The Viscount's Vixen

by JoMarie DeGioia

  “It’s all right, Coombs,” Michael said. “I remember my father’s anger. And then his anguish.”

  “He was a broken man after that night. He instructed me to remove the torn tapestry from the great room and to see all the family portraits place in the storage room in the tower.”

  “I would wager he couldn’t bear to gaze upon his ancestors,” Betsy said. “He surely must have been devastated to banish his beloved wife’s portrait.”

  “I appreciate your candor, Coombs.” Michael shook the butler’s hand firmly. “You’ve given us much to consider.”

  Coombs stood and bowed his head. “I’m sorry you had to learn of it, my lord. But perhaps now you can set matters to rights?”

  “Depend upon it,” Michael said.

  After the butler left them Michael sat and drew Betsy down into his lap.

  “How could Templeton manage such a feat?”

  “I don’t know,” Betsy said. “What is our course of action, husband?”

  Michael looked sharply at her. “You’ll keep yourself out of it,” he said. “I’m bringing you to Bridgewater Park and will continue on to London my myself.”

  “I’m going with you,” she insisted. “You can’t shut me out of this.”

  Michael sighed in apparent defeat. “No doubt your parents and the Wiltons have all left the park for town by now in any event,” he said. “Wilton informed me of their plans before we departed yesterday.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Betsy said with a smile.

  “Yes, but know this. You’re to keep to the townhouse. Oh, damn. We’re no longer leasing it. You’ll stay with your parents while I see to Templeton. Perhaps I’ll bring Wilton into it. He’s quite sharp.”

  Betsy nodded, her mind already formulating a plan to make Templeton admit his heinous deeds. Perhaps Lord Templeton had heard of their previous estrangement? It would be quite simple to perpetuate such a rumor if she were residing with her parents in town.

  “Betsy,” Michael said, breaking through her reverie. “What are you thinking?”

  Betsy feigned innocence and shrugged.

  “I must see to the packing of our belongings, Michael,” she said, hopping off of his lap. “If we’re to leave for London on the morrow there’s much that must be done.”

  Chapter 31

  Michael paced within Philip’s office, his mind working furiously.

  “We must get the bastard to admit to his cheating, Wilton,” he said.

  “But, how?” Philip countered. “Surely you don’t believe he would divulge such information to us, not after holding so tightly to his secret all these years.”

  “Hardly,” Michael agreed. “What of your contacts? Do you believe they have learned anything as yet?”

  “Really, Balsam,” Philip chuckled. “I wrote to Rawlings only this morning. By the time the devil extricates himself from his lovely new mistress it will be well into the evening.”

  It was as Philip said, much to Michael’s chagrin. The two gentlemen left to rendezvous at a gentlemen’s club with Rawlings at the start of the dinner hour. Michael stopped at Betsy’s parents’ townhouse to tell her of his plans as she herself was readying for dinner. She seemed a bit distracted to him but he attributed her demeanor to fatigue from travel. After all, he reasoned as he climbed into Philip’s waiting carriage, they’d spent quite a bit of time riding over the rutted country roads over the last few days.

  Rawlings, a man with hair as dark as Michael’s, greeted them warmly as they entered White’s.

  “Wilton! How are you, old boy?”

  “Quite well, thank you,” Philip said. “Though I’m surprised to see you about so early in the evening.”

  “Yes,” Rawlings chuckled. “My fair Monique was quite put out. Perhaps a trip to the jewelry store is in the offing for tomorrow.”

  Rawlings turned to Michael and offered his belated congratulations on his wedding to Betsy.

  “Ah, the Bridgewater women,” Rawlings mused aloud, his eyes holding a faraway look. “One would be hard-pressed to find beauty of equal outside that circle.”

  Michael watched as Philip’s brow furrowed. When Rawlings left them to secure a gaming table, Michael leaned toward Philip.

  “Was it something the rake said?”

  Philip shrugged his shoulders, his frown easing. “Rawlings met Maggie soon after our marriage, Balsam,” he began. “He fancied her for himself and attempted a seduction.”

  “What?” Michael asked in amazement. “And still he lives?”

  Philip chuckled at that. “Suffice it to say the man earned his way back into my good graces by aiding in Maggie’s rescue from a far more dangerous man than himself.”

  “You must tell me all of it, Wilton. And soon.”

  Philip nodded. “At another time. One evening far in the future, when this matter is set aside and we’re well into our cups.”

  Rawlings beckoned them to a table and they joined an elderly man sitting there.

  “Lord Pombrey,” Philip said with a bow. “How gracious of you to permit such unseasoned gentlemen as ourselves to intrude upon you.”

  The thin old man laughed easily. He studied Michael for a long moment, finally motioning for him to sit.

  “My, but you are the very picture of your father,” he said.

  “I’ve often been told so, sir,” Michael returned pleasantly.

  “I believe you don’t share his attachment to the gaming tables, however,” the man went on. “Most fortunate, that.”

  Michael merely inclined his head in answer. They shared some excellent brandy as they played half-heartedly at a game of Commerce. Michael tamped down his desire to question the man directly about precisely what he knew of his father’s past difficulties, permitting Philip and Rawlings’s easy banter to carry the early portion of the evening. It was Lord Pombrey who finally broached the subject which was so plaguing Michael’s mind.

  “Your father was most fortunate in his choice of a wife, Balsam,” he said. “Pity in other matters his luck deserted him.”

  “Do you speak of cards, sir?” Michael asked carefully.

  “Among other things,” Lord Pombrey said.

  “I only discovered as much quite recently, I’m afraid,” Michael said. “I knew nothing of it.”

  “You wouldn’t have, my boy,” the old man said. “You were but a babe when your father lost it all.”

  Michael looked quickly at Philip, who gave a small nod of encouragement. Taking a deep breath, Michael leaned toward the old gentleman.

  “Sir,” he began, clearing his throat. “What do you know of my father’s dealings with Lord Templeton?”

  The old man’s sharp eyes widened. “My boy, Templeton fleeced your father of all his worldly belongings, save for his manor house.”

  Michael bit back the anger he felt at the confirmation of all his suspicions. He must know it all.

  “Lord Pombrey, what can you tell me of that time?”

  Lord Pombrey shook his gray head sadly. “Templeton was quite a rake in those days,” he said. “He worked his way through most of the young ladies of society and possessed the luck of the devil when it came to cards.”

  “Pity your father didn’t share such luck, eh Balsam?” Philip offered in comfort.

  “It wasn’t always so,” Pombrey quickly added. “Your father merely gambled for recreation until after your mother passed on. He missed her sorely, I believe.”

  “But how did Templeton wrest his fortune from him?” Michael asked.

  “That scoundrel took advantage of your father when his spirits were at their lowest ebb,” Pombrey said.

  “Templeton used his skill to cheat my father out of all due him,” Michael stated. “Out of all due me.”

  “True enough,” the old man said. “Only Templeton cannot boast of such skill now. You won’t see his face in this nor any other respectably establishment.”

  “What?” Philip asked in surprise.

  “What do you mean, sir
?” Michael asked.

  “Why it’s very simple, my boy,” Pombrey replied with a wry smile. “He owes nearly every gentlemen in this room a sizable sum and has absolutely no hope of making good on his debts.”

  The three young gentlemen shared a look of surprise at the man’s astounding disclosure.

  ***

  Betsy had found it quite simple to draw Templeton’s attentions to herself again once they returned to London. She’d invited him to her parents’ townhouse and played the role of the downhearted lady. He’d preened and commiserated, and she’d forced herself to express an urge to unburden her poor aching heart. It took little effort on her part to secure an invitation to dine at his London home. Michael was with Philip, so she forged ahead with her own plan.

  Betsy sat in Lord Templeton’s grand dining room now, holding on to her restraint with an ever-weakening grasp.

  “You look absolutely ravishing this evening, my dear Elizabeth,” Templeton said with a sly smile. “I believe the past few months have given your beauty a maturity it lacked before. You are utterly breathtaking.”

  Betsy’s lips thinned and she inclined her head. “I’m not the same girl who accepted and then rejected your offer of marriage, Lord Templeton.”

  Templeton waved his hand in the air and leaned across the table, his eyes on her bosom.

  “You may not be that pure maid,” he said, reaching out to stroke her neck. “But the change is far from unpleasant, I assure you.”

  Betsy took a breath to calm her ire. They soon retired to the parlor to partake of their after dinner sherry. The time had come. Templeton sat close to her on the settee and boldly placed his hand on her knee. Even beneath her many skirts Betsy could feel his fingers digging into her soft flesh.

  “I still want you, Elizabeth,” he said, bringing his face to hers. “I would wager Balsam taught you well, given his tendency toward the common.”

  “That’s enough,” she said, her voice soft yet firm. “I won’t sit here and—”

  “And what, my darling?” he countered, grabbing her to him. “I was so close to possessing your favors, Elizabeth.”

  “And my dowry?” she said, leaning back from him.

  His eyes narrowed. “Yes,” he said bitterly. “I would have been well set had we seen our betrothal through.”

  “What is your meaning, sir?”

  “Your dowry would have secured my standing, my dear,” he said. “I needed your money, and came away from my negotiations with your father empty handed.”

  “But when you took the Balsam fortune,” she began before she could stop herself.

  Templeton caught her blunder. He came to his feet, anger twisting his aristocratic features.

  “What do you know of my dealings with Balsam?” he demanded to know. “Tell me this instant!”

  Betsy’s own anger flowed freely now. “You cheated Michael’s father out of his fortune!”

  He raised a hand as if to strike her. “How dare you speak so to me?” When she shrank from him he lowered his hand. He straightened his jacket and smoothed his brow. “Balsam was so heartsick after losing his wife, I couldn’t help but take what the man offered.”

  “You lie,” Betsy said, sitting straighter. “Michael’s father was heartbroken, that’s true. But you used that to cheat him out of everything. You even took the family jewels.”

  To her amazement Templeton threw his head back and laughed.

  “You figured that out, did you? Pity that’s all I have left.”

  “But, how can that be?”

  “If I was in possession of my own fortune, my dear,” he began, “would I have gone through the trouble of trying to secure such an insolent chit to wife?” He grabbed her to him once more. “Although I admit I did look forward to breaking you of that stubbornness. Perhaps I shall this night, for you are a most succulent little piece.”

  Betsy froze as he pressed himself against her, her heart pounding as she tried to think her way out the deplorable position.

  “Yes,” Templeton crowed. “The sacrifice of my manly self would have been well served to gain both your dowry and your favors.”

  He gave a wicked laugh that chilled Betsy to the bone.

  “It was him,” Michael said from the doorway.

  Templeton glanced over at Michael and Philip in obvious shock. Betsy took the opportunity to kick him in the shins to make him release her.

  She stood toe to toe with him now, staring up into his ruddy face.

  “How dare you think to perpetrate such a ruse?” she cried. “You cheated Michael’s father and very nearly cheated my own!”

  Templeton drew up to his full height, his eyes narrowed to slits.

  “Why you insolent little harridan!”

  He raised a hand and Michael came forward.

  “Lay one finger on my wife and I’ll kill you with my bare hands, Templeton.”

  Betsy crossed her arms and gave a nod of approval. Michael gave her a look that promised a scolding later, but she merely smiled. He looked at Templeton again.

  “Balsam,” Templeton muttered. “And Wilton, another lucky bastard.”

  “I would guard my words if I were you,” Philip said in a low voice. “I believe more than one gentleman would be pleased to see you gone from Society.”

  “What?” Templeton asked in confusion.

  “Your debts are legendary,” Michael said. “Far exceeding my father’s, I believe.”

  “You’ll never see a shilling of your father’s fortune, Balsam,” Templeton sneered. “Although I must say it brought me quite a bit of amusement before it was gone.”

  “It’s not all gone,” Betsy said.

  Templeton waved his hand at her dismissively but Michael caught her meaning.

  “The jewels, Templeton,” Michael said. “You will return my family’s jewels.”

  “I don’t have the jewels.”

  “Spare us all the inconvenience of another deception,” Philip said.

  “You’re in possession of them,” Michael went on. “I will have what is due me.”

  “You’ll never be able to prove they are yours, Balsam,” Templeton said. “Your worthless sod of a father is dead, as is that temptress of a mother of yours.”

  Betsy’s breath caught at the man’s words. To her amazement her husband smiled, but it was not a smile she ever wished to have bestowed in her direction.

  “You wanted her, didn’t you Templeton?” Michael said. “But she loved my father as my own wife loves me. Why, the very necklace you gave Betsy was my mother’s own, was it not?”

  Templeton snorted. “You have no proof,” he stated again.

  “Oh but we do,” Betsy put in. “One particular portrait hanging in Balsam Manor will easily prove our claim.”

  Templeton knew it then and Betsy saw it in his eyes. He took a step back from them, looking very much like a cornered animal.

  “Think hard on it, Templeton,” Philip said. “You certainly wouldn’t wish to see this story circulated amongst the ton, would you? How would you be able to lure another unsuspecting heiress to use her dowry to pay for your amusements?”

  Templeton cursed again, loud and long.

  Much later, Betsy laid across the big bed in the guest chamber at her parents’ townhouse, several lovely necklaces and bracelets dressing her otherwise naked form. Michael stood beside the bed with masculine appreciation in his gaze.

  “My God,” he mused aloud. “I didn’t think it was possible to improve upon your beauty.”

  Betsy laughed, her voice husky as she ran her own eyes over her husband’s fit body. She brushed her hair back over one shoulder and smiled.

  “Shall I remove them, husband?” she asked coyly, coming up on one elbow.

  He shook his head and stripped out of his clothes. He joined her in the bed, turning to hold her above him. She was ready for him, and took him high and deep into herself.

  “Ah, Betsy love,” he ground out, holding tightly to her hips. “Come to me.
”

  She did, sobbing as she declared her love for him. He let go, exploding high inside of her. He held her then, professing his love over and over as he rained kisses on her flushed skin. When their senses were more or less returned to them he helped her remove the pieces of jewelry, setting them carefully aside. When she was no longer adorned so regally he grasped her shoulders and held her away from him.

  “You’re even more beautiful without them,” he said, bemused.

  “You, my lord, sound like a man much in love with his wife.”

  “Guilty as charged,” he returned.

  They settled down in the bed, wrapped in each other’s arms.

  “I’m sorry about your father’s fortune, Michael,” Betsy said after a bit of silence. “I know what it meant to you to recover it.”

  Michael shrugged and held her closer. “I thought I was nothing without it.” A frown marred his brow. “That I had nothing to offer of myself.” He lost his frown and smiled at her. “But with my wife’s fortune, I believe I’m well set.”

  “Never mind,” she laughed.

  “I’m sorry I wouldn’t let you investigate into the entire mess sooner, Betsy.” He chuckled. “Not that my words could stop you. You’re quite dogged, do you know that?”

  She arched a brow. “I’m a dog, am I?”

  He shook his head. “No? How about a fox, then? You’re quick and cunning. A vixen.”

  She considered his suggestion for a moment, and then nodded. “That, I’ll allow.”

  He kissed her laughing mouth. “I love you, Betsy,” he said.

  Betsy touched her hand to his cheek. “And that’s all I’ve ever needed,” she said, cuddling closer.

  Epilogue

  Spring 1828

  A fire burned brightly in the great hall of Balsam Manor, adding its warmth to the room. Its walls were no longer damp, and its space was no longer empty. Its master was no longer solemn, either.

  Michael had only just returned from Bridgewater Park that very day, seeing to the horses’ training at the stables there. The breeding and raising of the horses was at last settled in Cornwall as well, making good use of as well as building upon his wife’s fortune. He gazed at the burning logs, marveling again at the changes made to his life since permitting a certain stubborn beauty into his heart. That thought led to the other female in his life, a joy who would no doubt prove as delightfully unsettling as his wife.