The Viscount's Vixen

by JoMarie DeGioia

  Taking purposeful strides, she entered the stables and did not stop walking until she stood in the doorway of his office. Michael looked up at her in surprise before smiling.

  “Betsy, I see you’re once again here in the stables. Can it be you wish a repeat of our tryst of several weeks past?”

  His smile widened as her cheeks, already pink from the cold, surely turned rosy red.

  “Perhaps another time, Michael,” she said. “I’m here to request your appearance in the great hall.”

  Michael came to his feet and took her hands in his. “You shouldn’t have ventured out of the manor in this cold. I won’t have you catching your death. Your father would never forgive me.”

  “I won’t. I promise you.”

  “Then tell me what requires my attention in the hall at this precise moment.”

  Betsy simply shook her head at him, a secret smile curving her lips.

  “Indulge me.”

  He nodded and donned his great coat. “Always.”

  He led her from the stables and into the manor. As they neared the great hall Betsy grabbed onto his hand, all but dragging him along with her.

  “Betsy,” he began with a laugh, “what has you in such a hurry?”

  He stopped in his tracks as he gazed upon the wall above the fireplace. The banner bearing his regal crest hung in the place of honor, its colors magnificent in the light given off by many candles and the fire burning in the hearth itself.

  “My God, what a sight!” He took her hands in his and drew her closer. She saw that his eyes didn’t leave the crest. “Your handiwork is exceptional, Betsy. I can’t discern any tear in the piece whatsoever.”

  Relief threatened to swamp her. “You’re pleased then, Michael?” she had to know.

  She studied his face closely for a long moment, waiting for his answer. The smile that curved his beautiful mouth was all the proof she needed that dark thoughts weren’t plaguing him at the moment.

  “You’re pleased?” she asked again.

  He spared another long glance at the tapestry and faced her at last, hugging her to him.

  “It’s wonderful, love.” He lifted her hands to his lips. “Your hands are quite gifted, and at more matters than pleasing your husband.”

  She pulled one hand free to swat him on the arm.

  “Never mind.” She removed her cloak. “I’ll await you down here while you ready for dinner.”

  Michael glanced at the clock set on the mantle and turned back to her, one black brow arched.

  “It’s not the dinner hour yet,” he said. “And why are you in such a hurry this evening? And dressed so magnificently, I might add?”

  Betsy smiled as she handed her cloak to a waiting servant. She turned to her husband and brushed her hands over the skirt of her sapphire blue gown.

  “Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, Michael,” she pointed out to him. “We leave for Bridgewater Park on the morrow and I so wished to celebrate our holiday at bit early, here at the manor.”

  He ran his eyes over her in blatant appreciation.

  “’Celebrate our holiday’ is it?” He chuckled. “Surely that can wait until we are abovestairs.”

  She clicked her tongue. “I’ve instructed the staff that we’ll be taking our Christmas meal a bit before the day. This way, we get two holidays.”

  “As you wish, love,” he said. He rubbed his hands together. “Ah, the thought of goose and plum pudding does set my mouth to watering.”

  She sighed in mild exasperation and placed her hands on her hips.

  “Then do ready for dinner, Michael,” she urged. “I’ll await you here.”

  He kissed her lips to ease their pouting and took himself up the grand staircase to their chambers. When he joined her in the great hall once more, dressed as splendidly for dinner as she could have wished, he held a velvet jeweler’s box in his hand. She rose from the settee on which she had been awaiting him and smiled. Her eyes widened as she spied the box.

  “Michael, what do you have there?”

  He grinned and held it out to her, bowing slightly.

  “For you, my lady,” he said. “A Christmas gift from your husband.”

  “Oh!” She squealed as she reached for the box. She suddenly checked her movement to clasp her hands together. “But it’s not yet the day.”

  “No matter,” he said with a shrug. “You yourself said you wish to celebrate our holiday early.”

  She smiled brightly at him and watched as he opened the box. Inside rested a pendant of deepest blue, the sapphire cut into an oval. It was not an exceptionally large jewel but it was flawless and sparkled prettily in the candlelight.

  She reached out to stroke the gem. “Michael, it’s beautiful.”

  “It’s not as large as the pendant Templeton gave you,” he said softly. “But the color reminded me of your beautiful eyes.”

  She looked up at him for a moment. Surely he doesn’t still think of Lord Templeton. She never gave a thought to the man. She ran her gaze over her husband’s beloved face.

  “It’s perfect,” she said simply.

  She turned her back to him and lowered her chin. He lifted the necklace out of its satin bed and draped it over her. He fastened it, letting his hands rest on her shoulders for a moment. She touched the stone again.

  “Thank you, Michael,” she said as she looked at him over her shoulder.

  “There are earrings to match,” he told her.

  She took up the pair of them and quickly fastened them to her lobes, then looked at him expectantly.

  “Beautiful,” he said, drawing her into his arms.

  He kissed her thoroughly as she pressed herself against him. When the dinner bell sounded he lifted his mouth from hers, leaving her with more than a touch of regret.

  “Our Christmas feast awaits,” he said to her unasked question.

  She nodded and took a breath to regain her wits and they retired to the dining room.

  A while later they were abovestairs in their chambers, readying for bed. Michael sighed in obvious contentment and patted his flat belly.

  “That meal rivals anything your cook at Bridgewater Park can prepare, I wager.” he said, shrugging off his jacket.

  “Mmm,” Betsy agreed, admiring the breadth and strength of his back as he turned to enter his dressing room.

  “No, wait a moment,” she said.

  He turned to face her, unbuttoning his waistcoat as he did so.

  “Yes?”

  “I haven’t given you your present as yet.”

  He ran his eyes over her as he had in the great hall.

  “I have no doubt you will, love,” he teased. “And more than once tonight.”

  She blushed at his meaning.

  “Yes, well,” she began, her eyes lowered to the floor. “Your gift is in my dressing room, if you would but wait a moment.”

  She hurried into the dressing room, her skirts swirling about her. She returned in the next minute, a large flat box held in her hands. A wide ribbon of red satin wrapped the box, the effect quite festive despite the simplicity.

  “Your present,” she said, holding the box out to him.

  He took the offering and slipped the ribbon from the box. Moving aside the tissue within, he found a waistcoat the likes of which she’d never seen outside of the finest houses in London. It was of a deep blue satin, nearly black it was so dark. She’d embroidered it with an intricate pattern of vines and leaves, the decoration worked in a fine thread barely two shades lighter than the waistcoat itself.

  “This is your handiwork, is it not?” he asked with surprise. “I’m speechless.”

  Betsy smiled widely at him and bade him to don the garment right then, in that very moment. He laughingly obliged her, fastening the pearly buttons and striking a pose.

  “What do you think?”

  “You look splendid,” she answered. “I hadn’t been certain when I was working the design, but now I see my instincts were correct. What do you think,
Michael?”

  He turned to gaze into the cheval mirror, a crooked grin on his face.

  “I believe your cousin will be green with envy when he sees me in such finery.”

  “Philip certainly would never be so.”

  “Ah, believe me, wife,” he said, taking her hands in his. “Wilton will no doubt make great sport of my handsome self and my fancy waistcoat.”

  She smiled as she agreed with him, thinking him the most handsome and elegant man she’d ever seen and marveling he was hers. He carefully removed the waistcoat and set it aside for his valet and turned to her once more.

  “Now,” he drawled, pulling her closer. “What of the other present, Betsy love?”

  She smiled up at him in sweet innocence, letting her beautiful blue dress fall to the floor around her feet.

  “As you will, husband,” she whispered.

  He quickly divested himself of his remaining articles of clothing. With her help he stripped her bare of all but the sapphire necklace and earrings and lifted her in his arms. He carried her to the massive bed and stretched out upon it, holding her above him. As she kissed him and caressed him, bringing him high and deep inside of her, she marveled at the great fortune that had brought him into her life on that day at the Derby.

  She lost all thought as she took her pleasure from him, and then brought him to a shattering climax.

  “Happy Christmas, Betsy love,” he whispered, holding her close.

  She sighed and cuddled closer.

  ***

  They left for Bridgewater Park early the next day, soon after breakfast. Michael knew Betsy was eager to see her family and share the Christmas holiday with all of them. She’d been in correspondence with both of her sisters but surely she missed the opportunity to converse freely and frequently.

  He settled back beside her as the carriage rolled away from Balsam Manor. As he faced her he found the look in her eyes very interesting.

  “May I ask, what is in that cunning mind of yours at this particular moment?”

  Betsy smiled, and heat suffused him. “I’m thinking of nothing of much import.”

  He eyed her closely, correctly interpreting the heat in her pretty violet eyes.

  “I believe,” he began, leaning back and assuming an air of supreme relaxation, “you’re thinking of me at this moment. Don’t shake your head, love. You’re thinking of having your way with your poor husband.”

  “Michael,” she breathed.

  “Yes, you’re considering using my body as you will for your own wicked pleasures.”

  She shook her head. “I am not.”

  He held up a hand. “You’re wishing at this precise moment to sit upon my lap, to lift your skirts and feel me deep inside of you.”

  Her mouth was an O of astonishment.

  “Michael!” she said again with much more force. “Such words are quite scandalous!”

  He chuckled, bringing his lips to her ear.

  “Ah, Betsy love,” he rasped. “Such words are quite effective at evoking an image.” He nuzzled her neck. She sighed and leaned against him. “Yes. Quite effective.”

  “I remember your comments on our trip from Bridgewater Park after our wedding,” she said softly.

  He drew back to gaze at her with growing interest. “And what were those comments?” he asked with a crooked grin.

  She turned fully toward him, nearly sitting on his lap.

  “I believe you told me that the rocking of the carriage would add an interesting element.”

  He blinked at her then laughed.

  “I did say that, didn’t I?”

  “I believe I would like some proof of your words,” she said, kissing him on his chin.

  Michael kissed her deeply, finally pulling back to curse softly. Betsy blinked at him in surprise.

  “Now is not the time or place, love,” he told her with regret.

  She arched a graceful brow at him.

  “But Michael,” she purred. “Surely you jest with me.”

  He shook his head.

  “Even if I could somehow manage to work my way through all these layers of clothes, darling,” he began, kissing her nose. “It still wouldn’t change the fact it’s quite frigid. I won’t have you exposed to the cold weather.”

  “But you could keep me warm.”

  He quickly drew in a breath. He saw her smile widen as her words had the desired effect.

  “Never mind, vixen,” he said with a playful growl. He held her fully on his lap, arranging her cloak and skirts to well cover her. “I’ll make you this promise,” he went on, kissing her ear. “I’ll take great pleasure in letting you have your way with me at the very first opportunity after our arrival at Bridgewater Park.”

  “Ooh, I wonder what guest chamber we’ll be given.”

  “Perhaps I would like to take you in your former bedchamber,” he said. “Yes,” he went on, pleased by the interest evident in her lovely eyes. “I believe such feminine quarters would be well suited for our purposes. I will press you against those little blue flowers that adorn the walls and finally give you what you have been so desiring this day.”

  Betsy breathed through parted lips. “You inside of me?”

  “Such scandalous words, wife,” he teased.

  Chapter 20

  Michael and Betsy soon arrived at Bridgewater Park and promptly proceeded to spend a very pleasant holiday. That evening after dinner, a feast that was even more sumptuous than the one Betsy and Michael had shared at Balsam Manor, the gentlemen took themselves into Lord Bridgewater’s study for the leisurely consumption of some of the earl’s fine brandy. Michael swirled the liquor in his glass, staring absently into its amber depths. He lifted his head and brought the glass to his lips, surprised to find Philip regarding him in an odd fashion. His friend’s green eyes held both interest and amusement, a confounding combination.

  “Wilton,” Michael began after sipping from his glass. “Pray, what has you so earnest?”

  “I wondered if you were aware of a certain gentleman’s recent visit to Bridgewater Park.”

  Michael looked at Betsy’s father, who nodded in his direction. Clarity struck.

  “Don’t tell me the Right Honorable Earl of Templeton graced the park with his presence?” he asked, managing to keep his tone even.

  Philip apparently wasn’t fooled by his nonchalance.

  “Balsam, surely you wish to know the occasion of the gentleman’s visit?”

  Michael looked at Philip pointedly to cease his verbal teasing and state his meaning.

  “Apparently the earl is concerned over Betsy’s well-being,” Philip said. “He managed to evoke the very image of the concerned benefactor.”

  “Why that pompous old man,” Michael muttered.

  “Now, Balsam,” the earl put in. “Lord Templeton did seem genuinely interested in my second daughter’s welfare.”

  Michael set his glass down on a side table and took a breath to calm himself. “Excuse me, sir,” he said to Betsy’s father in a controlled voice. “Do you have any misgivings regarding your daughter’s well-being?”

  “Certainly not,” the earl answered swiftly to Michael’s great relief. “I’ve never seen my daughter so content in her life.”

  “Then why would Templeton come here and allude to such a thing?” Michael asked of both the earl and Philip.

  Philip shrugged and drained his brandy glass.

  “He claimed to possess some worry over the living conditions of your home in Cornwall, Balsam,” he said. “Apparently he believes the place to be fairly falling down around your ears.”

  Michael once more felt anger surge through him.

  “I assure you both that the manor has had extensive renovations. I would never expose Betsy to any hardship or discomfort.”

  “We’re well aware of that, my boy,” Lord Bridgewater said. “I was quite confounded by both Templeton’s visit as well as his words.”

  Michael was quiet for a moment. He knew precisely
what the man’s goal was. The pompous ass wished to discredit him in the eyes of Betsy’s family. But why?

  “How could Templeton have any notion of the manor’s condition, Lord Bridgewater? When could he have been there?”

  Philip shrugged again. “Didn’t he profess to know your father? Perhaps he paid him a visit at some time ago.”

  Michael nodded absently, brooding over that possibility. Philip’s next comment brought him swiftly back to himself.

  “Now,” he began with a laugh. “Let’s talk about that waistcoat.”

  Michael chuckled and ran his fingers lightly over the intricate design adorning the rich satin.

  “My dear wife worked this design with her own delicate hands.”

  “Betsy is quite gifted with the needle, my boy,” the Earl of Bridgewater said.

  “Yes,” Philip said. “Maggie told me of her work on the tapestry bearing your crest. I believe it was quite done in?”

  Michael stood still. While the thought of the restored tapestry caused him no discomfort, the mention of its past destruction apparently still did.

  “Yes, the banner has been restored to its former glory,” he said.

  If Philip sensed something odd in Michael’s tome he didn’t mention it. He once more ran his eyes over the waistcoat.

  “You simply must bring that waistcoat when you visit London,” he teased. “I daresay you’ll rival the fanciest dandies in town.”

  Lord Bridgewater’s laughter joined Philip’s. Michael regained his good humor.

  Long after dinner, Michael accompanied Betsy to the large guest chamber set aside for their use. It was decorated in gold and ivory, and referred to by all as the Gold Room. Betsy had been tickled when she discovered they would have the room, but Michael took little note of it as he went into the dressing room. His mind was filled not only with Templeton’s unwanted visit but also with his own strange reaction to Philip’s innocent question regarding the tapestry’s destruction. Why the devil would such matters continue to plague him?

  Betsy soon blotted out any lingering thoughts of the tapestry. When he reentered the chamber, clad in his dressing gown, his eyes were drawn to his wife. She remained at the vanity, her brush slowing running through her chestnut waves. He quickly noted, although she wore a lovely wrapper over her nightgown, it wasn’t belted tightly about her waist or clasped closely together at her neck. His eyes went to the fire burning brightly in the fireplace, and then to the smooth plaster walls and well-glazed windows. He noted the room was warm, not damp or drafty as were their chambers at Balsam Manor. Did she feel discomfort in the rooms they shared there? Did she now revel in the immense comfort and luxury of her family home?