The Viscount’s Vixen
by
JoMarie DeGioia
PUBLISHED BY:
Bailey Park Publishing at Smashwords
Copyright © JoMarie DeGioia 2017
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
ISBN: 978-1-944181-13-0
Contents
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
About the Author
Discover other books by JoMarie DeGioia
Connect with me online
England 1824
Chapter 1
Michael Reed, Viscount Balsam, stood in the cavernous great hall of his ancestral home in Cornwall. It was late spring and still the walls seemed damp, the rooms cold. He crossed to the massive fireplace set deep into one high stone wall and held his hands out to the welcome warmth issuing from the roaring fire behind the grate.
“My lord?” his butler, Coombs, called from the entryway.
“Yes, Coombs?” Michael asked wearily. “What is it?”
“Several papers have arrived for you, my lord,” he answered. “Along with several correspondence.”
Michael cursed softly, knowing with absolute certainty the papers could only be from his solicitors in London. It was no doubt bad news.
“Take the papers into my study, Coombs.”
“Very well, Lord Balsam.”
When he was again alone, he turned back to the fire. Upon his father’s passing the previous year, Michael had learned to his great surprise that the man’s frugality was due more to necessity than to a quirk of his disposition or his hearty Cornish will. Although Michael instructed his solicitors to investigate thoroughly the mess his father had left behind him, no additional funds were located save for the stipend paid to him each quarter. While it afforded him a comfortable style of living, he could ill-afford the repairs the great manor sorely needed.
Michael was only twenty-five years, and vastly relieved that he was far from the age to start thinking about getting married. If what he’d learned last week was true, and he had no reason to believe it wasn’t or that the papers awaiting him in his study wouldn’t bear it out, then he wouldn’t be in any position to repair his estate let alone bring some unsuspecting young woman to its damp and drafty rooms for several years to come.
This day he wore black breeches topped by a waistcoat of gray. His shirt and cravat were crisp white, his jacket charcoal. He appeared like the title gentleman he was, as far as his clothing was concerned. He could afford to keep a valet in addition to Coombs and a few other servants. The heels of his fine boots clicked sharply against the stone floor as he reluctantly strode to the study. He raked his fingers through his hair and sighed irritably, finally settling himself behind a massive desk that nearly dominated the space.
Michael opened the folder from the solicitors and quickly perused the contents. It was as he had fully expected. The men had found nothing of his father’s missing fortune. Setting both the folder and the matter aside with a grunt, Michael turned his attention to the waiting missive. He smiled as he opened the letter, most pleased to see it was from his good friend, Philip Wilton.
Baron Wilton wished to expand his line of horses, the letter read, racers and hunters both. Michael was quite gifted at raising and training horses and, as he was at the present time unable to fulfill his own dreams of breeding horses there in Cornwall, he relished the idea of doing so for his friend for both the satisfaction and the profit the partnership could bring himself.
Picking up pen and paper, he wrote a reply to Philip in the positive. He added that, although the Derby in June was a mere six weeks hence, he was most confident he could train a racer currently in Philip’s possession to make a decent show in the race. His mind worked as he planned out the details of both his journey into Somersetshire where the estate to which Philip was heir was situated, and his training of what were certain to be magnificent examples of horseflesh.
At the very least the occupation would get him out of his dismal part of Cornwall.
***
Lady Elizabeth Bridgewater, third cousin to Philip Wilton, sat in her father’s best carriage as it rolled through London. She was enroute to the Derby accompanied by her parents, the Earl of Bridgewater and his wife. Betsy, as she’d been known since she was but a little girl, was eager to see the horse Philip had entered in the race.
Lord, it was good to get out of London proper for the afternoon. Everything that had happened in the time since she first arrived in town two months prior spun through her mind.
Betsy was eighteen and quite dazzled by life in town. It was the height of the Season, her first full one since coming out. She had many suitors among the ton. Gentlemen young and old alike vied for her favor. She supposed she was pretty enough, but she was aware her father’s wealth and station drew them as well.
She did like her hair, light brown when she was a child and now darkened to a rich chestnut, which she preferred to wear in as loosely-constrained style as her maid could manage. This day, however, she wore it braided into a tight coil at the back of her head, a style more acceptable to her mother. She wore a day dress of white muslin, one of her favorites, which was dotted with tiny blue flowers that matched the wide ribbon on her straw bonnet.
The carriage rolled to a stop at the grounds of the Derby and Betsy felt a tingle of anticipation course through her. She loved horses, both riding about her father’s estate in Somersetshire and caring for them in the stables. It was what she missed most about being away from the country for the Season. But horses were not the only draw for her this day. She was certain to see Maggie at the grounds.
Maggie, Philip’s wife, was also Betsy’s half-sister, although that distinction mattered little. The two young women were extremely close, confidants as well as sisters. Aside from the affection she felt for her sister, Betsy had yet another reason to seek her out this day. She wished to ask Maggie for her advice on a pressing matter. The Earl of Templeton had asked for Betsy’s hand, gaining her parents’ approval immediately. And while Betsy had admiration for the man, she couldn’t help but have more than a few misgivings as well.
Lord Templeton was nearly twenty years her senior and quite an elegant and proper gentleman. Betsy’s mother was for the match, stating Betsy’s so-called wild nature would do well with a firm hand to restrain it. Though Betsy had all but accepted his proposal, she wasn’t certain he was the man for her. If only she could speak to Maggie without her mother’s being present.
Betsy and her parents alighted and slowly made their way through the crowded grounds to Maggie and Philip’s box. Everyone attended the Derby, the commoners as well as the titled gentry. The grounds were crowded and t
he weather hot for the beginning of June. Betsy paid all this little mind as her eyes fell on the couple in the box.
“Maggie!” she exclaimed, all but running the last few feet separating them.
Maggie, her beautiful sister with golden hair like their little sister Mary, returned Betsy’s embrace with warmth. Betsy turned from her sister and dropped a quick curtsy for Philip, who grinned as he bowed to her.
“How are you faring, Betsy?” he asked, his green eyes sparkling. “Are you quite ready for a day at the races?”
“Oh, yes,” Betsy returned with a smile. “I do so miss the horses.”
Maggie nodded her agreement. “And what of your betrothal, Betsy? Surely you’ve set the ton on its ear, gaining such a promise in barely a fortnight since coming to Town.”
Betsy didn’t want to talk about the match her parents so endorsed. Not today. Unfortunately, as Lord and Lady Bridgewater joined them talk soon became focused on the betrothal and the many plans now necessary to securing the perfect future for Lord Bridgewater’s second daughter.
Betsy took her mother’s monopolization of the conversation as the opportunity it presented, however. She made her way to the stables to look in on the racehorses. She stepped very carefully over the muddied ground, only absently noticing the glances she received from a few men on the way. When she lifted her skirts clear of mud, all male eyes followed her ankles over the rutted path. Let them look, then. They were perfectly ordinary ankles.
Betsy reached the stables and pulled open the door, stepping inside the darkened interior. As she removed her bonnet, she breathed in deeply the combined scents of horses and sweet hay. She closed the door and leaned against it for a moment, reveling in the coolness and relative solitude of the stables. A sigh escaped her lips as she spied Philip’s mare. She approached the horse, a smile curving her lips.
“Hello, Gusty,” she cooed, placing her hand on the horse’s muzzle.
The horse was chestnut with white stockings, a magnificent specimen. She stroked and petted the horse.
“Have you been a good girl?” she asked the horse. “Are you ready for your big day, sweet?”
She reached into her reticule and withdrew a few cubes of sugar.
“You shouldn’t feed the animal such treats before a race,” a man said from the shadows.
She gasped and dropped the sugar as the young man stepped forward to throw a saddle over the mare. She ran wide eyes over his splendid form as he adjusted the saddle. The breeches clinging to his long powerful legs were dusty and his shirt was opened at the collar. She glimpsed dark curly hairs at the base of his throat. His black, glossy hair caught the light filtering through the cracks in the wallboards as he turned to face her once more. Lord, he was handsome!
The man leaned on the saddle for a moment, his dark eyes sparkling at her inspection as Betsy struggled to recover her composure.
“Such a trifling won’t spoil Gusty’s performance,” she countered with a tilt of her chin.
He let his eyes slowly run over her in his turn, making her heart race. “And what would you know of it?” he asked, stepping closer to her.
His insolence astounded her. She placed her hands on her hips. “I will have you know, sir, I’ve ridden this horse many times.”
“You?” He scoffed, arching a brow. “You’ve ridden this horse?”
Betsy took a breath to cool her pique at the handsome rascal’s words.
“Yes,” she answered. “Do you find that so difficult to believe?”
He tightened the saddle and stood in front of her. His eyes ran over her once more, finally settling on her face.
“She can be a difficult mount,” he said, his eyes staring into hers. “One would need a firm hand to master her.”
“I…,” Betsy stammered, lost in his dark gaze. She swallowed thickly. “I have quite a lot of experience with such things.”
He chuckled, leaning closer to her.
“You have experience?” he teased. “Now, that I doubt.”
Betsy stared up at him, overwhelmed by his masculinity. His scent. Oh, he smelled like the out of doors, and a bit spicy. She couldn’t help but compare him with Lord Templeton. The older gentleman paled considerably by the comparison.
Her eyes fell on his beautiful mouth as he stood so close to her. Would the bold man kiss her? She licked her lips in her nervousness, heat flashing over her face.
He gave a smug nod of his dark head.
“Experienced in mastery, indeed,” he intoned.
She recovered herself and glared up at him. “I suppose that had you kissed me, you would think me mastered?”
His eyes roamed over her form once again. He arrogantly arched his brow.
“No.” His gaze fell on her lips once more. “Had I kissed you, your training would only have just begun.”
A delicious shiver went through her body as she imagined all he would teach her. The Lord knew she had very little experience. Then he chuckled deeply, the rogue.
“I will not be spoken to in such a manner by a common stableman.”
Indignant, she stomped from the stables. When that handsome rascal stood so close to her, when he’d nearly kissed her, her pulse had pounded. He was a stableman. That was true. But he was far from common. She’d felt an attraction to him she knew instinctively she would never feel toward Lord Templeton. Being a lady of virtue, she had no true notion of what she and the strong young man could be to each other. But she knew in her heart that his kisses would set her to flames.
Relief flooded through her as she reached Maggie and Philip’s box. She quickly donned her bonnet as Maggie eyed her closely. She schooled her expression, praying that her high color and nervousness wouldn’t draw her sister’s attention.
“Betsy,” Maggie whispered, “What on earth have you been about?”
Betsy was saved from making an excuse for her flustered appearance by the announcement of the second race, the one in which Gusty was entered. Grateful for the diversion, she brushed her hands over her skirts, chagrined to notice her ankles were still in full view. With an impatient flick of her skirts, she quickly remedied that situation.
Her eyes were soon drawn to the track where the horses were taking their places. She spied Gusty immediately, and clasped her hands together in silently prayer for the horse’s fine performance.
At the starter pistol’s sharp retort, the horses leapt into motion. The rider atop Gusty drew Betsy’s notice then. He was much larger than the others, she recognized, but it appeared not to make a noticeable difference. He was bent low over the animal, seemingly at one with the creature. The horses thundered past, causing Betsy’s heart to pound anew. Almost too soon for her, the race was finished. Gusty came in second, a fine showing for a previously untried racer. As she cheered happily, Lord and Lady Bridgewater clapped with enthusiasm. Philip gave a loud whoop, grabbing his wife and twirling her about. Thrilled to her toes, Betsy accompanied the younger couple down to the track.
Gusty’s rider reined in the animal as the small party approached. Betsy stared up at the rider, dumbstruck as the handsome groom dismounted in one smooth motion to face them. He spared Betsy a telling glance and gave her a cocky grin before he turned from her to receive Philip’s hearty handshake.
“Well done, Balsam!” Philip said. “Wonderful showing.”
The man patted the horse soundly on her flank. “Thank this magnificent creature, Wilton,” he returned in a modest tone decidedly missing from their earlier exchange. “She gave her all, I assure you.”
Philip grinned and clapped him on the back. The dark-haired man turned from him to face Betsy and Maggie. He bowed in greeting to Philip’s wife and straightened to favor Betsy with another knowing glance. Betsy fidgeted under his gaze as Philip made their introductions.
“Betsy, permit me to introduce someone to you,” Philip intoned. “This is my partner and expert trainer, Michael Reed, Viscount Balsam. Balsam, this is Lady Elizabeth Bridgewater, the earl’s second daugh
ter.”
Michael bowed low to her, his eyes sparkling.
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Elizabeth.”
Betsy stared up at him for a long moment, finally curtsying in greeting. Lord Balsam? Why, she’d called him a common stableman! As he gazed down at her, she allowed herself the luxury of studying his handsome visage in the bright sunshine. Her eyes settled on the masculine curve of his mouth and she suddenly wished that she’d allowed him to kiss her in the stables. No, she amended with a touch of dismay. She now wished she had been the aggressor. She longed to run her fingers through his thick, glossy waves as he teased her with that beautiful mouth. Flushing over the direction her thoughts were taking, she smiled shakily up at him.
“…residing at Bridgewater Park,” Philip finished.
Michael smiled and nodded his head.
“What?” Betsy asked in confusion, looking from Philip to Lord Balsam and back again.
“Lord Balsam will be residing at Bridgewater Park,” Philip stated once more. “We plan to establish a strong line of racers and hunters, he and I.”
Betsy gazed up at Lord Balsam once more. He was going to live at Bridgewater Park? No doubt there would be seemingly endless opportunities to be in his company, then. Surely she could put aside the acute embarrassment she felt over her initial misconception of his station in life.
Nevertheless, she would have to withstand repeated exposure to the gorgeous, gifted man. She hid her smile. What a confoundingly delightful development!
Chapter 2
Michael was surprised by the heat in Lady Elizabeth’s big blue eyes, his interest caught as he watched them darken to violet. He desired in that moment to grab her to him, to hold her tightly against himself as he plundered her soft, ripe mouth. Hell, he’d desired her from the moment he’d seen her in the stables. From the moment he’d caught the flowery scent of her. If he had to pinpoint the smell, it was one of wild violets.
She was a slender girl, yet curved in all the right places. Her thick hair was the same rich shade of chestnut as Gusty, and as her graceful hands had stroked over the horse’s flesh? He’d wanted them all over himself.
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