The Viscount's Vixen

by JoMarie DeGioia

  “Hello, love,” Michael whispered in her ear.

  Betsy turned and found him beaming a smile down at her. She was nearly giddy with relief and bit her lower lip to keep a giggle from bubbling out of her.

  “Michael.”

  He took her hand and escorted her further into the room. Her father crossed to the couple and placed his hand on Michael’s shoulder.

  “Balsam,” he began. “I believe I can guess my daughter’s answer to your query.”

  “Yes, sir.” Michael nodded. “She has given me her consent.”

  At his words, Maggie jumped off the settee and wrapped Betsy in a tight embrace. Philip took quick strides to where they stood and clapped Michael on the shoulder.

  “Well done, Balsam,” he said. “Well done.”

  Michael, reddening a bit in embarrassment, led Betsy toward her mother and bade her to sit. Betsy did so and clutched her hands in her lap, her nervousness threatening to make its reappearance. She happened a glance at her mother across from her, waiting for the woman to say something, to indicate her feelings on the matter.

  “Mother,” she began. “You haven’t given voice to your thoughts.”

  Lady Bridgewater took a measuring glance at Michael and nodded curtly. She looked back at Betsy.

  “I believe you have your sister’s penchant for surprising me,” she said with a small smile.

  Philip laughed out loud, causing Michael to raise a brow.

  “Tell me the story, Wilton.”

  Lady Bridgewater held up one hand to quiet Philip. She then told Michael of Maggie’s previous betrothal, and of her own great surprise when she learned Maggie had accepted Philip’s offer of marriage and not that of the man Lady Bridgewater had chosen for her.

  “I do hope Mary will take care of her mother’s nerves when her time comes,” Lady Bridgewater finished with a dramatic sigh.

  Betsy bit her lower lip again, quite certain Mary would be as determined in her choice as the earl’s other two daughters. Michael sat beside her then, as close as was proper. He reached for her hand, grasping it in his own.

  “When will the wedding take place, Lord Balsam?” Maggie asked Michael, drawing Betsy’s attention from him at last.

  Michael looked to Betsy for an answer and she gave a shrug.

  “Perhaps we should have the ceremony in January,” Lady Bridgewater suggested.

  “No!” Betsy and Michael said at once.

  Lady Bridgewater arched a graceful brow at her daughter. Betsy blushed hotly and lowered her eyes to lap. Michael smiled graciously at Lady Bridgewater.

  “I cannot bear the thought of waiting for months to make Betsy my wife,” he said. “Perhaps you can find it possible to complete the preparations within a fortnight or two?”

  Her mother appeared to weigh his words, finally nodding her consent. Betsy clasped her hands.

  “But know this, child,” her mother went on. “If we’re to have the wedding within a month’s time, there is much we must see to immediately.”

  Betsy nodded, barely able to speak. She would be Michael’s wife in less than one month’s time! When her mother had suggested delaying the wedding until January, her heart and mind had rebelled. However could she keep from touching him until then? From kissing him? She looked up and found her mother and Maggie both watching her expectantly.

  “I’ll be happy to assist you,” Maggie said.

  “Oh, that would be wonderful, Maggie. Thank you.”

  As Lady Bridgewater began to list the matters to which it was necessary to be seen, Michael wore a thoughtful expression.

  “I’ll instruct my staff at Balsam Manor to make ready for my wife’s arrival,” he told Lady Bridgewater.

  Betsy’s mother set her teacup aside and fixed her gaze on him. “What is the manor’s condition, Lord Balsam?”

  “The castle is in need of a few repairs,” he said. “But be assured, madam, Betsy will live there in comfort.”

  “Ah, you’re in for quite a treat, Betsy,” Philip said. “The castle is quite medieval, with coats-of-arms on the most ancient stone walls.”

  Michael smiled at his friend’s words. “I daresay Betsy will find lots of rooms to explore.”

  “Oh, yes!” Betsy turned to Maggie. “And Michael has told me we can ride along the cliffs, as well.”

  “You must take several of the best horses to the manor, Balsam,” Philip said. “They’ll enjoy the rugged countryside as much as your future wife, no doubt.”

  “Oh, I believe I envy you, Betsy,” Maggie said with a smile. “I would so love to ride in Cornwall.”

  Michael nodded to her, unconsciously draping his arm about Betsy’s shoulders. Betsy reveled in the tender gesture, leaning ever so slightly toward him on the settee.

  “You and Wilton must visit us at the manor, Maggie,” Michael said. “We would welcome your visit, wouldn’t we, love?”

  Betsy nodded, blushing lightly over his easy use of the endearment. The four of them discussed the details of their visit, and Michael and Philip would suspend their horse-training venture for the winter months. As Balsam Manor was less than a three-hour ride from Bridgewater Park, Michael assured Philip that he and Betsy would make frequent visits to her family’s home to keep their venture solvent.

  “At the very least, we’ll return for Christmas,” he told Betsy’s mother.

  Betsy could barely concentrate on the animated conversations going on around her, her mind filled with the prospect of having Michael to herself for weeks at a time. She soon turned her thoughts to the manor. What was it truly like? She longed to make use of the many skills she had spent years perfecting on her new home. Her new home! She would be Elizabeth Reed, Lady Balsam.

  She gazed lovingly at Michael as he spoke to Philip and her father, her eyes falling to his beautiful mouth. Recalling the incredible feeling of his perfect lips on her skin caused her to flush hotly. Forcing her attention to the various conversations around her, she caught Michael’s eye. He stopped in his diction and studied her for a moment. He suddenly favored her with a dazzling smile. She returned the expression, her heart fluttering. She finally joined the others in their conversation, glancing every so often at her future husband.

  The next day began the whirlwind of wedding preparations. Betsy, with help from her mother and older sister, penned the hundreds of invitations. The three ladies sat in the front sitting room chatting as their pens moved over the fine paper, duly excited. Bridgewater Park hadn’t hosted such a celebration since Maggie wed Philip nearly eight years earlier. Her mother had planned that event down to the finest detail, as she often reminded Betsy, and this affair would be treated to the same careful attention.

  Wedding announcements were to be sent to those not expected to make the trip into Somersetshire. Betsy knew that Lord Templeton must be sent an announcement. She was vastly relieved that propriety didn’t dictate inviting him to the celebration at Bridgewater Park. It was certain to be a delightful affair, and she wanted nothing whatsoever to dampen her happiness that day.

  Betsy stared out the window at the rolling drive in front of the grand mansion. In her mind’s eyes she saw the cobblestone drive lined with the guests’ many carriages, and the faces of the delighted partygoers alighting to join the celebration within. A faint smile curved her lips as she imagined twirling about the ballroom, her husband holding her tightly against him as the wedding guests looked on. She swayed slightly in her seat, moving to the music only she could hear.

  “Betsy,” her mother said, bringing her swiftly out of her reverie.

  Betsy stared at her mother blankly. “Yes?”

  Her mother clicked her tongue. “This is not the time for woolgathering, child,” she said. “The seamstress is due to arrive after luncheon, and I’d hoped to have the bulk of these completed by then.”

  “Yes, mother,” Betsy answered, taking up her pen.

  Betsy caught Maggie’s eye and saw her smile. Betsy returned the gesture and once more turned her atte
ntions to the task at hand, pausing every now and again to envision the day when she would become Michael’s wife.

  ***

  Michael sat in his office at the stables, his mind reeling from his recent meeting with the Earl of Bridgewater. When the earl had told him of Betsy’s dowry, he’d been stunned. Sixty thousand pounds! How the devil could he ever accept such an exorbitant sum? My God, he considered himself fortunate to have the privilege of taking Betsy for a wife. Even as his pride nagged at the back of his mind, urging him to reject her fortune, he knew the money could go a long way toward seeing to the repairs to Balsam Manor. As for his own personal horse-raising venture, the money could well provide the means for making his own fortune.

  “Sixty thousand pounds,” he murmured, shaking his head.

  He knew what he must do. He would begin the repairs to the manor, and ready it for occupancy by a woman who deserved to be kept in the lifestyle to which she had become accustomed. With the funds soon to come, he would order the workmen to begin the repairs posthaste. He must return to Cornwall immediately.

  He left his office and strode purposefully toward the main house, intent on advising his betrothed of his plans to depart Bridgewater Park. He didn’t find Betsy in the parlor so he hurried to her chamber door and rapped sharply. Mary opened the door. She looked up and smiled brightly.

  “Hello, Lord Balsam,” she said, dropping a quick curtsy.

  Michael bowed in return. “Hello, Mary. Is Betsy within?”

  Mary bobbed her head in answer, her blond curls bouncing. She turned toward the main chamber, leaving Michael to follow in her wake.

  “We’ve had a busy afternoon,” Mary said, looking at him over her shoulders. “There’s quite a bit involved with planning a wedding.”

  “Yes, I would think that’s true.”

  Collective gasps of feminine surprise stopped him in his tracks. He looked from Mary to quickly take in the scene within Betsy’s chamber. His eyes widened as he looked from Lady Bridgewater’s face to Maggie’s, their features clearly showing their shock. The reason became clear to him when his gaze finally settled on Betsy where she stood perched on a stool in the center of the chamber. His mind briefly registered the look of surprise on her face, her beautiful eyes opened wide, her full lips parted, before taking in her remarkable appearance.

  Her chestnut waves were pinned loosely upon her head and her slender chemise-clad form was draped in satin of the palest blue. The lengths of fabric did little to hide her incredible figure from his eyes. My God, she looked like Venus emerging from the sea!

  He managed to recover himself and reddened. “Excuse me,” he choked, spinning on his heel. “I wasn’t aware of your, your…”

  Shocked silence enveloped the room. Betsy’s mother was the first to break the hush.

  “Mary,” Lady Bridgewater admonished. “Why on earth did you bring Lord Balsam into the chamber?”

  Mary shrugged her shoulders. “He wished to see Betsy, Mother,” she answered simply.

  Her mother clicked her tongue at the child but Betsy and Maggie laughed lightly.

  “Did you need to see me, Michael?” Betsy asked, directing her question to his back.

  “I,” he began, turning toward her. He quickly checked the movement. “I need to speak with you, if you’re able,” he said. “Perhaps after your fitting we can go riding?”

  After a pause, she answered him.

  “A ride would be lovely,” she said.

  Michael let out a breath and nodded his head.

  “I’ll see you at the stables, then,” he offered, fighting to keep his gaze fixed on the wall.

  “Certainly,” Betsy said.

  He glanced over his shoulder and bowed quickly. Hurrying from the room, he closed the door behind him and let out a breath. After a beat, he heard a burst of feminine laughter from within the chamber and smiled in response. Thinking of the folly of finding himself surrounded by the Bridgewater women, taken with the pleasing picture his intended made in her stage of undress, caused his grin to widen.

  Whistling, he took himself to his chamber to ready for his ride with Betsy.

  Chapter 13

  When Betsy reached the stables, she wasn’t disappointed at the sight of Michael’s beloved form. He stood with his back to her, looking out over the grounds. As she ran toward him she called out his name and he turned, taking her breath away. He cut a fine figure in his impeccable riding clothes. But it was his face that caused her heart to quicken its beat. His eyes were bright, and his smile was dazzling.

  “Betsy, love.” He held his hands out to her.

  “Hello, Michael,” she smiled up at him.

  He dropped a sweet kiss on her lips. “I’ve seen to the horses. Shall we ride?”

  She nodded and followed him to where the horses awaited. They mounted and raced over the grounds, finally reining them in amid a field of wildflowers. Though it was well into autumn, the flowers were still vibrant.

  Michael assisted Betsy down from her horse and took her hand in his, strolling to where a large tree stood among the flowers. He reached down to pluck a bright yellow blossom and held it out to her. Betsy took it, her curiosity finally winning the battle in her mind as she twirled the flower in her fingers.

  “You wished to speak with me, Michael?”

  Michael reached out to stroke her cheek. “I have something to tell you.”

  Betsy’s brow furrowed. “Nothing dreadful, I hope.”

  “Not at all,” he said. “I’m leaving Bridgewater Park on the morrow.”

  “Leaving?” Betsy blinked. “Why?”

  “Don’t fret, darling. I’m returning to Cornwall to see to the repairs to the manor. I can’t bring my wife home to a crumbling castle.”

  “It’s of no consequence to me, Michael,” Betsy shrugged. “As long as we’re together.”

  “Ah, but the rooms are drafty,” he said. “They’ll be quite cold come the winter.” He leaned closer. “Although, I can think of a number of ways to keep warm.”

  His voice stroked over her like a caress. “I would much enjoy your ways, Michael.”

  He brought his lips to hers. He pulled her close to him as his tongue slowly stroked hers. Suddenly, he broke off the contact. Betsy looked up at him in confusion.

  “Michael, what is it?”

  He shook his head in answer, his fingers toying with the buttons of her spencer.

  “I believe I favor these little jackets of yours,” he said, slowly opening the garment to reveal her thin chemise beneath.

  Betsy stared down at his strong fingers as they brushed tantalizingly over her skin.

  “What are you about?”

  When he cupped her breasts in his hands she closed her eyes and shivered.

  “I fear I’m setting myself up for a very uncomfortable ride back to the house,” he said.

  “I don’t understand.”

  With obvious reluctance, he closed the jacket over her breasts and touched her cheek. “Don’t you realize that the mere thought of making love to you causes me to ache to be inside of you?”

  She shook her head, placing her hands behind his neck. “Make love to me, Michael.”

  “I won’t take you again, Betsy,” he said. “Not until we’re wed. I shouldn’t have taken you before our wedding. I daresay I suffered from a moment of weakness.”

  Betsy arched a brow at him and cocked her head to one side.

  “Three such moments, Michael?” she teased.

  He barked out a laugh and hugged her to him.

  “Never mind. We must return to the house, love, before I cast aside all my good intentions.”

  She smiled sweetly up at him, very pleased he wanted her so. He assisted her up onto her horse and the two of them returned to the main house to dress for tea.

  Michael left Somersetshire the next morning. Betsy accompanied him to the drive in front of the house, where his carriage stood waiting. They were alone for the moment, and took advantage of the relative pri
vacy to share a sweet kiss of farewell. She was suddenly seized with melancholy.

  He touched his finger to her chin and gently lifted her face to his. “What’s troubling you, Betsy?”

  “I don’t want you to go, Michael.”

  “We discussed this, love,” he gently reminded her. “Although I’m most pleased your reluctance to part matches my own.”

  She managed to smile at his words.

  “I promise you this,” he went on. “I’ll endeavor to return to Somersetshire before a fortnight has passed.”

  “Give me your word.” She lifted her chin. “Promise me you’ll return to Bridgewater Park within two weeks.”

  “If not sooner,” he said. “And will you make a promise to me?”

  She gazed up into his dark eyes.

  “Anything,” she breathed in answer.

  He took her hand in his. “Write me letters,” he said, dropping a kiss on the back of her hand. “Long, flowery missives written in your delicate hand.”

  “I will.”

  “And I’ll keep them close to my heart, love.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew the velvet ribbon tucked within. “Along with this token,” he said, bringing the ribbon to his lips.

  Recognition dawned on Betsy as she spied the familiar hair ribbon, bringing their encounter in the stables rushing back to her. The romantic gesture and sweet words made her heart race.

  “Oh, Michael,” she cried, throwing her arms around his neck.

  He hugged her tightly to him. “Ah, how I’ll miss you.”

  He placed her on her feet and kissed her soundly. After a few more sweet words of farewell were exchanged between them, he climbed aboard his carriage. Betsy watched as the vehicle rolled down the drive, her eyes intently following it until it was but a speck on the horizon. She felt the tears welling in her eyes and squared her slumping shoulders.

  She returned to the house, more intent than ever upon seeing to the wedding plans. The sooner the tasks were completed, the sooner she could concentrate all her thoughts on the delightful prospect of becoming Michael’s bride.

  ***

  Michael’s head was filled with the tasks awaiting him at Balsam Manor as the carriage rolled on toward Cornwall. He stopped to take his nooning meal at an inn familiar to him, in Devonshire. One of the serving maids, a dark-haired girl whose ample charms he had enjoyed on more than one occasion, served him. She smiled widely as she set a platter of cold meats and cheeses before him.