At her submission his caresses became bolder, his tongue and lips running wildly over her tender flesh. When she arched against his mouth he grasped her bottom and held her there, bringing her swiftly to orgasm. Her screams of delight barely registered as her heartbeat hammered in her ears. He lifted his head at last, coming up to hold her in his arms.
“What think you of that, love?” he asked softly.
Betsy opened her eyes at last, gazing up at him as if through a haze. “Oh, my,” was all she could utter.
He gave a strangled laugh and brought his lips to hers. At his urging, she parted her legs again for him, taking him deep inside of her. He thrust into her again and again, swiftly arousing her passion to match his. She tightened around him and came with a shout, bringing her with him.
After his big body quieted against her heated skin, she wrapped her arms around his neck.
“I love you, Michael,” she said softly.
He smiled lazily down at her and held her close.
After several minutes, they donned their nightclothes once more and Michael rang for their dessert. He rose to see to its delivery in the sitting room. Betsy watched him as he strode from the bedchamber, admiring his blatantly masculine form. Sighing, she settled herself against big fluffy pillows on the bed.
When he returned, he carried a large silver tray of delectable pastries. He set it upon the bed and fetched a bottle of sherry and two glasses. He poured the sweet wine and offered her a glass. She smiled and took it from him, sipping delicately from it. He drank some of his own and settled down beside her, reaching for the pastries. Betsy watched him consume quite a few of the little sweets. She drank a bit more of her sherry and chose one pastry for herself, a tart filled to overflowing with rich berries. She bit into the tart and sighed with pleasure. Michael looked sharply at her, and then a wide smile spread over his face.
“What has you grinning so, husband?” she asked, reaching for another treat.
“I love it when you make that sound.”
“These tarts are positively delectable.”
“They don’t taste nearly as sweet as you do.”
Betsy stared at him for a moment. She suddenly grasped his meaning, blushing hotly at his reference to the deeds he’d performed on her person that evening.
She gave him a quick nod and drank deeply of her sherry as she thought back to the incredible feeling of his mouth on her most private place. Would he be pleased if she performed such a deed on him? Her eyes ran over him, reclining as he was on the bed leaning up on one elbow. His dressing gown was open at the neck, showing her quite a bit of his muscular chest. Her eyes fell to the expanse of satin below the belt of the dressing gown. Michael’s voice broke through her reverie.
“What are you thinking, love?” he asked, bringing his glass to his lips.
“What do you taste like, Michael?”
***
He nearly choked on his wine. Sputtering, he set his glass on the bedstand.
“I daresay I have no notion,” he managed to answer.
He was intrigued as a look of contemplation came into his new wife’s eyes. She set the silver tray on the floor and leaned toward him.
“May I find out?” she asked in a soft voice.
Michael drew in a breath as hot desire flared through him.
“Betsy, you don’t have to.”
“I wish to taste you, Michael,” she quietly insisted.
He swore softly and took her glass from her hands. Cupping her cheek with his hand, he brought his lips to hers. She kissed him with ever-increasing ardor, pushing him down upon the bed. He happily gave in to her gentle insistence, letting his arms fall to his sides.
She ran her lips over his chest, dropping little kisses over him. When she flicked the tip of her tongue over his nipple, he moaned softly. He moaned again as her fingers reached beneath the satin to gently grasp him.
“God, love,” he murmured.
He watched her in anticipation as she lowered her head, thinking that he might die from what she was doing. Although many an experienced woman had performed such a deed upon him in the past, the tentative touch of his wife’s perfect mouth upon him had him rock hard in moments. Her lips caressed him, her tongue teased him. She closed her lips over the very tip and he began to move against her. He ran his fingers through his hair in an effort to retain some semblance of control.
“Ride me, love,” he groaned, arching off the bed. “Ah, God! Please ride me.”
Michael opened his eyes and saw the befuddlement in her expression. Her hands still grasped him gently, her moist lips were parted. With a shout of intense longing, he grabbed her and pinned her beneath him. He drove into her, painfully close to his release. He braced his arms on either side of her, his thrusts deep and hard. Betsy held on tightly to his arms, her body bowing back as her climax shot through her.
Michael came then, holding himself deep inside of her as his body shook. With his release his mind began to work, the intensity of his passion stamped on his memory. He hadn’t taken the time to learn if she was ready for him. His thrusts had all but sent her through the bed. He kissed her cheeks reverently.
“My God,” he rasped. “Have I hurt you, Betsy?”
Betsy gave a quick shake of her head, opening her eyes to stare up at him. To his acute relief, she smiled lazily up at him.
“Not at all,” she answered softly.
“When you put your lovely mouth on me, you nearly drove me out of my mind.”
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”
He nodded, hugging her close. They settled beneath the coverlet, their arms entwined.
“Michael?” she began, her hand gently stroking his chest.
“Yes?” he returned with a yawn.
“I like the way you taste,” she whispered.
He chuckled deeply, dropping a kiss on her tangled chestnut locks. They snuggled together under the satin coverlet, their sighs of satisfaction soon lengthening to the deep even breathing of slumber.
Chapter 17
Betsy awoke early the next morning, a bit disoriented to find herself in the handsome blue and ivory room. A quick glance at the man occupying a large portion of the bed beside her brought her mind sharply into focus. Her lips curving into a smile, she yawned inelegantly and draped her arm over his broad chest. Michael mumbled in his sleep, drawing her deeper into his embrace.
“Good morning, Michael,” Betsy whispered in his ear.
“Hmm,” he returned sleepily. “Morning.”
His eyes suddenly snapped open. She smiled as the confusion on his face was slowly replaced with a heart-stopping grin.
“Betsy,” he said, kissing her gently. “Did you sleep well?”
She nodded, resting her head against his chest. Michael stroked her hair, her arm. She sighed and dropped a kiss on his chest, resting her chin upon him and gazing up at him.
“What do you wish to do today?” she asked him.
He smiled and brushed a wayward curl away from her eyes. “I daresay if we acted on the notion in my mind at this moment, we would scarcely make it out of this bed before noon.”
Betsy lowered her lashes. “It is a very comfortable bed.”
He chuckled and kissed her lightly. “Never mind,” he said. “There’s much I must see to today, if this manor is to be made suitable.”
“It’s very suitable, Michael.”
Michael waved his hand and stood beside the bed. He donned his dressing gown belted it tightly about his waist.
“Do you wish me to order a bath for you, love?” he offered.
Betsy thought it was a marvelous notion and told him as much. He leaned down and kissed her once more. After ordering her bath, he took himself into his dressing room to see to his own morning toilette. He emerged shortly thereafter, dressed suitably for a day of work about the manor grounds. Betsy sat up in the bed, running her eyes appreciatively over the fine figure he cut in his rugged clothes.
“You look most f
it, Michael,” she said with a smile.
He chuckled and picked up her wrapper from the floor and handed it to her. “I’ll see you downstairs in the breakfast room, love.”
After taking a bath in the largest tub she’d ever seen, she dressed with her maid’s assistance and went in search of her husband. She found him apparently waiting for her in the great hall.
“Hello, Michael.”
“I believe you take quite a long time to ready yourself,” he teased, taking her hand in his. His eyes ran over her from head to foot. “Although I must say the results are well worth the wait.”
She was pleased, as she’d chosen one of her favorite day dresses in a pale green. As he led her from the hall, her gaze was drawn to the high stonewall above the hearth. They entered the breakfast room, which was smaller than the dining room but very elegantly-appointed. It sported plaster walls and fine furnishings, and its sideboard was laden with a selection of breakfast foods. Betsy made her choice, arching a brow at her husband as he piled several pieces of ham upon his own plate.
“I would have thought you ate already, Michael,” she said, taking her seat.
“I did, but I must keep up my strength. My wife is quite demanding.”
Betsy giggled and set upon her meal of eggs and sweet rolls. As she sipped at her tea, she thought once more of the blank stonewall of the great hall.
“Michael,” she began, setting her cup aside. “What do you think of hanging a large tapestry above the fireplace in the great hall?”
Michael shrugged. “You may decorate our home in any manner you choose, love,” he said. “I trust you have many pieces of needlework and such?”
“Yes,” she allowed. “I’ll write my mother directly and have her send several of them.” She smirked. “The largest of them, I daresay.”
“But above the fireplace,” she went on. “I believe a tapestry depicting your family crest would be most fitting, don’t you think?”
He was quiet for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I believe there was such a tapestry there at one time, Betsy,” he said. “Long ago. I don’t believe I’ve seen it since my mother’s passing.”
“Oh,” she said dejectedly.
“Coombs has been here since before my father’s time,” he went on. “I’m certain he’ll be able to assist you in discovering its whereabouts. I wouldn’t hold much hope of its present condition.”
Betsy nodded, her mind working. Why would a gentleman of such a long-standing and ancient title have the depiction of such removed? Could it be tied in some manner to the missing fortune?
“Another mystery,” she mused aloud.
Michael lifted his head to stare hard at her. “What did you say?”
Betsy blinked at the intensity in his eyes. She was reminded of his cold anger the last time she spoke of such things, on that long ago afternoon at Bridgewater Park when he’d called her a spoiled little girl. She wouldn’t broach the subject again, not when they were basking in newly-wedded bliss.
“Nothing of import,” she said lightly. “Do you truly believe it will be possible to locate the item?”
He wiped his mouth on his napkin and set it aside.
“I believe so.” He came to his feet. “I’ll send Coombs in to you directly.”
Betsy tilted her face to him as he brushed a kiss on her lips. She watched him go, nearly biting her tongue clear through to keep her thoughts to herself. No matter. She was quite certain she would soon learn precisely what was at the center of the mystery surrounding her proud husband’s family fortune.
The butler soon stood in the doorway of the breakfast room. “You wish for my assistance, my lady?”
“Yes, Coombs.” She came to her feet. “Lord Balsam assured me you can direct me to a storage room of sorts here at the manor.”
Coombs nodded, a look of curiosity on his distinguished features. “Several, my lady,” he said. “May I inquire as to what items in particular you are seeking?”
“Tapestries and such, Coombs. Don’t you think these austere stone walls would benefit nicely from such fripperies?”
Coombs smiled in response. He led her up the wide steps and down the hallway to a section of the manor far from the living areas, to a room set in what he referred to as the east tower. They stopped before a door of thick wood, unadorned and quite ancient.
“I believe you’ll find several interesting artifacts here, my lady, along with any number of fripperies.”
Betsy smiled and reached for the door. Coombs stilled her, quickly retrieving a branch of candles from a table set in the hall.
“It’s quite a dark room, Lady Balsam.”
The door creaked open on iron hinges, giving them access to the dim area within. Coombs lit the candles and preceded her into the room.
“Do you need my help, my lady?”
Betsy waved her hand in the dusty air.
“No thank you, Coombs,” she said. “I’ll call for you should the need arise.”
“Very good.”
He left the room, closing the door behind him. Betsy felt the darkness press in upon her. Squaring her shoulders, she took small steps further into the room. While the light from the candles managed to illuminate the room a bit it did little to expel the gloom of the place. She couldn’t even ascertain its dimensions. She set the candles down upon the stone floor and placed her hands on her hips. A sliver of light from the far wall caught her attention and she approached it, her hand outstretched. She recoiled as her fingers brushed over animal fur of some kind. The flap of fur moved then, showing her it was covering a small window. She held it aside and looked at the window. It was narrow and, taken with the thick stone wall in which it was set, afforded little view of the grounds below. She located an iron hook set into the wall beside the window and set the flap on it.
“How utterly medieval,” she said to herself.
She turned and regarded the room once more. A gasp escaped her lips. It was a tall space, and nearly twenty feet in diameter. But that was not was caused her surprise. In the gloom she could make out the outlines of several massive trunks set against the curved walls. A glance around the room showed her more trunks filled the space, along with what appeared to be large panels and frames. Delighted curiosity filled her and she rubbed her hands together.
She picked up the branch of candles and knelt beside the trunk nearest her. “Oh, what mysteries await?”
She set upon her task with relish, humming to herself to dispel a bit of the gloom in the space. She knelt on the floor before one large trunk. It was latched but unlocked, so with merely a soft grunt of exertion she lifted the lid. She peered inside the felt a trill of happy surprise. Inside were numerous banners and such, carefully rolled up into tidy bundles. She reached into the trunk and withdrew the first one her fingers touched. Placing it on the floor, she carefully unrolled it.
A beautiful tapestry was revealed, one with an intricate floral design which showed both the skill of the creator as well as the love in which they had created it. The year embroidered in one corner assured Betsy only Michael’s mother could have worked the fine piece of needlework. She trailed her fingers lightly over the silken roses and vines, her mind on the woman she would never know. What had she been like? Would she approve of her proud and handsome son’s choice of a wife? A bit melancholy, she carefully rolled up the tapestry and set it aside.
She found many more pieces of needlework within the trunk, pieces depicting such motifs as animals and wild plantings as well as the formal flowers she’d seen in the first tapestry. They all seemed to have been made by the gifted hands of Michael’s mother. She gave a nod. It was only right that the previous Lady Balsam’s work be displayed throughout the manor, along with the pieces Betsy’s mother would be sending directly. Surely such lovely pieces of work, those of the past and present ladies of the manor, would warm the stark castle.
At the bottom of the trunk she found a very large parcel. It was much thicker than the others, an
d quite heavy as well. With a bit more effort than she had expended thus far, she heaved the rolled parcel out of the trunk and laid it on the floor. Its width was nearly equal to her height! She set the candles further aside and untied three thin strips of fabric binding the bundle. Taking much care, she unrolled the treasure.
Even in the dimness of the chamber Betsy could see the brilliant colors of the intricately wrought tapestry. It was a sea of ivory embellished with deep midnight blue and gold. The pointed bottom of a shield became visible as she unrolled the piece fully, along with the crest emblazoned upon it. It was Michael’s family crest! Her excitement dimmed as she unrolled the tapestry fully.
An angry tear marred the piece, beginning at the top and continuing on the diagonal through the crest. The massive tree emblazoned on the crest was nearly torn in half. Betsy ran her fingers gingerly over the awful rent. The harshness of the tear, taken with the otherwise fine condition of the tapestry itself, seemed to indicate that the piece had been damaged deliberately.
“Who would perpetrate such a horrid deed?” she murmured.
No matter. Both her mother and Maggie had taught Betsy all she needed to know of needlework. She would repair the fine crest. She would carefully mend the awful rent and see the tapestry hung over the fireplace in the great hall. She bound the tapestry once more and set it beside the others.
Closing the lid of the trunk at last, she stood and stretched. As she turned from the trunk, the corner of a gilded frame caught her eye. She placed the branch of candles atop the trunk and crouched down behind it. There she saw many frames of various sizes leaning against the curved wall. Several portraits became visible to her, many of persons bearing very familiar features. The unknown gentry staring dispassionately at her were clearly Michael’s ancestors. Betsy’s breath caught as one portrait in particular became visible to her. It was of a most beautiful woman, a woman whose beauty the artist had obviously taken much care in capturing. Betsy knew without a doubt upon whose portrait she was gazing. Even without the evidence of a particular dress or hairstyle to date the portrait, there was no mistaking the woman’s identity. Dominating her exquisite face were eyes of deep onyx, seemingly fathomless. Michael’s eyes!
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