The Viscount's Vixen

by JoMarie DeGioia

  “Lord Balsam,” the girl said cheekily. “How nice to see you once again.”

  “How are you, Molly?”

  Molly sighed dramatically, placing her hands on her hips.

  “Quite disheartened, milord,” she said. “It’s been too long I saw you.”

  “I’ve been in Somersetshire, Molly.” He took a long sip of his ale. “I’m sure you’ve kept yourself busy.”

  Molly nodded enthusiastically. After a quick glance at her employer, a stout man standing guard beside the bar, she pulled out a chair for herself and sat very close to Michael.

  “I’ve missed your visits, milord,” she said huskily. “Have you been much in need?”

  Michael nearly choked on his ale. He set the tankard down on the table and wiped his mouth. Shaking his head, he turned to face her.

  “I have not.”

  Molly laughed out loud. “I find that difficult to believe, milord.” She brought her lips to his ear. “Who knows of your great need more than I?”

  He shook his head again.

  “Molly, don’t speak of such matters, pray. I’ll be bringing a wife to Cornwall when next I pass through here.”

  “A wife?”

  “Yes,” he answered. “And I’d hoped my nuptials would not put an end to my taking meals here.”

  Molly smiled slyly. “I grasp your meaning.”

  Michael blinked at her in confusion.

  “My meaning?”

  She placed her hand on his thigh, slowly stroking him. He placed his hand on hers to still its movement.

  “No. I’ll be faithful to my wife.”

  Molly studied him. “I believe you’re sincere.”

  “Very,” he said. “Now would you be so kind as to refill my ale? Our conversation has left me a bit thirsty.”

  After giving his leg another quick squeeze, Molly rose to see to his request. Michael sat there, watching her hips sway as she saw to the task. In the past, his body would have hardened with desire at the sight of her ample endowments. Now, however? He only wanted his beloved Betsy. He loved her beautiful face and figure. Adored her free spirit and kind heart. He even loved her cunning mind and stubborn insistence.

  When he finished his meal, he bade Molly farewell and once more boarded his carriage. Putting their conversation aside, his mind turned once more to the repairs in need at the manor.

  He arrived in Cornwall and alighted, filled with determination. Balsam Manor was ancient and majestic, and its setting was rugged but beautiful. The gray stone walls seemed to rise to meet the cloudy sky above. The sea could be heard from below the great cliffs, crashing against the rocky shore.

  Michael stopped and stared up at his home, breathing deeply of the salty air. Pride swelled in his breast. In his mind’s eye he saw the manor as he wished it to be, with smooth stone walls and well-tended grounds befitting its stately setting. Reality soon crashed down upon him, as harshly as the waves upon the rocks below.

  The walls were crumbled in sections and the grounds in dire need of tending. The huge wooden door of the entry was sagging to the point of its barely managing to clear the stone floor. Out of habit, he leaned against the door and made his way into the manor.

  Michael called out to Coombs, the Reed family butler. The man came rushing over the polished stone floor of the entryway.

  “Greetings, my lord.” Coombs bowed. “It’s wonderful to have you back at the manor.”

  “Thank you, Coombs. Have the stone workers arrived?”

  “Yes. I’ve seen them settled into the servants’ quarters.”

  “Very good. Surely we’ll need them for some time. What of the other tasks? Have those been seen to as well?”

  Coombs nodded. “As you instructed, my lord.”

  Michael nodded and strode into the great room, seeing evidence of the truthfulness in the servant’s words. He’d instructed Coombs to scour the vacant rooms abovestairs for additional pieces of furniture to fill the cavernous space. The added pieces did little to make the room appear any more comfortable than previously, however. Michael looked up at the beamed ceiling, far overhead.

  “Why the devil must this place be so bloody immense?” he wondered aloud.

  “My lord?”

  “Never mind,” Michael said. “The room will be vastly improved upon by the presence of my lovely bride.”

  His eyes were downcast as he made his way toward the fireplace, closely studying the slightly worn but nonetheless high quality carpets covering the cold floors.

  “The carpets are a welcome addition, Coombs,” he said. “They do lend the room a certain warmth, thank God. Well done.”

  Coombs followed Michael as he walked from room to room. The library met with Michael’s approval, as did the front parlor. Those particular rooms had walls of plaster, a remnant of the time before his mother died, when the late viscount had thought to renovate the house and bring it into the nineteenth century. Michael should follow his father’s lead, and reinforce the outer walls of the castle while seeing to the warming of the interior. He reached the dining hall and peered within, quickly making note of the maids busily polishing the silver and seeing to the china closets. He arched a brow at Coombs, who wore a small smile.

  “I’ve set the maids upon readying the dining hall, my lord,” he said with a nod. “I daresay you and Lady Balsam will be entertaining.”

  “You’re a wonder, Coombs,” Michael said. “I believe the future Lady Balsam will learn to rely greatly upon you.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  Michael walked over to the outer wall of the room and ran his hand over it, frowning as the mortar crumbled beneath his fingers.

  “Tell the stone workers’ foreman I wish to speak with him directly,” he said. “Much repair is needed before the house is deemed inhabitable.”

  The butler nodded and left his master to continue his inspections on his own. By the time Michael reached his chambers abovestairs, he was downhearted. Upon closer examination, he found many of the outer walls would need to be reinforced, if only to keep the dampness from giving Betsy an inflammation of the lungs. The ridiculously dark thought caused him to smile for, although Betsy was slight, he knew of no woman with a stronger spirit. She would never allow such a thing.

  He opened the door to the outer chamber, pleased that this room was sound. It was a sitting room, and much larger than his guest chamber at Bridgewater Park. A fire burned in the fireplace, and the addition of several pieces of upholstered furniture had been made. “Good man, that Coombs.”

  Crossing through the large space, he strode through the open double doors leading to the sleeping chamber. The heavy draperies on the deeply mullioned windows had been replaced with those of satin, matching the muted carpets in tone. The room was decorated in dark blues as before, but now it was accented with ivory, following the new color scheme he’d noticed in the sitting room. While the sleeping chamber was still stately in manner, it no longer seemed as dark and intimidating as before.

  He eyed the huge four-poster within, set on a platform in the center of the chamber. It too now sported the ivory satin, and appeared very inviting. He suddenly envisioned Betsy upon the magnificent bed, the dark blue of her eyes, the creaminess of her skin well matching the coverlet and draperies. Fierce wanting shot through him, causing his breath to catch. Ah, the things they would share in that bed.. His mood considerably lighter, he changed his clothes and went downstairs to his study to await the foreman.

  Chapter 14

  Michael stood in the courtyard, overseeing the work’s progress. He’d joined the men in the clearing of the property and seeing to the laying out of the new stone blocks. The work was exhausting, but he welcomed the physical demands he placed upon himself. He missed Betsy, and climbing into his bed after a day of physical exertion allowed him the luxury of falling into slumber quickly. She haunted his dreams however, and his arms ached to hold her when he woke every morning.

  The work on the manor was progressing, th
ough more slowly than he wished. The plasterers were to start work on the interior of the castle by the end of the week. Several of the outer walls had been reinforced to Michael’s satisfaction. He was confident the dining and breakfast rooms would see sound new walls by the end of a fortnight.

  As per Michael’s request, Coombs had seen to the hiring of several men to work the grounds, to return some of the beauty to the barren stretch of land. Floral plantings would be added, along with the trimming of the overgrown brambles that seemed to flourish everywhere. Michael’s memory of the long-ago condition of the grounds was cloudy at best, so he relied heavily on Coombs’s recollections in that regard. The butler assured him that the new Lady Balsam would like the changes. The courtyard would soon boast rose bushes in the formal section of the gardens, as well.

  Michael crossed through the archway into the courtyard, and his eyes fell upon the crumbling outer walls of the garden. He recalled the smooth stone walls enclosing the gardens at Bridgewater Park and frowned. Would his home ever approach the grandness of Betsy’s father’s estate?

  “My lord,” Coombs called from the entryway.

  “Yes, Coombs?”

  “A letter arrived for you.”

  Was this yet another disappointing missive from his solicitors? What the devil was the matter now?

  “It’s from London, I presume?” he asked the butler.

  “No, my lord,” Coombs assured him. “It is from a different origin entirely. From Somersetshire.”

  Michael took the letter from the servant’s hand. The paper was sealed with the Bridgewater crest. Turning the letter over in his hands, he smiled as he recognized Betsy’s elegant hand in the address.

  “Thank you, Coombs.” Michael grinned. “I’ll be in my study.”

  He turned and strode into the manor, leaving the butler wearing a similar expression of pleasure.

  Michael entered his study, opened the letter and began to read.

  Dearest Michael,

  How did you find Cornwall? The wedding preparations are proceeding quite to my mother’s satisfaction, and she assures me Bridgewater Park is ready to host our nuptials. I can scarcely believe we will be married within a fortnight!

  I miss you terribly, Michael. I cannot stop thinking about you, about your kisses. I fear you will think me wanton, but I must make this confession. I wish you were here with me this very moment, as I pen this letter in my chamber! Oh, do return to Somersetshire and soon. To be unable to see you, to touch you… I cannot bear it! You promised me you would soon return, and I shall hold you to your word. I love you, Michael. I remain…

  Forever Yours,

  Betsy

  Michael was grinning broadly as he finished Betsy’s letter. Her bold words pleased him. He saw her in his mind’s eye as she penned the letter, a pretty pink blush staining her cheeks as she made her confession. He knew what he must do. Unable to resist, he read the sweet words again and placed the letter in his pocket. He walked to the study door and pulled it open, calling out to Coombs.

  “Yes, my lord?”

  “Please advise my driver we leave for Somersetshire on the morrow,” Michael said, striding toward the wide staircase. “I trust you will oversee the improvements in my absence?”

  “May I ask what causes you to act with such haste?”

  Michael stopped on the steps and turned to him.

  “My future bride has requested the honor of my presence, Coombs,” he said with a grin. “And I find I can’t refuse her.”

  By lunch time the next day, he was back at Bridgewater Park. He found Betsy in the gardens, a thoughtful expression on her face.

  “Hello, love,” he called.

  Betsy turned fully, and then her eyes went round.

  “Michael!” she squealed, throwing her arms around his neck.

  Michael chuckled and caught her up in his arms, twirling her in a circle. He placed her on her feet once more, his hands on her waist. He smiled at the bewilderment on her face.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked. “Why, I wrote you only yesterday.”

  Michael feigned confusion. “You wrote me? Hmm. Perhaps you can tell me the contents of your letter.”

  Betsy lowered her lashes and moved out of his arms. She brushed her hands over her skirt, her cheeks pink.

  “I merely…”

  He laughed then, loudly. She cocked her head to the side, her hands on her hips.

  “I received your letter, darling.”

  Betsy gave a nod. “I can scarcely believe I put such things in writing. What must you think of me?”

  He placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. “Betsy, my opinion of you hasn’t altered in the least.”

  She stared up at him for a moment. “But my words were most improper.”

  “No. Your letter pleased me, love,” he said. “You’ve missed me nearly as much as I’ve missed you.”

  “I have missed you, Michael. So much.”

  “Ah, Betsy,” he answered, bringing his lips to hers.

  He kissed her, first tracing her lips with the tip of his tongue until she opened beneath him. Betsy sighed, pressing herself against him as their tongues touched. When at last he pulled away, she leaned her head against his chest with her eyes closed. He stroked her hair as she cuddled against him.

  He draped his arm over her shoulders as they began to stroll. “And how are the plans progressing, love?”

  “Very well. My dress is complete, along with my trousseau.”

  “Ah, the dress.” He smiled. “A luscious confection of blue, if my memory is accurate.”

  She swatted him on the arm. “You weren’t supposed to see it, Michael. You were in my chamber!”

  “If I hadn’t been, I would have been denied the most alluring sight I’ve ever encountered. That lovely satin.” He paused to wink. “That lovely figure. You were a vision.”

  “And you are incorrigible,” she returned with a tilt of her chin.

  He laughed and kissed her again. She could not help but smile as they made their way back into the house for luncheon.

  “What of the repairs to the manor, Michael?” she asked as they were served.

  “The work is progressing, love.” He shrugged and set upon his meal. “It will more than likely continue after we take up residence, I’m afraid.”

  Betsy waved her hand. “If you insist upon the repairs, then they must be needed.”

  “Indeed they are,” he returned with mock-severity. “And quite costly. It’s most fortunate I’m marrying a woman of means.”

  She laughed at his words.

  “The gardens are being restored as well,” he said. “I believe you’ll find them enchanting.”

  Betsy sighed. “I can imagine the heath and wild roses fairly covering the space.”

  “Hardly,” he said. “I’ve seen the place arranged more like the gardens here at Bridgewater Park.”

  “That will be lovely as well, I supposed,” she said. “Although I believe I would much prefer the wild flowers.”

  “Why does that not surprise me?” he teased.

  ***

  Betsy wore a smile on her face as Ann dressed her hair that evening, her mind on Michael. She hadn’t missed the heat in his gaze before he left for the stables that afternoon. She’d wished they were alone in that moment. She closed her eyes and sighed.

  “Was there anything else you required this evening, my lady?”

  Betsy started. “No, thank you.”

  When she was alone again, she allowed her thoughts to return to her intended. She studied her dress in the mirror, thinking of his response to the daring gown. Her eyes widened as an absolutely delicious thought came to her.

  “No, I dare not.” She giggled then, nodding her head in acceptance. “Yes, I will!”

  She ran into her dressing room, making the certain change to her dress she’d contemplated.

  Michael wasn’t in the parlor, to her acute disappointment. He joined her just as s
he was entering the dining room, however. When he arrived downstairs at last, he reached her side and took her elbow, sending sparks through her. It felt so scandalous, keeping such a provocative secret.

  “Betsy,” he began softly. “Whatever are you—?”

  She shook her head and made her way to the table, pausing only long enough to allow him to hold the chair out for her. She sat then, brushing her hands over her skirt. Dinner passed, and after a brief separation of the sexes they all sat in the parlor.

  Betsy interpreted the heat in his dark eyes and a tingle coursed through her. She lowered her lashes. Whatever would his reaction be to her delicious secret? She hid a smile at his expression of curiosity.

  Michael escorted her to her room a bit later, and her heart raced at what was surely to come.

  “I’ll say good night, love,” he said, stepping back from her.

  “Michael, don’t go.”

  “Betsy, we’ve spoken of this. You’re making it difficult for me to stand by my convictions.”

  She did smile then, and brought her lips close to his.

  He stiffened, and then crushed his mouth to hers as he lifted her in his arms. His tongue stroked hers, and he somehow managed to open the door to her chamber and urge her inside. Betsy pressed herself to him, slamming his broad shoulders against the door and shutting it tightly. Michael’s hands ran freely over her, loosening her hair and cupping her bottom.

  “Ah, Betsy,” he rasped, running his lips over her cheek, her neck.

  “Michael,” she whispered, pushing his jacket from his shoulders.

  He raised her skirts as he had so desired earlier, running his fingers over her legs, her thighs. He suddenly froze as his hands reached her bottom. He lifted his head, his eyes opened wide.

  “Betsy, you’re not wearing any drawers!”

  She smiled up at him. “Do you think me wanton?”