the rent, and Mother is worried to death. Once I am married I will be one less mouth to feed. To help out, Aunt Marcy has been cooking for the Leches at Chats-worth,