“How are you feeling, love?” he asked.
Betsy stared up at him for a moment, trying in vain to think of something to wipe the worry from his beloved face. She soon crumpled in spite of herself.
“Oh Michael, can you ever forgive me?”
Michael came down swiftly upon the bed beside her, wrapping her in his arms.
“Hush, sweetheart,” he cooed, kissing her brow. “You’ve done nothing wrong. I blame myself.”
Betsy sniffled and shook her head.
“I felt strange this morning,” she went on. “I shouldn’t have attempted to ride Gusty.”
Michael grasped her chin and brought his face close to hers. “Losing the child wasn’t your fault, Betsy,” he said firmly. “If I hadn’t upset you, you wouldn’t have ridden.”
“I should have known you would never dally with another. I let my temper get the better of me.” She broke into fresh sobs.
Michael kissed her tears away and smiled.
“Our child wasn’t ready to be born, love,” he said gently. “She’ll come to us, I promise you. When the time is right, she’ll come to us.”
Betsy pulled back. “She?”
Michael nodded. “I can picture our little love. She’ll have the most beautiful blue eyes, just like her mother.”
Betsy’s spirits lifted. “And hair shiny and black like her father.”
“She’ll come when she’s good and ready, Betsy. I imagine she’ll have her mother’s stubborn streak as well.”
Betsy pinched him lightly on his arm.
“I do wish she were here with us now, Michael,” she said as she cuddled closer to him.
“As do I, darling,” he said. “But we have each other. Don’t we?”
“We do.”
She kissed his mouth and settled down comfortably into his strong arms once more.
“Betsy, love,” he began, dropping kisses on her hair. “That night when I said those horrid things. You said you would never forgive me.” His voice cracked. “Does that still hold true? Or can you set my behavior aside?”
“I forgive you, Michael,” she said. “I love you.”
Michael let out a sigh of relief.
“I deserve your anger for that night,” he said. “I was afraid you would never want me to touch you again.”
Betsy recalled the many times he had loved her before that night. He was tender and urgent. Passionate and loving. Not let him touch her again?
“The devil you say,” she told him.
He barked out a short laugh and hugged her tight. They spoke of the doctor’s visit then, of his words of reassurance. The man was due to visit her in a few days, to make certain all was well.
“Michael,” Betsy began, trailing her fingers over his arm. “If the doctor says I am fit for travel, may we return home?”
“I thought you considered Bridgewater Park your home,” he said. “That’s why I brought you here from London.”
Betsy shook her head firmly. “No. Balsam Manor is my home. That’s where I wanted you to bring me then, and it’s where I want to be now.”
He smiled at her and cupped her cheek with his hand.
“Then we’ll return to Cornwall as soon as we’re able.”
Betsy bit her lip as she contemplated another issue, one she hadn’t given much thought since that night in London.
“What is it?” he asked. “Are you feeling any pain?”
She shook her head. “Michael, please say we can at last uncover the secret of your lost fortune?” She braced herself for a reemergence of his anger. “Together?”
“I realize you have a sharp mind and only have my best interests at heart.”
“Of course.”
He smiled. “I was a stubborn fool to resist the inevitable all this time.”
“Yes, you were.” She gave a nod. “I believe our child will inherit a good dose of stubbornness from her father as well.”
“I love you, Betsy,” he said, drawing her closer still. “I’ve always loved you.”
Chapter 30
After nearly a month had passed, Michael at last took Betsy home to Balsam Manor. That evening they found themselves settled comfortably before a brightly burning fire in the great hall. Betsy was pleased to see a dish of marvelous fruit tarts accompanied the sherry they drank after dinner.
“What of the horses, Michael?” Betsy asked. “Who will see to their training?”
Michael smiled crookedly at her.
“Your cousin isn’t totally bereft of skills, Betsy,” he teased. “I’m confident that Wilton and the grooms can put Gusty and the others through their paces until I can return to the park.”
“Philip is an excellent rider.” Betsy eyes sparkled at him. “Not nearly as skilled as you are, I daresay.”
“You, love, are biased,” he said. “Perhaps before the end of the month we can revisit Bridgewater Park together? And then you can see to the matter yourself?”
Betsy nodded vigorously. “Gusty will miss you sorely until then.”
When Betsy suddenly grew quiet he regarded her closely. Her eyes had darkened to violet and he felt a tremor of desire course through his body.
“Betsy.”
She came to her feet. “I’ve missed you sorely, Michael.”
“But your health, love. I won’t do anything to jeopardize your recovery.”
“I’m well. The doctor assured you as well as myself of that blessed fact.”
“Yes, but still.”
“I’m not made of glass.” She took his hand. “I’m a flesh and blood woman who has been without her husband’s touch for far too long.”
Michael cursed softly and stood to take her up in his arms.
“You are certain, love?” He rained kisses on her face, her neck. “You wouldn’t mislead me?”
“Never.”
His courage promptly deserted him as he watched her undress in their chambers. She unpinned her glorious hair and let it fall in shining waves down her slender back. She unfastened her petticoats and let them fall to the floor, turning to face him in her chemise which only came to mid-thigh.
“Michael,” she said, her tone once more holding an inexplicable note of wanting.
Michael took two steps back from her, his back nearly pressed against the closed door. He’d thought himself a man in control of his desires. One who could take his wife tenderly, ever mindful of her recent injuries. But now with her so tantalizingly close he felt his blood pound thickly through his body as flames of desire threatened to consume him.
“Sweetheart,” he said, shaking his head.
“I want you, Michael.” She stepped out of her fallen petticoats and walking toward him. “I want to feel your hands on me. Your lips on mine. We can put the unpleasantness of the past weeks behind us. Perhaps we’ll even be so lucky as to create our child this night. Don’t you want me?”
“Yes.” He groaned. “I want you so badly I fear I might hurt you.”
Betsy smiled softly and shook her head at him. She reached up and unbuttoned his jacket and waistcoat, running her fingers over his fine linen shirt. He swallowed thickly as she worked the buttons of his shirt free, dropping it to join the jacket and waistcoat on the floor.
“I’ve missed you, Michael,” she said again, her lips placing teasing kisses on his chest. “So much.”
She stroked him through his breeches, smiling up at him as he moaned softly. When she freed him he filled her hands, more aroused than he had ever been in his life. She stroked him again, with nothing between her fingers and his flesh.
“Ah, love,” he rasped, closing his eyes.
Betsy placed her lips on him and he thought he’d died and crossed over into paradise. The tip of her tongue flicked over him again and again, burning him like candle flames. When she closed her mouth around him he groaned again, his shoulders striking the door as he arched toward her. His climax tore through him like a thunderbolt, ground-shaking in its intensity.
When he regained
his senses he gazed down at his wife through hooded eyes. The apology that had formed on his lips died a swift death as he glimpsed the triumph in her beautiful eyes. She smiled up at him and sat back on her heels.
“I’ve never made you lose your control before, husband,” she said, her head cocked to one side. “It makes me feel powerful.”
Michael managed a weak smile at her words.
“Truly?” He straightened from the door. “You fancy yourself powerful, do you?”
She grasped his meaning and came swiftly to her feet, giggling. He caught her easily and brought her to their magnificent bed, coming down on top of her.
“Perhaps we’ll see if I can make you lose your control, wife?” he teased, ridding her of her chemise.
“That would be heavenly,” she sighed.
He made good on his promise, devouring her lips, her tongue. He brought his mouth to her breast and she delighted in the sensation. When he brought his mouth to her center she thought she would expire.
“Lose your control, love,” he urged softly, stroking her with his strong fingers. “Come to me.”
He lowered his head again and she did, shouting his name as she came to stunning release. Thankful for his earlier lack of control, he entered her slowly. Stroking deeply and gently, he brought her to her second release before permitting his own.
“I love you,” he said, coming down beside her in the big bed. “I’ll always love you.”
Betsy took a deep breath and turned to him, unable to rid her face of its brightest smile. Without another word they held each other closely and fell asleep, deeply content.
***
Sometime later, Betsy awoke with a start. Michael trashed about beside her, the sheets in a tangle around his long legs.
“No, Papa,” he mumbled, his voice high and small.
“Michael,” Betsy said, shaking his gently. “Wake up, Michael.”
Michael sat up in the bed abruptly, nearly toppling Betsy. His eyes were vague as he stared at her.
“What?” he muttered, shaking his head. “What’s going on?”
Betsy placed her hand on his cheek to soothe him. “I believe you had that nightmare again, Michael.”
His eyes focused on hers at last. He nodded and laid back down, letting out a loud sigh. Betsy followed, placing her hand on his chest.
“Can you tell me about it?” she asked gently. “Does it have anything to do with the night the tapestry was destroyed?”
“Yes.” Michael rubbed his hands over his face. “Does anything escape your notice?”
She gave a stubborn shake of her head. “Tell me of it.”
He did, beginning with his memory of the argument between his father and his unknown tormentor and ending with his father’s angrily tearing the tapestry off of the wall before falling into heartrending sobs.
“He seemed so helpless, Betsy,” he said. “It scared me witless.”
“You were but a child, Michael,” she gently pointed out. “Of course you were frightened. What of Coombs?”
“What?” he asked. “Oh, yes. Coombs didn’t make his appearance in this particular dream, as you blessedly woke me from it before that point. That night I must have fallen asleep in the hallway abovestairs, because Coombs woke me and took me to the nursery.”
“He knows something of that night, Michael,” Betsy offered. “He must.”
“We’ll question him tomorrow, love,” he said. “I should have bent to your wishes before.”
Betsy quickly lowered her eyes. “I admit I questioned Coombs, Michael,” she said. “After you had instructed me not to.”
“Why am I not surprised?” There was no anger in his voice, she was pleased to notice. “And were you able to discover anything?”
“No, I’m afraid not. Coombs grew disturbed when I merely broached the subject. I believe he fears dishonoring your father’s memory.”
Michael nodded sagely. “I’ll assure him that disclosing any information which could assist in the search for my fortune would in no way compromise his years of faithful service to the Reed family.”
“He’s ever-faithful,” Betsy said, settling her head on her husband’s chest.
Upon first light Michael gently shook Betsy awake. “Come, slugabed.”
“What?”
He kissed her and sat up. “I’m most eager to question Coombs about the quarrel between my father and the stranger on that long-ago night.”
“All right.” She yawned. “I’ll ring for Ann.”
Ann came, and in less time than she would have otherwise imagined, Betsy was dressed and ready for breakfast. Michael nodded absently at her when she joined him in the breakfast room.
“Good morning, husband,” she said lightly, serving herself from the sideboard. “I daresay you were a blur this morning.”
Michael smiled as he poured her a cup of tea.
“I admit I’m not much looking forward to our interrogations, love,” he told her. “But I do wish to see it through. I’m sorry if I was less than gallant this morning.”
She smiled cheekily as she settled herself across from him.
“After last evening, I would be hard-pressed to hold it against you.”
Michael chuckled at that. When they had finished breakfast he escorted her from the room.
“Coombs is usually with the kitchen staff at this hour, Michael,” Betsy told him. “Why don’t we leave him to the task and see about the family portraits in the gallery?”
He concurred and the two of them crossed through the great hall enroute to the gallery. They walked through the archway, silent. The sheer number of portraits hanging there took even Michael aback. There were frames of varying finishes, all quite large and imposing. His eyes immediately settled on an early portrait of his father.
“You are the very image of your father,” Betsy said in awe. “My, he was frightfully handsome.”
“You’ll find all the Reed men to your liking, I daresay,” he teased. “We’re all very dark and large.”
“Oh, there’s the portrait of you mother I mentioned.” She crossed the space to stare up at the likeness restored and set in the magnificent gilded frame. “My, how your eyes are so very like hers.”
When Michael didn’t add his agreement to her statement, Betsy looked closely at him. He was gazing hungrily at the picture, looking very much like a lost little boy desperate for his mother.
“You miss her.”
“I couldn’t picture her face before now,” he said, his eyes still riveted to the portrait.
Betsy gave him a few quiet moments to drink in the woman’s likeness. Her eyes fell to the rendering of the lady’s necklace and she let out a gasp.
Michael looked at her with worry. “What is it?”
“The necklace, Michael,” she said softly. “Look at her necklace.”
It was the very same onyx pendant Templeton had given Betsy when they were betrothed.
“Bloody hell,” he began. “That’s why it seemed so familiar to me.”
“But how did Lord Templeton come to have your mother’s necklace?”
“He took it,” Coombs said from the archway. “That’s the truth of it.”
Michael and Betsy both turned sharply at the butler’s voice.
“Coombs,” Michael began, walking swiftly to stand before the older man. “You must tell me what you know.”
Coombs sighed wearily and nodded. Betsy saw the obvious discomfiture on the man’s face as they urged him into Michael’s office. She sent a maid for tea and settled him comfortably into one of the leather chairs facing Michael’s desk.
“You have no fear of dishonoring my father’s name, Coombs,” Michael told him. “You served this family well and whatever you tell us this day won’t change that.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Coombs said. “But I fear what I have to tell you could be most distressing.”
“To speak frankly, I nearly lost my wife not a month ago.” He took Betsy’s hand in his. “We l
ost our child. Whatever you have to tell me will surely pale by comparison.”
Coombs gazed tenderly in Betsy’s direction for a moment before nodding sagely. He took a long sip of his tea and set down the cup, obviously intent on finally beginning his tale.
“It began long before the night of their altercation, my lord,” he told them. “Lord Templeton ingratiated himself upon my master’s good graces in the guise of friendship.”
“But he was much younger than the former Lord Balsam, wasn’t he?”
“A bit, my lady,” Coombs allowed. “Much closer in age to Lady Balsam, I’d imagine. I hope I’m not overstepping my bounds in telling you the young man much fancied your father’s wife.”
“She was a beautiful woman,” Michael said. “But surely she didn’t encourage him?”
“Never,” Coombs said firmly. “Your mother was devoted to her husband. She was much like you, my lady.”
Betsy flushed lightly as she nodded her agreement.
“But how did Templeton come to take the family jewels, Coombs?” Michael asked. “And what did he have to do with my father’s fortune?”
“I don’t know the particulars of their dealings, my lord,” Coombs answered. “But I do know your father much liked to gamble. I believe he was very responsible, but you may ask his solicitors about that. Then your mother passed on and, well. He changed.”
“I can scarcely remember her,” Michael said softly. “I do recall my father keeping himself from the manor for a time.”
“He was hardly ever in Cornwall,” Coombs concurred. “I believe his gaming must have become a refuge of sorts.”
“That’s so sad,” Betsy put in. “But what of that night, Coombs? Michael remembers only bits and pieces of it.”
Coombs took another long sip of his tea as if to steel himself. He looked Michael squarely in the eye.
“Apparently Lord Templeton had managed to rid your father of most of his holdings. The jewelry was the last to go, and it was with much hesitation I saw it packed for the man to take from the manor. Your father was distraught. He and the earl argued heatedly.”
“I remember,” Michael said in a small voice.
Coombs tilted his gray head to one side. “I was never certain of how much you had heard that night,” he said “I’d hoped you’d fallen asleep before their argument.”
The Viscount's Vixen Page 22
