The Viscount's Vixen

by JoMarie DeGioia

  He reined in the inappropriate response. If he stared at her full lips a moment longer, he would do precisely what his body was aching to do.

  He was most pleased to learn she would be returning to the estate in Somersetshire at the end of the Season, just a few weeks hence. He wished to learn more of the spirited beauty. Philip’s next words dashed his hopes to the rutted track beneath his feet.

  “We’ll soon have much celebrating to do, if Lord and Lady Bridgewater are to be taken at their word,” Philip said.

  “Yes,” Maggie nodded. “It appears Betsy has attracted the notice of a very eligible gentleman in town, Lord Balsam. She’s betrothed to Lord Templeton.”

  Michael’s stomach clenched. How could any man not wish to possess her? Her remarkable beauty was only enhanced by what he sensed was a strong stubborn streak, if their encounter in the stables was any indication. Damn it, he was in no position to make any sort of offer, let alone one that would lead to a betrothal. Now it seemed he wouldn’t even be given the chance to get to know her better.

  “I hadn’t realized all knew of the betrothal,” the girl rushed out.

  “But all is settled,” Maggie said. “Isn’t it?”

  “Don’t you wish for the match, Betsy?” Philip asked.

  “I…,” Lady Elizabeth began.

  Michael stared hard at her, suddenly very keen on hearing her answer. Her smooth cheeks reddened, and her sister seemed to pick up on her discomfort.

  “Why don’t we rejoin Lord and Lady Bridgewater while Lord Balsam sees to the horse, husband?”

  Michael took the escape offered. He bowed once more and led the horse from them. Lady Elizabeth Bridgewater was out of his reach, in more ways than one. The sooner he accepted his momentary infatuation for what it was, the better for all parties concerned.

  A fortnight later, Michael put Gusty through her paces at Bridgewater Park. He planned to race her again at Ascot, hoping to best her showing at the Derby. He rode her hard over the grounds, pushing himself as well as the animal. He rode back to the stables. Satisfied, he dismounted with a grin. He patted the horse soundly, generously doling praise on the animal.

  As his fingers brushed through the horse’s silky mane, his thoughts immediately filled with Lady Elizabeth’s image. He remembered her gentle, loving treatment of the horse and smiled. He also recalled her irritated response toward himself. That caused his grin to widen. Her stubbornness was a trait that attracted him as much as her lovely face and pleasing figure. Apparently she spoke her mind, almost to her own misfortune if her expressive features could be believed. She was like a vixen, beautiful but sharp. And even the memory of her drew him as surely as the vixen drew the hounds at a hunt.

  When he’d nearly kissed her, he’d seen the heat in her blue eyes. And later, when they’d met on the track? He lost his smile as he recalled the intense desire that flared through him as she had gazed up at him. He’d wanted to pull her to him and kiss her until she could think of nothing else but him.

  He’d learned from Philip that she was expected to accept Lord Templeton’s offer of marriage before the Season drew to a close. That thought caused him much discomfort. He couldn’t bear the thought of her sharing another man’s bed, even if that man was her lawful husband. He wanted her for his own. Although he had yet to sample her charms, he knew without a doubt the two of them would be a spectacular match. There was fire smoldering not far beneath her surface. And Lord, it would be his intense pleasure to bring it forth.

  Michael turned his thoughts to the coming race at Ascot. Betsy would be in attendance, surely. He was eager to see if the woman truly matched the image he’d carried around in his mind these past weeks. She so plagued his thoughts that he went to sleep on more than one occasion fairly aching with need. Also more than once, he was forced to go into the neighboring town of Bridgewater and see to his needs, pounding out his lust between the legs of a willing and well-paid serving maid. The encounters left him wanting so much more than simple physical release, though.

  Irritated at the direction in which his thoughts were leading, he returned his attentions to the mare.

  ***

  Betsy paced across the fine oriental carpet in the parlor of her parents’ townhouse in London. Lord Templeton was sure to call on her that afternoon, and she was quite uncertain of what she would say to him. She had yet to speak to Maggie about her confusion over the prospect of her betrothal. She well knew the reason for her preoccupation. Viscount Balsam. Michael Reed.

  Two weeks had passed since the Derby, and in that time she couldn’t get the image of him out of her mind. He filled her dreams while she slept and her thoughts upon waking. She’d learned through a series of well-chosen questions put to the proper persons that he didn’t attend the functions in London with any regularity, which explained why she’d never made his acquaintance before. She felt tremendous guilt over what she deemed impure thoughts while at the same time wishing he would kiss her until she could think of nothing else.

  Her father and mother pressed her for an answer daily, with Lady Bridgewater all but demanding she accept Lord Templeton’s offer of marriage. He was quite wealthy, Betsy’s mother told her, and considered the catch of the Season. Betsy wasn’t quite as certain as her mother was. While she enjoyed the man’s company, she felt no physical attraction to him. None of this had plagued her before making the acquaintance of a certain dark-haired gentleman.

  She’d always been quite comfortable in Lord Templeton’s company before the Derby. She flicked a thick curl over her shoulder in a show of irritation. She wore her hair in a simple but pretty style, upswept to her crown with ample curls trailing down her neck and at her cheeks. She lifted a curl at her cheek and fingered it absently as her mind drifted back to the handsome young viscount. What was he doing at this very moment? The butler’s voice broke through her reverie.

  “Lord Templeton is calling, my lady,” he said with a bow.

  Betsy started and turned to the doorway. In walked Lord Templeton, impeccably dressed in formal black.

  “Elizabeth, my dear,” the man enthused, coming to stand before her. “How lovely you look this day.”

  “Hello, Lord Templeton,” Betsy returned with a friendly smile.

  Templeton, a tall and handsome man with brown hair, sat beside her on the settee. He took her hand in his.

  “I missed you at the Collins’ last evening, my dear,” he said, referring to a dinner party to which Betsy had been invited to attend.

  She’d avoided attending the function, preferring to ponder her thoughts alone. Her parents had attended of course, as most of the party consisted of their contemporaries.

  “I was a bit tired, I’m afraid,” she said in half-truth.

  He waved his hand. “I enjoyed talking with your parents.” His blue eyes sparkled. “It appears you and I have much to discuss.”

  Betsy felt her heart pound. As if to confirm her fears, he broached the subject she’d been successfully avoiding until now.

  “Elizabeth,” he said, bringing her hand to his lips. “Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  Betsy stared at him, seeing the affection clear in his eyes. She felt a fondness for him, but no passion. He would be good for her, perhaps. There would be no arguments. No heated longing making her mad. Perhaps it was time for her to calm what her mother termed her wild streak.

  “Lord Templeton, I don’t know if we suit.”

  “Elizabeth, I can give you so much. We will travel. We will entertain. We will have the very best of everything. I want to take care of you.”

  Betsy stared at him, hearing not the words he was saying but the affection in his tone. She couldn’t deny the lure of being cherished. She would be the proper young lady her mother was always instructing her to be, as well. Perhaps then her wicked thoughts would no longer plague her.

  “Yes, Lord Templeton,” she said softly. “If you wish it.”

  A dark smile of victory spread across his face,
startling her. Just as quickly it was gone, replaced by the benevolent gaze he always seemed to wear in her company.

  “Ah, Elizabeth,” he said, bringing his lips to hers.

  Betsy closed her eyes in anticipation of her first kiss. She froze as he kissed her with dry lips. The kiss was over in an instant and she felt acute disappointment. Perhaps that is what a kiss felt like. Although she imagined Lord Balsam’s kisses would be anything but disappointing. Guilt slashed through her at the thought of another man.

  Lord Templeton ran his fingers over her hair. “Your hair is lovely, Elizabeth.” He frowned slightly. “However, I do believe these loose curls detract from the image I would expect a proper young lady to project.”

  Betsy’s hands flew to her hair, feeling embarrassment at the lustrous curls for the very first time in her life.

  “Do not fret, my dear,” he said, patting her hand. “We shall remedy such things in the future, yes?”

  Betsy nodded, blinking in confusion.

  “You are the future Countess of Templeton, my dear,” he said. “You must project a certain propriety at all times.”

  “Yes, Lord Templeton.”

  He gave a firm nod and stood. “Shall we have tea?”

  Betsy set aside the whisper of misgivings and poured the tea.

  Two weeks later Betsy readied for the races at Ascot, the familiar tingle of anticipation coursing through her. She so loved the races, but she was certain to see Lord Balsam, too. She chose to ignore the guilt that threatened her at such thoughts. He was merely a friend, wasn’t he? Or, he was Philip’s friend. And if they had occasion to speak to one another, what was the harm? She was betrothed to another, her mind whispered. She shook her head at her folly and completed her preparations.

  When she went downstairs to the parlor, she saw Lord Templeton had arrived. He stood near the mantle in conversation with her parents. Betsy entered the room and stood still, awaiting for his approval at her dress. She wore a beautiful day dress of green silk, the pale color well suited to her fair skin. It was modest in cut, but nonetheless hugged her curves.

  She straightened her shoulders and clasped her hands on front of herself. Lord Templeton had told her on numerous occasions since the betrothal that she should carry herself regally. That she shouldn’t sway provocatively when she walked or laugh so easily. A small smile and incline of her head was all needed to show she was having a pleasant time, he’d assured her. Keeping all his instructions in mind, she took careful steps into the room.

  “Hello, Lord Templeton,” she said softly.

  “Elizabeth.” He bowed to her. “You are the very picture of grace and beauty this day.”

  She was relieved that he found her appearance acceptable. A tiny voice in her mind told her she was being foolish. That she should dress for her own pleasure and not for his approval. She shook her head and crossed to him, permitting him to take her hand. He brushed cool lips over her skin.

  “Are you ready for the excitement of the races, my dear?” he asked her.

  “Oh, yes!” She brightened. “I cannot wait to see the magnificent creatures streaking across the track.”

  He clicked his tongue at her. “My wild one.” He shook his head. “Do not say such things at Ascot, my dear.”

  Betsy’s mouth gaped and her gaze flew to her mother’s. At Lady Bridgewater’s swift nod of approval, she looked to her father. The earl wore a thoughtful look on his face before finally smiling at Betsy.

  “Let us be off,” her father said, taking her mother’s elbow.

  Betsy permitted Lord Templeton to lead her to the waiting carriage. By the time they arrived in Ascot, she felt as though she would burst. The strain of saying the correct thing at all times combined with keeping her excitement over the races inside of her had given her a slight headache.

  She was most pleased to find the grounds at Ascot far less crowded than those at the Derby had been. The four of them soon joined Philip and Maggie. Philip congratulated the couple on their recent betrothal as Maggie eyed Betsy closely. Betsy sensed her sister’s close regard and managed a smile.

  “Betsy,” Maggie began, “is something troubling you?”

  Betsy couldn’t put into words the strangeness she was feeling. How could she? She was betrothed to a fine gentleman and yet she couldn’t stop thinking of another. She forced her smile to widen as she gazed at Maggie.

  “Oh no, Maggie,” Betsy said. “I’m quite pleased to be taking in the races with both of you.”

  Maggie arched a brow at her stilted answer. Philip sensed something in her demeanor as well, judging from his furrowed brow. Betsy turned from them, focusing her attention on the stables visible from their vantage point. Was Lord Balsam inside? She pictured him in her mind’s eye as he had been at the Derby: slightly rumpled and wholly enchanting. Lord Templeton’s voice reached her, causing her to jump.

  “Who is that riding your mare, Wilton?” he asked Philip.

  “Lord Balsam,” Philip answered. “I’ve never seen one so gifted in matters of horseflesh, titled or common.”

  “Balsam,” Templeton repeated, his voice low.

  Betsy’s heart pounded as she watched Lord Balsam take his place beside the others. The starter pistol sounded and they were off and running. Lord Balsam and Gusty streaked past them, causing Betsy to join her voice to the shouts of excitement around her.

  “Elizabeth, do calm yourself,” Lord Templeton admonished.

  Betsy could feel her cheeks flaming at the reprimand and dropped her eyes. When she finally raised them, the race was nearly finished. As she watched, Gusty raced across the finish line. She won! Betsy hugged Maggie and Philip as she cheered without restraint. She caught sight of Lord Templeton’s frown then and attempted to rein in her joy, fairly shaking with the effort.

  “Come join us in the winner’s circle, Betsy!” Maggie cried, tugging on Betsy’s hand.

  “Oh yes!”

  “I think not,” Lord Templeton cut in. “Elizabeth has had enough excitement for one afternoon.”

  Philip and Maggie both stared at the man in obvious disbelief. When Maggie opened her mouth, no doubt to berate the man, Philip grabbed her arm and fairly pulled her from him.

  “Come, love,” he said. “Betsy will join us later.”

  Maggie and Philip left to congratulate Lord Balsam on his fabulous win, leaving a wilted Betsy standing beside her betrothed.

  ***

  Michael dismounted and praised Gusty for her performance. He looked up to find Lord and Lady Wilton coming toward him. He quickly searched for Betsy, feeling acute disappointment when he found her absent from the party.

  “Balsam, old man!” Philip shouted. “Well done, well done!”

  “That was wonderful, Lord Balsam,” Maggie said. “We were all so thrilled. Betsy was fairly shaking with excitement.”

  “Betsy?” Michael rushed out, his eyes scanning the crowd once more. “Lady Elizabeth is here?”

  Maggie nodded. “She remains in our box with Lord Templeton and her parents.”

  Michael heard little of her answer, for his eyes had settled on the girl in question. She looked absolutely lovely. Their eyes met and his breath caught. He flashed her a smile, which she promptly returned with one of her own. All else faded from view as he left the horse to a groom and strode toward the box.

  “Lord Balsam, that was wonderful!” Betsy cried when he reached her. “Gusty looked marvelous.”

  Michael grinned at her enthusiasm. He noticed the older gentleman beside her then and introduced himself.

  “Lord Templeton,” the older man returned with a nod of his head. “And you would be Wilton’s trainer, I presume?”

  Michael nodded, his brow furrowed in confusion. This old man was Betsy’s intended? Nonsense. When he returned his gaze to Betsy, he noted the change in her immediately. She stood ramrod stiff, her face fixed in a weak smile. He nodded curtly to Lord Templeton and turned to Betsy again, intent on brightening her spirits.

&nb
sp; “You enjoyed the race, I take it?” he teased her.

  “Very much so,” she said, restraint in her voice.

  Before Michael could fully break the shell around her, Lord and Lady Bridgewater joined the conversation. Michael noted with disdain that Betsy’s gentleman gripped her elbow in an obvious show of possession. He excused himself from them and returned to the stables.

  He couldn’t stand the sight of the man’s hand pressed to her flawless skin.

  Chapter 3

  Weeks passed, bringing the end of the Season on the twelfth of August. Betsy sat in her parents’ carriage as it made its way toward Somersetshire, her mind blessedly freed from tensions of the previous few weeks. Lord Templeton had bade her farewell the previous evening, leaving her with both a kiss and a promise to come to Somersetshire shortly. Guilt threatened even as she reveled in the knowledge she would no longer have to constantly monitor her actions and her dress.

  She was fond of Lord Templeton, despite his seemingly constant admonitions to her. But she was unable to rid her mind of the one man whose image caused her heart to flutter. Consequently, the more she thought of Lord Balsam, the more she regretted accepting the earl’s proposal.

  She’d sought to put the handsome viscount out of her mind as Lord Templeton escorted her to the theater and the like. And when the earl kissed her goodnight, she attempted to feel the passion she believed should be present. It was all to no avail. She straightened suddenly, her eyes widening as Bridgewater Park came into view outside the carriage window. Any further thoughts of her betrothed fled her mind as she spied her family’s estate. The glimpse of the magnificent grounds and stables put her in mind of one person: Lord Balsam.

  The carriage rolled to a stop on the long drive. Leaving her parents to follow, Betsy alighted the vehicle and fairly flew up the steps to the entryway. She absently greeted the servants in the foyer, ran up to her room, and her maid quickly assisted her into her riding habit. The outfit Betsy chose this day consisted of a light blue skirt topped with a matching spencer. The little jacket reached just to her narrow waist, accentuating her figure. She had little inclination to wear her hair in the manner to which Lord Templeton and her mother dictated.