“Hello,” the Viscount said, as he approached. “I do not believe that we have met, My Lady. I am Michael Calford, Viscount of Somerwich.”
The knot in Betsey’s stomach was suddenly replaced with millions of butterflies, fluttering their wings.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, My Lord,” she said, managing to keep her voice calm.
“Thank you,” the Viscount replied, “and you are…?”
Betsey could have kicked herself for her foolish response, and even more than that for having no plan for how to answer this question. Obviously, she could not tell him her real name or position, and it had never occurred to her that she would need to make one up. She thought quickly and decided it would be best to remain coy.
“You may call me the Ice Queen, My Lord.”
“The Ice Queen, My Lady?” the Viscount asked, looking intrigued.
“Yes, My Lord,” she said, and then grinning saucily she added, “Or Your Majesty, if you prefer it.”
The Viscount stared at her for a moment and then laughed. His laugh was deep and warm, and it made Betsey want to embrace him right then and there.
“Well,” he said, when he had finally stopped laughing, “May I have this dance, Your Majesty?”
“I thought that you would never ask, My Lord,” Betsey replied with a grin. She was finding that her mask allowed her to say all sorts of things that she would never say under ordinary circumstances. In truth, she quite enjoyed the freedom that it allowed.
The Viscount offered his arm to her, and Betsey placed her arm in his, following his lead to the dance floor. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest and every nerve ending in her arm felt alive in response to his touch. When they faced each other on the dance floor, and the Viscount placed his hand on her waist, Betsey felt more alive than she ever had in her life.
* * *
Michael led the mysterious Ice Queen onto the dance floor, excited to spend more time with this most intriguing creature. He could not explain why, but he had felt drawn to her from the moment he saw her. Her costume was simpler than many of the other ladies in attendance, but she was the most beautiful person he had ever seen.
To be sure, her face was hidden by her mask, but behind that, Michael saw lively, enchanting eyes, the color of honey. Beneath her mask, her mouth formed a perfect cupid’s bow—the bright red a beautiful contrast to the silvery white makeup that covered the rest of her face.
When their gloved hands touched, Michael felt the skin of his palm against the soft fabric more intensely than he ever had before. It was as though his body were coming alive in a new way just to experience her touch. Michael gazed into her eyes as they danced, memorizing the beautiful honey brown color—he had never seen such alluring eyes in all his life.
The Ice Queen was a graceful dancer, and Michael found that it was easy to move in harmony with her. It seemed to him that their bodies were communicating in a way that his mind could not entirely comprehend.
As they danced, the rest of the world seemed to fall away—Michael could hear the music, but it was a distant hum compared to the throb of excitement that he felt through his entire body. Other people continued to dance around them, but Michael neither saw nor heard them. All thoughts of Lady Paulina abandoned him.
When the song ended, Michael did not want the spell to be broken. He felt as though separating from the Ice Queen would be the worst thing that could possibly happen to him, though he could not explain why he should dread the prospect so intensely.
The Ice Queen was gazing longingly into his eyes, and it seemed as though she did not wish to be parted either. Who is this enchantress?
“Your Majesty,” Michael said, his voice low and hoarse. “Would you care to join me for a breath of air in the garden? It is quite warm in here.”
“Oh, yes, My Lord,” the Ice Queen replied, her voice sounding sultry and inviting.
Michael offered his arm to the mysterious Ice Queen and led her off the dance floor. When he thought that no one was looking, he moved quickly through a side door into the garden. It seemed that a few other couples had made similar plans, sneaking off to steal forbidden kisses, but they paid no attention to the newcomers.
* * *
Betsey’s mind raced as she waltzed with the gentleman she had dreamed of for many weeks now. He was even more handsome in person than he had been in her dreams. Up close, she could see that his eyes were a deeper blue than she originally realized. Next to the dark blue of his sea captain’s coat, they looked deep enough to drown in.
The touch of his gloved hand against hers had sent a shiver up her spine. She could not help but imagine his bare hand beneath his glove, nor could she stop herself from thinking about that hand touching other parts of her body, which felt alive with energy as it had never been before.
When the Viscount had invited her to take the air after their dance, Betsey could hardly believe that this was happening to her. She had taken a terrible risk by coming here at all, and then by dancing with him. Being alone with him in the garden could ruin her entirely, and yet she could not bring herself to say no. She wanted nothing more than to be alone with him whenever and wherever she could.
So, Betsey had agreed, her heart racing with excitement as well as fear, and had allowed the Viscount to lead her off of the dance floor and into the garden. The night air was chilly but made a refreshing change from the warmth of the ballroom. Betsey spared only a moment’s glance for the other couples who had snuck outside for a secret encounter. Her attention was focused entirely on the Viscount.
They walked arm in arm for a few moments in silence. Betsey’s heart beat faster than she had known it could, and warmth flooded her face, in spite of the cold. She said a silent prayer of thanks for the combination of her white face powder and the dark night, which she hoped would hide her blush.
Betsey felt that the silence between herself and the Viscount was not awkward, but rather full of energy. She was more aware of her arm touching his than she had ever been of any part of her body. If we were to touch any more than we already are, I am sure that my entire body would come alive in a new way.
After a few moments, the Viscount stopped walking, and gestured for Betsey to join him on a bench, located next to a conveniently large shrub that would shield them from prying eyes. A sliver of moon hung low in the sky, casting only the faintest, silvery light.
Once again, Betsey said a silent prayer of thanks for this stroke of luck. If the moon had been full tonight, she might not have risked her evening stroll with the Viscount. Even so, she knew that this was not an entirely wise decision, but her passion had overcome her reason, and she felt as though fate was working in her favor.
Betsey sat next to the Viscount, feeling the warmth of his body emanating out towards her. She wondered if he could feel her warmth as well, even as she shivered slightly.
“You are cold, My Lady,” the Viscount said, sounding concerned. Then with a laugh he added, “I mean, Your Majesty!”
Betsey laughed at this as well, “I am an Ice Queen, My Lord, it is only fitting that I should be cold.”
“Nevertheless,” the Viscount said, in a kind voice, “Please take my jacket. I have no wish to be accused of treason if you should catch a chill.”
Before Betsey could even answer him, he had removed his jacket and begun to place it about her shoulders. With his jacket off, Betsey could study the Viscount’s silhouette—broad shoulders and chest tapering down to a narrow waist. He ought to have come dressed as Adonis, for he is the most perfect specimen of male beauty that I have ever seen.
With his jacket wrapped about her shoulders, Betsey did feel more comfortable in the evening air. She could smell his clean, masculine scent on the collar, and became aware that her breathing was growing faster and shallower. She made an effort to return it to its usual pace.
“Thank you, My Lord.”
“You are very welcome, indeed.”
“It is such a lovely evening,” Betsey said, wist
fully, looking up at the starry sky.
“It is,” the Viscount agreed. “And the masquerade seems to be a success. I suppose that the Earl must be quite practiced at throwing affairs such as this one.”
Betsey felt a twinge of annoyance at this, knowing that the Earl had done nothing more than direct his staff to prepare for a ball, leaving all of the details to Mrs. Campbell.
“I’m sure that the Earl’s staff are quite practiced at it,” she said, without thinking.
“Oh!” the Viscount responded, sounding flustered. “Yes, of course, it is they who do all of the work, I am sure.”
Betsey had regretted the words the moment they left her lips. She had upset the Viscount, and now risked exposing herself as an imposter. How could I have been so stupid?
“I am sorry, My Lord, truly, I meant no offense!” she said, hoping desperately that he would accept this apology.
“There is no need to apologize, My Lady!” he replied, quickly. “None at all. I am sure that you are quite right. In fact, I imagine that the staff have been working all hours of the day and night to prepare for this event.”
“I…suppose so,” Betsey replied, not wishing to indicate that she had any particular knowledge of the subject at hand.
Michael leaned in closer, and in a playful tone said, “Between you and me, I doubt very much that the Earl was involved in the planning process at all.”
Betsey laughed nervously at this, and then, feeling reckless, she said, “I understand that the Earl’s daughter runs his household. Lady Paulina. Perhaps she was the architect of tonight’s festivities.”
In the darkness, Betsey could see little of the Viscount’s facial expression, but she sensed no change in his body language at the mention of Lady Paulina’s name.
“I suppose you are right,” he replied, his tone casual. “If so, she is to be congratulated on her good taste.”
“Indeed, she is,” Betsey said, making a mental note to congratulate Mrs. Campbell, whom she knew to be the actual responsible party.
“Still,” the Viscount continued, “One cannot discount the hard work of the staff who make an event such as this one come together. I must admit that I have always been fascinated by all of the work that goes unseen to run an estate.”
“Really, My Lord?” Betsey said, intrigued by this revelation.
“I know that it must seem strange,” he replied. “As with so many things, there is much more to life in a country estate than meets that eye. I am interested to know how each of the pieces works together in concert. But of course, those pieces are, in fact, people…”
Betsey stared at the Viscount’s outline, uncertain of what to say. She had never imagined a member of the aristocracy thinking about household servants at all. She had certainly never imagined that he might have such a nuanced and kind understanding of her life.
She would not have thought it possible to feel more drawn to him than she already was, but with these words, Betsey fell in love. Not only was he the handsomest gentleman she had ever seen, but he was kind, witty, and smart. Betsey could not think of a single quality about the Viscount that she would change.
“My Lord,” she said, her voice hoarse with longing. “I do not think it is strange at all. I think that you are absolutely right, and incredibly kind to think of such things.”
Without realizing it, Betsey had leaned closer to the Viscount as she spoke. Now she found that her face was mere inches from his, and her breath caught in her throat.
The world was reduced to the bench upon which they sat. Betsey could think of nothing but the Viscount, as he leaned in closer and his lips touched hers. His kiss was soft to begin with, and Betsey relished the feeling of his lips on hers.
Leaning into the kiss, it became more urgent, more passionate. Betsey opened her mouth beneath the Viscount’s, and felt his tongue begin to massage her own. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her body close to his, and holding her tenderly. Betsey could feel his heart beating in his chest, pressed tightly against her own, and a deep moan escaped her.
The sound of her moan startled Betsey, pulling her back to reality. Reluctantly, she broke away from the Viscount’s kiss. She could not do this—he was going to marry Lady Paulina. She was betraying her mistress and friend by being here. She risked her position and her reputation if she was found out. That moan had been all the confirmation she needed to know that she could no longer control her own emotions and desires.
“I am sorry, My Lord, I must go!” she said, sounding frantic, even to herself.
“My Lady?” the Viscount said, sounding bewildered.
“I am sorry!” Betsey repeated, pulling off his jacket and handing it back to him before turning away.
“Please, Your Majesty, please at least tell me your name?”
“I must go, My Lord,” Betsey said, already walking quickly, calling these words over her shoulder as she went.
Chapter 16
Michael stood alone in the garden, feeling utterly foolish. He had no idea what he might have said or done to make the Ice Queen run away from him as she had done. Was it too forward of me to kiss her? She seemed eager to participate, but perhaps I scared her off?
He knew that he ought to go back inside, but he could not bring himself to do it just yet. Sitting back down on the stone bench, Michael sighed deeply. He contemplated the evening’s events so far. His initial interactions with Lady Paulina had seemed promising, but things had turned awkward between them after a simple misunderstanding.
There had been no awkwardness in his encounter with the Ice Queen, merely a spark of interest that could not be ignored. He had never felt such a sudden passion for someone, nor such an overwhelming one.
He had imagined that this type of feeling was the stuff of fairy tales, but now having experienced it for himself, he wanted nothing so much as to see the object of his affection again. He might have been angry when she ran away from him, but in truth he was more intrigued than ever.
After sitting for several minutes, contemplating the possible identity of the Ice Queen, Michael had come up with no answers and was beginning to feel cold. Sighing, he realized that he ought to return to the ball—it was likely that he had already been missed, and the longer he stayed away, the harder it would be to explain his absence.
Standing up, he put his jacket back on and carefully buttoned it before walking back to the side door through which he had escaped. He passed another couple stealing a kiss behind a large rosebush, and envied them their encounter.
Returning to the ball, Michael saw that the dancefloor was full, and no one appeared to be looking for him. He breathed a sigh of relief when he noticed Lady Paulina dancing with someone he could not identify. The gentleman’s face was entirely covered by a Venetian mask, and Lady Paulina seemed quite happy dancing with him.
Michael joined the dancing with a series of partners, all of whom were quite lovely in their costumes, and well instructed in the art of dancing. He made pleasant conversation with each of them in turn, but was unable to muster any real enthusiasm. His eyes scanned the crowd, both on and off the dance floor, for any sign of the Ice Queen, but he saw nothing for the remainder of the evening.
Once more he danced with Lady Paulina—the final dance of the evening. They danced well together and shared pleasant conversation, their earlier awkwardness soon forgotten. Still, he could not help but compare her to the intoxicating creature he had met earlier that evening. Could he ever, possibly, feel as intrigued by Lady Paulina as he had by the Ice Queen? But, of course, he already knew the answer to that question.
When the final dance of the evening ended, Michael and Lady Paulina walked off the dance floor together.
“Thank you for a lovely evening, My Lady,” Michael said, rather formally.
“You are quite welcome, My Lord,” Lady Paulina replied, her voice quiet. “Thank you for coming. I look forward to seeing you again soon.”
Michael smiled at her and nodded in acknowledgement of
this. Lady Paulina did not look particularly happy, but perhaps she was only tired. He did not know what to say, or whether he wished to call upon Lady Paulina again. As he left the ballroom, a flash of white on the floor caught his eye. Reaching down discreetly, he picked up a small white feather that looked as though it might have come from the Ice Queen’s mask.
He had resolved to move forward with their courtship and engagement if Lady Paulina seemed open to his advances at the masquerade. She had not been as enthusiastic as he had hoped, perhaps, but she did seem more interested than she had been in the past. If he had not met the Ice Queen, he would most likely have thought the evening with Lady Paulina a great success.
The Viscount Who Seduced Her (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 13
