“Forgive me, but I don’t know to what you are referring.”
“Why, my good man,” Templeton went on. “You escorted her to her room in my absence, did you not?”
Michael gave a curt nod at the man’s words. Why the devil was Templeton goading him? Betsy breathed an audible sigh of relief, her eyes flying beseechingly to Maggie’s. Her sister apparently took her cue and turned the topic of conversation to the races to be held in the nearby counties in the coming weeks. Philip warmed to the topic as well, drawing Lord and Lady Bridgewater into the conversation.
Michael added little to the conversation, his mind working. He would win her from the old man. Never again would he see the look of utter shame he’d glimpsed on Betsy’s face. No doubt she too had thought the man privy to what had transpired in the stables. Templeton had simply been baiting him, then. But, why?
When Templeton escorted Betsy from the room as the hour grew late, Michael could only hope the man would keep his insinuations to himself and cause her no more distress that evening.
***
The next morning, Betsy awoke with determination in her breast. When Lord Templeton had escorted her to her chamber last evening, he had once more pressed closely to her, and alluded to the marriage bed.
Never again would he say such things to her or touch her in such a familiar fashion. She rang for Ann and dressed quickly. She hurried down to her father’s study, most relieved when she found him within.
“Betsy,” he said with surprise, coming swiftly to his feet. “What on earth could you want with me at this early hour? Have you eaten?”
“No.”
Betsy began to wring her hands, causing her father to wrinkle his brow in confusion.
“I believe Lord Templeton is anticipating your joining him in the breakfast room, daughter.”
The mere mention of the man’s name strengthened her determination. She closed the door and faced her father.
“Father,” she said, straightening her shoulders. “I cannot marry Lord Templeton.”
Her father’s eyes grew round at her declaration. “But, I don’t understand. I believed you were pleased with the match. You seemed so in London.”
Betsy sighed and sat herself in the chair facing his desk.
“I admit I was content with my decision in London, yes,” she said. “I realize now, after spending quite a bit of time in his company, that we will not suit.”
Lord Bridgewater rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Betsy,” he said leaning down to take her hand. “Does this have anything to do with a certain young gentleman residing here with us?”
Betsy’s face flushed hot. She read the enlightenment in her father’s countenance and gave a quick shake of her head.
“I assure you, Father, Michael plays no part in my decision this day.”
After studying her for a moment longer, her father let the matter drop.
“Pray, tell me precisely why you wish to end your betrothal.”
Betsy’s composure threatened to desert her. She sniffled, her hands twisting her skirt.
“I cannot abide Lord Templeton, Father,” she said tearfully. “He wishes to change me. To make me something I’m not.”
“He is much older than you are, child,” her father said. “Surely his expectations of marriage would differ from yours.”
Her mind raced with Templeton’s distasteful comments of the evening past, causing her to cringe.
“His expectations are not what trouble me,” she said. “I don’t love him.”
The earl studied her for a long moment, finally giving her a slow nod.
“If you don’t wish to marry him, Betsy, I won’t force the match,” he said with a comforting smile.
Betsy flew into his arms in the next moment.
“Oh, Father!” she exclaimed, hugging him tightly. “Thank you!”
He chuckled at her exuberance, and then pulled back to pat her cheek. That matter seen to, another soon pressed into her mind.
“Why are you frowning, daughter?”
“What will Mother say?” she asked in a whisper.
He smiled again. “Leave your mother to me, child,” he told her. “I won’t have a daughter of mine marry someone she doesn’t love.”
“I don’t even like him,” she could not help but add.
Her father laughed, shaking his head at her.
Just before luncheon, a knock came to Betsy’s door. She’d just dismissed Ann and was eager to go belowstairs and join her family, certain she would never have to see Lord Templeton again.
“Come in,” she called.
Templeton opened her door and entered. “I wish to speak with you, Elizabeth,” he said, closing the door.
She turned sharply toward him. “Lord Templeton!”
He ran his eyes over her, finally forcing a condescending smile to curve his mouth.
“I’m sorry if I disturbed you,” he said with an incline of his head.
Her heart raced. While she’d suspected she would have to speak to him eventually, she’d hoped to delay their meeting until well after their engagement was broken.
She raised her chin, steeling herself for the distasteful exchange. “It’s quite all right. I trust you’ve spoken to my father?”
“Yes, my dear.” He stepped closer. “I’ll be leaving the estate directly and wished only to bid you farewell.”
Betsy gazed up at him, at the benevolence and good will evident on his face. She consciously chose to put aside all the distasteful comments he’d made to her in the past few weeks and viewed him once more as a favored acquaintance. A small smile curved her lips.
“I hope you aren’t upset with me,” she said softly.
“Upset?” He clicked his tongue. “I assure you, my dear Elizabeth, I have only your best interests at heart. If you feel we aren’t meant to be together,” he paused, his voice thick with emotion, “at this particular time,” he added, “I shall abide by your wishes.”
He reached out to touch the loose tendrils at her cheeks. “I wonder if perhaps you aren’t correct in your assumptions, my dear.”
Betsy blinked up at him. “I don’t understand.”
“Perhaps you and I do not suit.” He patted her cheek and dropped his hand from her. “I do hope, however, you will still think of me as a friend?”
Betsy breathed a sigh of relief. “Or course.”
“I shall be off, then,” he said with a nod. “If you are ever in need of anything, Elizabeth, I beseech you to contact me directly.”
Betsy couldn’t imagine what on earth she would ever need from the man in the future, but thought to ease his mind with an acceptance of his offer. He kissed her hand, bowed gallantly and strode from the room. She closed her eyes, feeling guilt mix with the incredible relief she felt over the matter’s smooth resolution.
Chapter 10
Michael stood before the mirror in his guest chamber, readying for dinner. He topped his black breeches with a waistcoat of deep blue, the color immediately bringing Betsy’s eyes to his mind. Sighing irritably, he shrugged into his gray jacket and straightened his cravat. He raked his fingers through his hair and studied his reflection.
Despite his having successfully avoided Betsy’s company for the day, her image nonetheless plagued him. He had the great misfortune of taking his breakfast with Lord Templeton, barely restraining his ire as the odious man alluded to his “splendid” match with Betsy. Well-matched, indeed? She was his, damn it to hell!
He turned sharply from the mirror and paced about the chamber. How the devil would he ever wrest her from the man?
He ceased his pacing and reached into his pocket. He withdrew Betsy’s velvet ribbon, bringing it to his lips. Closing his eyes, he envisioned her as she’d looked in the stables. Tousled and well loved. There was no doubt in his mind Betsy would again be his, body and soul. If that meant dallying with a married woman, so be it. No. Even as the thought entered his mind he knew he could never treat her so abominably. He would si
mply have to make certain her marriage to Templeton never took place.
The terrible words he’d said to her a few evenings past came back to him. Would she even have him after his horrid behavior? He tucked the piece of velvet into his pocket. Having had his fill of such thoughts at last, he ran his fingers through his hair once more and left the chamber, bound for the parlor to await the dinner bell.
Betsy looked up from where she sat beside Maggie on the settee as he entered. Their eyes met for a brief moment. He nodded curtly at her and strode to the window to join Philip and Lord Bridgewater. Betsy quickly averted her eyes, sighing softly.
“I trust you are well this evening, Betsy?” Lady Bridgewater asked her daughter in a clipped tone.
“Yes, Mother,” Betsy answered. “How are you?”
The older woman’s lips pursed as she shot a glance at her husband. At Lord Bridgewater’s answering scowl, she managed a weak smile in Betsy’s direction.
“Very well,” she said. “I promised your father I would not berate you this evening, child. But, I wish to speak to you in the morning.”
Betsy gazed at her father, gratitude clear on her face. At his benevolent smile, she looked back at her mother.
“Yes, Mother,” she said softly. “We’ll speak of it in the morning.”
The ladies swiftly turned their discussion to more mundane topics, to Betsy’s great relief.
Michael listened to the ladies’ exchange from his vantage point across the room. Their words’ meaning escaped him, but Betsy looked strained, her delicate hands clasped tightly in her lap. He found that surprising, as he’d been quick to take note of the Earl of Templeton’s blessed absence. Did she miss the gentleman so acutely? Could it be she now reveled in the man’s constant admonitions to her every action? He was grateful when the dinner bell sounded, for once quite pleased to allow the formalities of the evening ritual to occupy his mind.
After dinner, when the gentlemen had separated from the ladies, Michael made mention of Lord Templeton to Philip, able to restrain his curiosity no longer.
“Where is Templeton, Wilton?” he asked, managing to keep his voice even. “I assume the esteemed earl had more business to which to attend?”
Philip looked at him askance. “No.” He handed Michael a glass of brandy. “After the events of this morning, I would have been surprised had he remained at Bridgewater Park.”
Michael blinked at him. “What?”
Philip suddenly laughed, drawing the attention of Betsy’s father.
“What do you find so amusing, Philip?” the earl asked.
Philip bit back his laughter. Michael scowled at him, anger threatening to replace his confusion.
“Wilton, what are you saying?”
“I never thought you obtuse, Balsam,” Philip teased.
Michael looked from him to Lord Bridgewater, confounded.
The earl shook his head. “I assume you are unaware of the events of this morning, Balsam,” Lord Bridgewater said. “My daughter’s betrothal has been set aside.”
Michael’s throat tightened at the man’s words. It couldn’t be. It was his fondest wish. He set his glass aside and faced Betsy’s father.
“I,” Michael began, his voice thick. He cleared his throat. “I had indeed been unaware of that, sir,” he said to the earl. “How is Betsy faring, may I ask?”
He didn’t miss the look of speculation exchanged between Philip and the earl, and worried over Betsy’s condition.
“Quite well, I believe,” the earl said in answer. “It was upon her insistence the engagement was broken.”
Michael felt his heart soar at the man’s words. She would be his! He sobered in the next moment as the reality of his financial situation struck him. Surely the earl would want another suitor to come forward to offer for Betsy now she was unattached once again. A gentlemen whose financial standing was commensurate to Templeton’s, no doubt. He, Michael, was certainly not that. He looked up to find both Philip and the earl staring at him in the strangest manner. He bristled under their close scrutiny.
“If you gentlemen will excuse me,” he said coolly. “I have need to see to some matters in the stables.”
“Balsam,” Philip began. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Good night,” Michael said with a bow.
He left the study, bound for his office in the stables. He sat behind the desk, his head held in his hands. Betsy’s freedom from her entanglement gave him pause. While he took great solace that the Earl of Templeton would never place his hands upon her silken skin again, he couldn’t help but feel torn. He wished to go to her directly. To confess his true feelings for her. What, precisely, were those feelings?
She was a plague on his mind. The angel who haunted his dreams. The clever vixen who challenged him. He couldn’t bear the thought of going on without her in his life. She was sweet and kind. Charming and exasperating. He needed her. He might even love her.
He reviewed his comments of a few evenings past and knew them to be false. Regret was the very last emotion he could attribute to their passion in the stables. When he had taken her, when she had sweetly surrendered herself to him, he’d been shaken to the core. Never before had he felt such a connection with a woman. From the moment he’d seen her at the Derby, he’d been drawn to her. And now that she was free from any other attachments, he had little notion of how he could pursue her. He was unworthy of her.
Anger suddenly filled him. If it wasn’t for the bloody mess in his father’s finances, he would be able to pursue her.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered.
***
Betsy stretched out on her bed, her eyes fixed on a small blue flower in the wallpaper adorning the wall opposite. When Philip and her father had rejoined the ladies that evening, she had sorely felt Michael’s absence. Was it such a trial upon him to be in her company? No. Surely he loved her. Their passion was certainly the result of such incredible emotions, was it not?
She knew without a doubt that she loved him. She certainly wanted none other but him. She’d set aside her engagement to Lord Templeton, and knew that even if Michael did not offer for her she would wed no other. They were truly made for each other. Was the man so stubborn as to miss what was before him?
“That’s of no consequence,” she said in quiet determination.
Betsy rose from the bed and quickly donned her wrapper. She belted the ruffled garment tightly about her waist and left her chamber on silent footsteps, bound for the guest chambers.
Before her resolve could desert her, she rapped on his door. She heard rustling from within, and a few moments later the door opened. Oh, he looked incredible. He wore only his breeches, and they were unfastened. Her body flushed as she longed to pressed herself against him.
He blinked at her, running a hand through his tousled waves. “Betsy, what the devil are you doing here?”
Betsy smiled shakily up at him. She stepped into the room and stood still, her hands clasped in front of her.
“I wish to speak with you, Michael,” she said softly.
He stared at her for a beat, and then shook his head as if to clear it. “You can’t be found here,” he said firmly. “You must return to your room.”
“I had to see you.” She closed the door. “Please don’t send me away.”
He studied her for a long moment, and then held his arms open wide. Betsy rushed into his embrace, pressing her cheek against his bare chest. Michael held her close, running his hands over her hair, her back. She cuddled closer, reveling in his tender caress.
“Oh, Michael. I love you.”
Michael froze at her words. He gently grasped her shoulders and held her from him. “What did you say?”
She gazed up at him. “I love you,” she said again.
His mouth gaped open in shock. He looked away, unable to meet her gaze. “You’re mistaken,” he said, his brow furrowed.
She tried without success to catch his eye, to read his emotions.
&n
bsp; “I love you, Michael.”
He stared at her then, hard. “We made love, Betsy,” he said. “That is passion. Lust.”
She shook her head again as tears welled in her eyes. “No!” she cried. “I know that you love me!”
Michael turned from her, apparently unwilling to surrender himself to such an emotion. Betsy ran her eyes over his splendid form. His hands were clenched in fists at his sides, his long legs braced apart. She placed her hands on his rigid back, gently caressing him. She heard a ragged sigh escape his lips as the tension began to leave the taut muscles beneath her fingertips.
“Tell me, Michael,” she whispered, placing light kisses on his smooth skin. “Tell me you love me.”
He finally turned to face her. She gasped at the confusion and anguish etched on his face.
“Betsy,” he whispered, taking her hands in his. “What I feel for you, I can’t express.”
The tenderness in his dark and beautiful eyes was all the answer she needed.
“You love me,” she stated again, her lips curved in a small smile. “Please let me stay here with you?”
Michael reached for the belt of her wrapper, toying with the knot. “You should return to your room, love,” he said with little conviction.
At Betsy’s insistent shake of her head, he slowly untied the belt. He let the garment fall to the floor, his eyes running hungrily over her. When he gazed upon her face, her knees nearly buckled at the passion in his dark and beautiful eyes.
“My God,” he rasped. “You are incredible.”
He pulled her to him, placing his lips on hers. Her mouth opened beneath his, silently begging him to deepen the kiss. He obliged her, groaning softly in his throat. His hands roamed over her as she pressed closely to him. His lips left hers to trail over her throat and she let her head fall back, sighing with pleasure.
“Love me, Michael,” she breathed, her eyes closed tight.
“Ah, Betsy love,” he rasped. “I shall.”
Michael caressed her through her thin gown, and then eased it off of her shoulders to join the wrapper on the floor. Sweeping her up into his arms, he carried her to his bed and set her upon it. He straightened, reaching for the waistband of his breeches. She stared at that intriguing part of him and drew in a breath.
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