“One braid today, Ann,” Betsy told her maid. “I want to ride and I don’t wish to have pins flying.”
Ann nodded, happily bowing to her mistress’ wishes. Betsy smiled to herself as the girl ran a brush through her hair, pleased to finally have her waves loose from their pins. The maid plaited her hair simply and left her, wishing her a good day. Betsy, humming to herself, hurried down the stairs to find her mother waiting for her outside the parlor.
“Betsy, you are not going riding at this late hour, are you?”
“Oh yes, Mother,” she answered. “I’ll return in time for tea.”
Lady Bridgewater nodded, taking herself into the parlor. Betsy made her way to the stables, her mind racing with all she wished to say to Lord Balsam. Would he be happy to see her? He had seemed so at Ascot, at least when she’d first seen him. She reached the stables and entered, the familiar smells pleasing her to her toes. She quickly looked into several stalls, and was acutely disappointed when she didn’t find the viscount within.
She called out to the groom, thinking that at the very least she could ride about the grounds. The sedate horseback riding she had done in town left her sorely in need of a good hard ride. She wished to smell the clean air and feel the wind rushing through her hair. The groom saddled one of her favorite mounts and she rode out into the late afternoon sunshine.
Not too much later, Betsy turned her mount back toward the stables and reined her in. “Good girl!” she cried, patting the mare’s neck.
She reached out for the groom to assist her down, and was surprised as a strong hand gripped hers in a most familiar fashion. She turned to find herself eye to eye with the viscount.
“Lord Balsam!”
His grin sent sparks flying over her skin.
“Hello, Lady Elizabeth.” He assisted her down from her mount. “How does this day find you?”
“Very well,” she answered, a bit out of breath. “I had a marvelous ride.”
He chuckled. “I can see you had a vigorous ride.”
Betsy ran her hands over her hair, affecting its appearance little. “Yes, my braid is all but a memory.”
“I think you look quite fetching.”
“Lord Balsam, you flatter me.”
“Please,” he said. “Call me Michael.”
Betsy’s heart gave a happy thump. “Only if you will call me Betsy.”
“Betsy, then,” he said with a nod. “How have you been?”
“Very well,” she said. “I still cannot believe you and Gusty won at Ascot.”
“She’s a marvelous animal.”
His words brought their encounter at the Derby to mind. She looked up at him, one brow arched.
“But she’s most difficult, isn’t she?”
Michael blinked, then laughed as he apparently caught her jest.
“I believe I have her mastered,” he returned with a grin.
Their gazes locked, and his was so warm and welcoming. Suddenly, his expression turned shuttered and he turned his attention to her horse.
“And how did you leave London?” he asked, his tone cool.
“London is fine and will no doubt continue so.”
“And your fiancé?” he asked, waving the groom from the stall. “Is the good Earl of Templeton fine as well?”
“Yes.” Betsy fidgeted, uncomfortable with the topic. “He is quite well.”
Michael focused his attention on the saddle, his capable-looking hands tracing the intricate patterns in the leather.
“Interesting,” he muttered, “considering he is such an old gentleman.”
“What did you say?” Betsy asked, certain she hadn’t heard him correctly.
He raised his head to face her. “I merely stated my pleasure over the man’s health.”
Betsy stared up at him. “Michael?”
“I believe it’s nearly tea time, Betsy,” he cut in. “Surely your mother is waiting for you.”
“Well, yes,” she allowed. “Will you be joining us?”
“No, I’m afraid not,” he said curtly. “I have to see to matters here.”
Betsy tried to hide her disappointment. She turned to go, stopping to look back at him over her shoulder.
“Will I see you at dinner?” she asked.
After a long pause he nodded.
***
Michael watched Betsy walk lightly from the stables, allowing himself to revel in the obvious pleasure his answer had given her. Shaking his head, he returned to his tasks.
Dinner proved a trial on Michael’s sanity, however. Betsy looked stunning in a gown of ivory. He could hardly drag his eyes from her face though, watching her full lips as she spoke or sipped delicately from her glass of wine. Dessert was served, an assortment of delectable fruit tarts, and Betsy chose one of lemon. She bit into it gingerly, sighing with pleasure. Michael felt himself harden with desire at the provocative sound.
Shifting in his seat, he turned his attention to the earl and his wife. They told him that Philip and Maggie were due to return on the morrow, much to his great relief. With more people at table, he would have an easier time distracting himself from the enchantress.
Afterwards, Betsy very sweetly asked him to escort her to her room. He stared down at her for a long moment. Her big blue eyes beckoned, her lovely mouth curved in a most appealing smile. Cursing himself for a fool, he assented. She paused at the door to her chamber, gazing up at him in anticipation of what, he could well imagine.
“Dinner was most pleasant, was it not?” she asked.
“Yes,” he murmured, staring at her mouth.
“I believe I’ll go riding tomorrow,”
He raised his eyes to hers. “Perhaps we can ride together?”
“That would be lovely.”
He stared at her a moment longer. Unable to resist her lure, he bent toward her, breathing in deeply of her floral fragrance. Betsy gasped in surprise, closing her eyes instinctively. His lips brushed over hers. He cursed softly and pulled back. She gazed up at him, confusion etched on her face.
“Good night, Betsy,” Michael said, desire making his voice harsh.
She lowered her eyes. “Good night.”
Michael watched her enter her room, and relief flooded through him as she closed the door tight. He turned and strode down the hall to his guestroom, his hands in fists at his side. He’d very nearly kissed her, seized with the longing to taste those perfect lips. But, to what end? She was betrothed to another. The fact that the man was more than twice her age did little to lessen his guilt.
He stripped and stretched out on the big bed, his hands beneath his head. Staring up at the ceiling, he pictured her as she’d looked at dinner. Never a more stunning girl had he seen in his life. She was equally enchanting in the stables, with her hair all but falling free down her back. Lord, he wanted to feel her melt beneath him. To kiss her until all thoughts of her fiancé left her mind. Willing her from his thoughts, he buried his fist in his pillow and prayed for sleep to take him.
Michael was seated at the table in the breakfast room the next morning when Betsy arrived, a plate heaped with eggs and ham set in front of him. He looked up at her, a slow smile curving his lips.
“Good morning, Michael,” she said with a shy smile.
“Good morning,” he returned with a nod.
Michael eyed her appreciatively as she served herself from the sideboard. Betsy soon joined him at the table.
“You look quite fetching this morning, Betsy.”
She accepted his compliment with an incline of her head and poured herself a cup of tea. “I plan to ride Gusty this day.”
“Ah.” He lifted his own cup to his lips. “That was your ruse all along.”
She arched a graceful brow at him in question. He set his cup aside and stared at her. “You wish to ride with the trainer to get your delicate hands on the prize mare.”
Betsy laughed. “I’ve ridden her numerous times.”
“No more, my lady,” he said with a shak
e of his head. “She’s no longer for you.”
She shrugged her slight shoulders, smiling as she turned her attention to her meal. He couldn’t help but watch her. She was both lovely and quick-witted. An absolute delight. If matters were different with his finances, could he possibly court her?
Michael escorted her to the stables and instructed the groom to saddle their mounts. Betsy chose a spirited filly for her own mount, causing Michael to look at her askance. She must have seen his skepticism for she smiled and mounted her horse with little assistance. She flicked her skirts over her legs and turned to wait for him. He mounted his horse and glanced at her. She sat beautifully. With a wave of his hand, he allowed her to take the lead.
“After you.”
Betsy smiled cheekily at him and urged her horse to a canter. As she raced from the stables, he let out an exclamation of surprise. She bent low over her horse, unable to keep from giggling as the animal fairly ate up the ground. Michael caught her easily and the two of them took turns chasing each other over the beautiful grounds. When they returned to the stables, flushed and exhilarated, he assisted her down and bowed low.
“You have my sincere apologies, Betsy,” he said, catching his breath. “You are a most accomplished rider.”
She nodded vigorously. Michael waved the groom from the stable as he had the day before, seeing to the horses’ grooming himself. Betsy sat herself down on a nearby bale of hay. Quite a few strands of hair had come loose from her braid during their vigorous ride, and she attempted to bring them into order. He watched her out of the corner of his eye. She looked absolutely delightful to him with her cheeks rosy and her hair a cloud about her face. Their mood was so comfortable and relaxed that he sought to take the opportunity to learn more of her.
“How long have you been riding, Betsy?”
“Oh, Father likes to say I rode as soon as I could walk,” She grinned. “I was quite young.”
“And when did you begin to ride sidesaddle?”
Her sudden laughter caused him to raise a brow.
“That is really quite diverting,” she began in explanation. “When Maggie came to live with us after her mother died, she took up my instructions. I admit I was quite a handful.”
“I don’t doubt that.”
She stood and ran her hands over the horse. “I surely got a dose of my own medicine when it was Mary’s turn to learn.”
“Mary?” he asked. “Your quiet little sister?”
“Oh, she is almost thirteen years old and quite the little lady now,” she told him. “But she made the most terrible fuss when I took up her instruction.”
Michael chuckled at the image of Betsy dealing with a girl as mutinous as herself.
“Nevertheless,” she added with a nod, “I accomplished my goal and the girl rides quite properly now.”
He placed the saddles aside for the groom’s attention and sat down on the bale of hay she had vacated. He was content for the moment to watch her as she petted the horse, letting her lilting voice wash over him.
“I admit I do sometimes wonder how much better I would ride if I rode astride,” she mused aloud.
“But you ride splendidly,” he said. “Surely it would make no difference in your performance.”
“And yet, I long to ride astride,” She sighed. “To truly feel the horse beneath me. To control the animal with both my legs.”
Michael’s mouth went dry as he suddenly imagined her astride himself, her hair tumbling down over her back as she rode him, crying out his name as her climax took her.
“…Michael?” her voice reached him, snapping him out of his reverie.
He turned his head to find her regarding him closely, an expression of curiosity on her face. He blinked, reddening at the direction his thoughts had taken.
He walked to the other side of the stall. “I’ve heard Lord Templeton is due to arrive soon,”
“Yes. He should arrive in a few days, I imagine.”
Michael sought to learn the nature of their relationship, no matter how distasteful the subject was to him. He studied the wood planking lining the space as he gave voice to his curiosity.
“Does he please you, Betsy?” he had to know. “Are you quite fond of him?”
“I am fond of him, yes,” she said. “He’s taught me so much. Of the theater, of music and art. We’ve attended several lovely plays in town.”
She spoke of him as she would a favored uncle! Was there no passion in their relationship? Hope filled his breast. He turned to face her again.
“Has he kissed you?” he asked, his voice low.
Betsy blinked rapidly. “Yes.”
Her answer displeased him more than he would have imagined. He frowned and stepped closer to her.
“Did you enjoy his kisses?”
She reddened. “They were pleasant.”
“Pleasant?” Michael laughed harshly. “Kisses should be a sight more than pleasant.”
“I believe I’m capable of judging such matters.”
“No,” he stated. “You’re not.”
“W-what?” she asked, her eyes flashing. “How dare you say that?”
“You haven’t had a proper kiss,” he cut in, standing very close to her.
Betsy shook her head in obvious befuddlement. Suddenly, Michael grabbed her by her waist and pulled her hard against him. She gasped and placed her hands on his chest, her fingers splayed. He stared at her open mouth for a beat, finally crushing his mouth on hers. His kiss was anything but gentle.
She whimpered in pleasure as his tongue stroked hers. Running her fingers through his hair, she pressed herself to him.
Her response thrilled him, causing him to moan low in his throat. She tasted so sweet. Her body felt so right against his. When he finally pulled away, he was pleased to see she was as affected as he. Her eyes were closed and her breath came fast.
“That,” he rasped, “was a kiss.”
Betsy’s eyes fluttered open, darkened to violet. She stared up at him. “Indeed,” she whispered. “Kiss me again.”
Michael groaned, his eyes on her kiss-swollen lips. He lowered his head once more, his mouth hovering over hers. With an iron will, he pushed her from him.
“No,” he answered, his voice harsh. “You belong to another.”
Betsy clasped her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. “Forgive me,” she sobbed, shaking her head. “I’m so ashamed.”
Michael was alarmed by her upset. She was pale and tears coursed down her face.
“No, Betsy,” he said, reaching for her. “You don’t understand.”
With another heartrending sob, she streaked past him and quit the stable. He watched her go, guilt slashing through him.
“Bloody hell,” he cursed, slamming his fist against the wall.
Chapter 4
Betsy kept her eyes downcast through dinner, reluctant to see the anger she’d glimpsed in Michael’s eyes that morning. She’d successfully avoided his company until this late hour, keeping to the parlor to work on her needlepoint. Maggie had joined her and rightly sensed her upset. Betsy had maintained her pretense of contentment however, refusing Maggie’s offer of a sympathetic ear. After dinner, when the gentlemen and ladies separated, her sister once more made her entreaty. They sat close together on a settee near the fireplace.
“Betsy,” Maggie said while Lady Bridgewater rang for the sherry. “Something’s troubling you, isn’t it?”
Betsy started to shake her head, finally giving a tiny nod.
“Is it something you wish to discuss?” Maggie asked.
“Oh, Maggie,” Betsy returned in a whisper. “I’m so frightened.”
“Frightened? Of what?”
Betsy leaned closer to her sister. “I’m afraid I’ve made a terrible mistake,” she said tearfully, wringing her hands. “It’s my nature.”
“Your nature?” Maggie repeated. “What on earth are you talking about?”
Betsy froze as her mother joined them near the fireplace.
With a meaningful glance at her sister, she willed her to be silent.
“Lord Templeton arrives two days hence, Betsy,” her mother said. “I do hope you will carry yourself like a proper young lady.”
“Yes, Mother,” Betsy answered softly. “I shall.”
“We’ll need to speak of the nuptials,” her mother went on. “There are many plans to be made.”
Betsy nodded, nibbling on her lower lip. She glanced at Maggie again, seeing the concern clear in her eyes.
“Yes, Mother,” she said again, her voice flat.
Lady Bridgewater began to enumerate the many things they would need to attend to if the wedding was to take place in a few months’ time. Betsy simply nodded her head, letting her mother’s voice wash over her.
Betsy looked up as Michael entered the parlor sometime later, and couldn’t keep a smile from her lips. He smiled crookedly in return, causing her to drop her gaze to her hands in her lap, but not before she caught Maggie’s eye. Her sister wore her enlightenment on her face, causing Betsy to redden. When she finally raised her head again, she found Philip grinning in her direction. She stood suddenly, running her hands over her skirt.
“I believe I’m quite done in,” she said lightly. “If you will excuse me, Mother. Father.”
“Good night, dear,” the earl said with a smile.
Lady Bridgewater bade her good night, swiftly making Maggie the recipient of her recitation of wedding plans. With a curtsy, Betsy turned to leave the room. Michael waylaid her at the door.
“May I escort you to your room, Betsy?” he offered with a bow.
Betsy’s eyes widened. Was it really wise to be alone with him again? But after a quick glance around the room convinced her no one was paying them undue attention, she agreed. Grinning, Michael gave her his arm and led her up the stairs.
They paused at the door to her chamber, and Betsy was overwhelmed with all of the feelings she’d been keeping inside this evening. Hot tears spilled over her lashes and she turned to face him fully.
“Betsy, what’s wrong?”
The Viscount's Vixen Page 3
