The Viscount's Vixen

by JoMarie DeGioia

  He blinked rapidly. A wicked grin suddenly split his face.

  “I think I’m the luckiest man alive.”

  Their remaining articles of clothing soon littered the floor of the chamber as he proceeded to make her feel like the luckiest woman.

  Chapter 15

  Michael left Bridgewater Park the next morning, but Betsy had little time to miss him. Her mother had lists of last minute preparations for the wedding, and she was besieged with the details. Almost before she was aware, the most-anticipated day arrived. She sat at her vanity and stared at her reflection. Maggie and her mother would surely join her any moment.

  Ann dressed her hair in a most becoming fashion, twining thin satin ribbons of the palest shade of blue through her hair piled elegantly upon her head. Several long tendrils framed her face and brushed her shoulders. Betsy had dismissed the lady’s maid mere moments before and now she relished her short-lived solitude.

  Glancing quickly at her closed door, she pulled open the center draw of the vanity and withdrew several folded pieces of paper. She had written several missives to Michael during their second separation, missives she viewed as nearly as scandalous as her first. She trusted he enjoyed them, if these responses of his were any indication. More than one mention was made of the revelation of her delicious secret on their last night together. He’d taken obvious delight in her boldness, and stated as much in his letters. Such heated words!

  A knock sounded at the door, startling her out of her reverie. She rose and hurried to the door. When she opened it, she was surprised to find a servant standing there. He handed her a letter, bowing to her.

  “For you, my lady,” the man said before taking his leave.

  Betsy smiled as she closed the door, certain the note was from Michael. She was stunned to recognize the proper handwriting of Lord Templeton! She sat at her vanity once more and opened the letter with more curiosity than enthusiasm.

  My dearest Elizabeth,

  Please allow me to extend my very best wishes to you on the day of your wedding. Although the announcement you so graciously sent caused me much surprise, I nonetheless trust you are quite fond of Balsam and your parents are for the match despite the disparity in your respective stations.

  I am wintering with friends in Yorkshire but shall return to town soon after the New Year. Please do not hesitate to call upon me should the need arise within you for assistance of any kind. I remain…

  Your faithful servant,

  The Earl of Templeton

  Pompous fool! How dare he make mention of Michael’s station? Michael was a titled gentleman, and carried himself as such. If there was some sort of mystery regarding his fortune, surely Lord Templeton had no cause to speak of it. And he wished her to contact him for assistance when in town?

  “Not bloody likely,” she muttered aloud.

  “Betsy!” Lady Bridgewater said with censure.

  Betsy spun toward the doorway, surprised to see her mother. The paper in her hand fluttered noiselessly to the floor.

  “Mother.”

  Her mother waved her hand. “I’ve rung for Ann, child. It’s time to change for the ceremony. Lord Balsam awaits.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  No doubt Michael looked sinfully handsome in his formal black. His long legs, his broad shoulders.

  “Betsy!” Lady Bridgewater urged once more.

  Flushing, Betsy arose from her seat in response to her mother’s rebuke. She turned as Ann exited the dressing room with the wedding gown held in her hands. Betsy stepped into the gorgeous blue silk dress. Her mother ran a critical eye over her, at last giving a nod of approval. Betsy beamed a smile at her mother, who suddenly appeared thoughtful.

  “Mother, is something troubling you?”

  “You do love him, don’t you child?”

  Betsy smiled her happiness once more. “Oh yes, Mother. Very much so.”

  Lady Bridgewater nodded once more, returning Betsy’s smile. Her father then knocked on the chamber door, anxious to escort Betsy to the parlor for the commencement of the ceremony. The pair, linked arm in arm, exited the chamber with her mother following in their wake.

  Mary grinned at Betsy from where she stood at the entrance of the parlor. She was clad in a lovely dress of light rose, and wore her golden curls atop her head as Maggie did. Both of her sisters hugged Betsy and they were soon set to begin.

  Mary stepped through into the room first and Maggie followed. Maggie entered the parlor in the next moment, a smile on her face for Betsy’s groom. She glided across the room to join Philip, who smiled down at her.

  Betsy and her father paused in the doorway. Then she ran her eyes over her beloved, finding more to please her than she had imagined. His glossy waves fell across his brow, and his shoulders looked impossibly wide in his formal black. But the way his eyes darkened as they ran slowly over her was what thrilled her. Lord, she was a lucky woman!

  As if in a dream, Betsy felt herself drawn to Michael’s side. She barely took note of her father’s hand leaving hers yet was well aware of Michael’s fingers when they touched her. He smiled then, a dazzling smile that made her heart flutter. The ceremony was a cloudy memory by the time she recovered herself. She smiled up at her husband as he leaned his face close to hers.

  “Michael,” she whispered.

  When he said nothing, merely widening his grin, she cocked her head in question.

  “A kiss, wife,” he whispered back.

  Betsy blinked and brought her lips to his.

  Maggie was the first to embrace her when at last the newlyweds separated. Philip beamed a bright smile at the couple, giving Michael a hearty handshake and Betsy a warm hug.

  The newlyweds shared but one champagne toast before preparing to depart for Balsam Manor, wishing to take their wedding supper in solitude at the estate in Cornwall. They gave all the party guests a perfunctory greeting and left them to revel in their absence.

  Betsy settled herself close to Michael as the carriage rolled away from Bridgewater Park. She was a married woman! Married to Michael, the most handsome, most passionate man she had ever known. He never told her to hush, or scolded her for being silly or unladylike when she spoke with enthusiasm. He was the most gallant of men.

  ***

  Michael turned to face Betsy. Her traveling dress, a light confection of pale yellow, hugged her slight figure and caressed her curves. Even in the dimmed interior of the carriage her skin glowed a blushing pink. If he’d believed himself the luckiest of men when he’d seen her on her father’s arm, she somehow managed to surpass his dreams in her less formal attire.

  He wished in that moment to slip his hand into the demure neckline of the frock and feel her silken flesh with his fingers.

  “Michael, what are you thinking?”

  The grin he gave her made her visibly tremble.

  “Ah, wife,” he said, letting the word roll off of his tongue. “I believe you can guess my intentions.”

  She grasped his meaning with absolutely certainty and smiled brightly at him. Surely he was jesting with her, she thought.

  “Oh, Michael,” she laughed. “You would never attempt such an assignation here in this bouncing carriage.”

  He nodded. “I would,” he said. “The bouncing would add an interesting element. However, I want our first time together as husband and wife to be in our big, soft bed at the manor. You’ll find it most comfortable, I promise.”

  She nodded absently, her mind obviously on something else he had said.

  “Betsy, love,” he began. “May I ask what has you so captivated?”

  She flushed, gazing at him out of the corner of her eye. “This ‘bouncing,’ Michael,” she said softly. “Precisely how interesting would it be?”

  A surprised laugh rumbled out of him as he grabbed her and held her close. He held her on his lap as the carriage bounced along, kissing and cuddling her until they were nearly ready to expire from the titillation.

  They soon crossed over
into Cornwall and the driver called out to signal as much. Betsy slid off of Michael’s lap, brushing her curls back from her face.

  “When will we arrive at Balsam Manor, Michael?” she asked, peering out the small window.

  Michael took a breath to cool his blood and ran his fingers through his hair.

  “We have to ride nearly to the cliffs, love. Another thirty minutes, perhaps.”

  She smiled back at him. “I believe I can smell the sea air.”

  He smiled at the delight on her face. The brisk scent of the ocean was sea was indeed carried on the stiff autumn breeze. The afternoon was waning, and with the fading sun went the day’s warmth. Michael saw her shiver slightly and reached across the carriage to pick up her spencer where it had laid since leaving Somersetshire. He placed it on her shoulders, giving her a squeeze. She nodded her thanks and accepting a sweet kiss on her cheek. He suddenly straightened from her.

  “There, love,” he said, pointing toward the horizon. “Balsam Manor lies there.”

  Betsy smiled, but that expression was soon eclipsed by one of surprised delight. The manor stood proudly upon the rise, the red and gold of a glorious sunset framing the towers and walls. Michael watched Betsy’s eyes widen as the carriage drew closer.

  “What do you think, Betsy?”

  “Oh, Michael.” Her gaze was fastened on the edifice. “It’s positively marvelous.”

  He wished he could see his ancestral home through her eyes. Instead he could see where the east wall was patched with skill by the stone layers, where the grounds were still bare from all but the wildest growth. Surely she deserved to live in an house as grand as Bridgewater Park. Not a mausoleum with drafty corridors and damp walls.

  “Michael?” Betsy asked, drawing his attention.

  Michael found her wearing a look of befuddlement on her features and forced a smile. He was saved from making an excuse for his odd behavior when the carriage rocked to a stop in front of the manor. He helped Betsy into her jacket and assisted her down from the carriage, grasping her elbow as they approached the massive entry.

  “Balsam Manor is remarkable,” she said.

  “It remains in need of quite a bit of work, wife,” he gently pointed out.

  She waved her hand dismissively, delight still widening her eyes and curving her lips.

  He allowed a bit of her enthusiasm to wear away at his doubts. “What say you, Lady Balsam?” he asked her. “Can you turn this mausoleum into a stately manor?”

  She nodded. “Oh, we must go inside!”

  Michael scooped her up into his arms. She laughed gaily as he took long strides over the grounds sloping up toward the entry, her hands clutching his shoulders tightly. A smiling Coombs pulled open the massive wooden door, which no longer sagged against the stone steps.

  “Welcome home, my lord.” He bowed at Betsy. “And this must be Lady Balsam.”

  Betsy nodded as Michael deftly set her on her feel to face the butler. Michael held her hand in his as he made the introductions.

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Coombs,” Betsy said with a pretty smile.

  “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady.”

  He advised them of the dinner hour and left them. Betsy took small steps further into the manor, and Michael waited for her to say something, anything, to give him an indication of her opinion regarding the appearance of the great hall.

  The walls were plastered a cool ivory in the entry, but here in the hall the walls were rough stone. Taken with the high, heavily-beamed ceilings, the place seemed positively medieval. The polished stone floor beneath reflected the light from the many candles in the huge iron chandelier hanging from heavy chains over the center of the space. The deeply set windows with their many leaded panes reflected the candles’ light as well, along with that of the fire blazing within the massive fireplace. Did she like it?

  She walked slowly over to the hearth, her steps whisper quiet due to the warm carpet now beneath her feet, her eyes following the stone wall all the way up to the ceiling. She turned to face Michael at last.

  “Oh, Michael,” she breathed. “The manor is simply wonderful.”

  Michael blinked, surprised at the pleasure shining in her eyes. “It’s our home, wife,” he said, staring down at her. “Are you quite certain you find it to your liking?”

  Betsy smiled widely. “It’s the most magnificent home I’ve ever seen.”

  Michael let out a sigh of relief and bent his head to hers. The sound of the dinner bell stopped him in mid-motion. He gently grasped her elbow.

  “Dinner awaits, Lady Balsam,” he said with a bow.

  Betsy dropped a quick curtsy, an easy laugh spilling from her lips.

  Chapter 16

  Betsy was delighted to find the dining room decorated in the same fashion as the great hall. The chandelier hanging above the fine cherry dining table was of polished brass, however, lending its own elegance to the fine crystal and china set upon the table. Betsy found the contrast between the rough walls and the refined furnishings quite pleasing to her eye, and told Michael as much.

  “I’m glad this room pleases you, love,” he said, holding her chair out for her to sit.

  She sat and he followed suit, commencing with their wedding supper. Several courses were served, including soup, roasted vegetables and tender leg of lamb. After they’d consumed their fill of the fare, Michael waved the maids away from the room. He leaned toward Betsy then.

  “What say you, wife,” he began, “if we were to take our dessert abovestairs in our chambers?”

  “That would be delightful.”

  He nodded and stood. “After a while, that is,” he added with a sparkle in his eye.

  “Oh yes,” Betsy agreed, her heart giving a little flip.

  He led her from the room and toward the curving staircase leading to the second floor. At the top of the grand staircase, Michael directed her along the hallway. It was open to the floor below, giving a nice perspective of the great hall. She followed him further down the hall to the door to their chambers. He opened it with a flourish and stepped aside, bidding her to enter. She did so, looking into the sitting room with clear interest.

  The room’s ivory and deep blue décor pleased her, and the fire ablaze in the hearth set between two wing chairs was inviting. A glimpse through the wide doorway into the bedchamber caused her to gasp. The magnificent bed sitting upon its platform made her heart race. He would make love to her on that bed. She jumped as Michael’s hands gently gripped her shoulders.

  “What are you thinking, Betsy?” he asked, his voice low.

  She turned and smiled shyly up at him. “I’m thinking about that bed, Michael,” she said. “I daresay I’ve never seen another like it.”

  “My grandfather had it made to his specifications, love,” he told her. “He was as large a man as myself.”

  “Was he as handsome?” she asked, tilting her head to one side.

  Michael laughed. “That, I don’t know.”

  “Are there no portraits of him here at the manor?”

  “No.”

  “Whyever not?”

  “I never gave the matter much thought. Why don’t you ready for bed, wife?”

  She nodded, permitting him to lead her toward a door set to one side of the massive bed. She opened the door and found a large dressing room within, and it was clear that Ann had already seen to her personal effects. A nightgown of the finest lawn was laid out for her, accompanied by a matching wrapper. Betsy changed into the gown, letting the soft fabric drape over her. The bodice dipped low over her breasts, tied with satin ribbons of pale blue. The wrapper was a froth of ruffles, trimmed with more of the blue satin ribbons. She didn’t need to ring for her maid to dress her hair tonight. She simply loosened it and let it settle about her shoulders. She tied the belt of the wrapper and stepped out of the dressing room and into the bedchamber.

  Michael was waiting for her beside the bed, an elegant dressing gown of deep blue satin drape
d over his form. She crossed to him, placing her hands into his outstretched ones.

  “You look quite the lord of the manor, Michael.”

  “And you, love, look absolutely delicious.”

  Betsy blushed at his provocative statement. Michael reached out and cupped her cheek with his hand, bringing his face close to hers.

  “Ah, sweetheart.”

  His mouth rubbed against hers gently at first, his tongue tracing over her lips. She opened beneath him, letting out a soft whimper as his tongue slipped inside. Her hands stole inside his dressing gown, running lovingly over his hair-roughened chest. Michael brought his lips to her ear, nibbling gently at the lobe.

  “Delicious,” he rasped, letting the tip of his tongue trace the shell of her ear.

  “Michael,” she said with a shiver, gripping the lapels of his robe in her hands.

  His lips and tongue ran over her neck, into the bodice of her wrapper. The garment fell to the floor with a whisper, forgotten by the two of them as he swept her into his arms and laid her on the bed. There his mouth became ever more bold, capturing her lips in a hot, wild kiss.

  Betsy ran her fingers through his hair as she returned the kiss in full measure. He lowered his head to her nightgown’s bodice and gripped one satin ribbon in his teeth, growling softly as he pulled the ribbon free. She gasped as the garment fell open, then sighed as he fastened his mouth on one nipple. She cradled his head as he teethed the sensitive nub, her eyes closed in bliss.

  Before she was aware, he had divested her of the nightgown completely. His mouth moved lower, licking and kissing her belly. He parted her legs and placed a kiss on the curls at the juncture of her thighs. Her eyes snapped open.

  “Michael!”

  He stroked her gently with his fingers. “I must taste you.”

  His tongue flicked into the damp curls and she shivered.

  As he lowered his head again, she glanced down at him. The sight of his dark head nestled between her thighs caused passion to flare through her. She closed her eyes and surrendered.