The Viscount's Vixen

by JoMarie DeGioia

  “I’ll enjoy being close to Maggie,” she allowed. “And how long will you remain there with me?”

  “A little over a month.”

  “I know you’re needed at Bridgewater Park, but you’re leaving your helpless wife to attend the functions unchaperoned?”

  “Lady Balsam, I don’t believe you have a helpless bone in that lovely little body of yours.”

  “I’ll come with you to Bridgewater Park to train the horses.”

  “You change your mind each morning,” he said without anger. “You’ll drive me daft, woman.”

  Betsy simply grinned at him. He reached over and brushed aside a curl at the side of her face.

  “And I suppose after we stop for luncheon you’ll inform me that you intend to remain in town with your sister after I make my exit?”

  Betsy began to shake her head and then shrugged, holding back her laughter. He chuckled and leaned back against the cushions, leaving her to her thoughts. His mention of the nooning meal put her in mind of that inn with the very familiar serving girl. nervously fingered the velvet cording of her cloak.

  “Do you wish to stop at that inn today, Michael?” she asked, keeping her tone light. When he did not answer she glanced over at him. At his obvious bemusement, she quietly added, “in Devonshire?”

  He draped his arm over her shoulders. “Surely you weren’t troubled by Molly’s attentions, were you?”

  “You dallied with her.”

  “And I told you as much, love. The chit means nothing to me, you know that.”

  “I do,” she said quickly.

  “Molly saw that we were happily married, Betsy. If she could see that when you were barely speaking to me? That fact is clear as crystal.”

  Betsy breathed a bit easier then. When they arrived in Devonshire she was put further at ease to see it was indeed as Michael said. While the serving girl’s dark eyes continually ran over Michael in appreciation, she served them their meal as she would any other patrons.

  When their meal was concluded, they once more boarded their carriage and set out for London.

  “I take it you quite enjoyed our luncheon?” Michael asked.

  “Oh yes.”

  She gazed out the window at the passing countryside. The sun still shone and the afternoon was proving to be quite temperate. It grew warm in the carriage, so she removed her bonnet and cloak and set them both beside her on the seat.

  “I believe we are coming to a stretch of bumpy road, love,” Michael said with a crooked grin.

  Her gaze fell to his mouth, which he soon brought to hers. She returned his kisses, sighing as he tightened his hold on her. A gasp escaped her as he suddenly shifted, settling her on the seat opposite.

  “Michael, what are you doing?”

  He didn’t give an answer, but fell to his knees before her and lifted her skirts. She watched him, her heart racing as he slowly removed her drawers. He gently grasped her ankles and placed one foot on each of his thighs. He lifted her skirts higher still until they were nearly to her waist. His eyes sparkling up at her, he lowered his head.

  “Oh!” she cried as his mouth began to tease her.

  “Shh, love,” he chuckled, dropping little kisses on her inner thighs. “You’ll spook the horses.”

  Betsy placed one gloved fist in her mouth, her head lolling back on the cushions as his mouth claimed her once more. The rocking of the carriage moved her incessantly against his mouth. He braced his hands on the seat on either side of her, apparently taking care not to steady her. The motion of the carriage drive her closer to her release, and she couldn’t keep soft moans from escaping from behind her fisted hand. Her body began to tremble from within, and the tremors were due to sheer pleasure and not the vehicle’s motion.

  Unable to stop herself she cried out, clutching his head to her as her climax took her.

  He came up and kissed her then, letting her taste herself on his tongue. Before she could catch her breath he twisted in the seat, bringing her on top of him. He ran his hands over her back, up under her skirts. Betsy reached between them and ran her fingers over him, finding him hard to her touch.

  “You want me, Michael,” she breathed.

  “God, yes,” he ground out, quickly unbuttoning his breeches.

  He freed himself and brought her down upon him, hard. Betsy cried out again and clutched his shoulders, burying her face in the crook of his neck as she rode him. She found her second release only moments before he climaxed, barely feeling his grip tighten on her hips as he exploded within her.

  When she came back to herself, she lifted her head to find her husband as affected as she. His head was resting on the cushions, his lips curved in a smile as he sought to catch his breath. She kissed his mouth and sighed, settling her head against him once more.

  “You were right about the rocking, Michael.”

  He made a strangled sound like laughter and held her closer as the carriage rolled on toward town.

  Chapter 24

  The townhouse Michael had secured was in a fashionable section of London. The house was of gray stone and had several long windows on its façade. They alighted the carriage and Michael escorted Betsy up the wide steps to the glossy blue front door. The two of them handed their wraps to the waiting servant and walked about the house. They located a sitting room in the front, a lovely parlor with a fire burning brightly in the hearth toward the back of the house, and a study which seemed adequate for Michael’s needs. The breakfast room was small but bright and the dining room was very elegant. Betsy was certain that the rooms abovestairs would be as comfortably furnished.

  “Do you approve of the accommodations?” Michael asked her as they stood once more in the entryway.

  “It’s lovely, Michael,” she assured him. “And I daresay that pretty writing desk in the front sitting room will prove very familiar to me.”

  He nodded with a smile. “Invitations and calls will soon fill your time.”

  They climbed the stairs and found their chamber pleasantly decorated and furnished with a large bed. Ignoring her husband’s knowing glance, and the tingle it invariably sent down her spine, Betsy took herself into one of the two adjoining dressing rooms to ready for tea.

  The following day, their stay in London began in a most pleasant fashion. Michael took Betsy riding through Hyde Park the next morning, and on several calls in the early afternoon. The expected cards and invitations soon arrived, setting them firmly into the social whirl even though the Season wouldn’t truly begin until Easter arrived in a fortnight.

  One morning, nearly two weeks after their arrival in town, Betsy paid a call at her parents’ grand townhouse. While the house Michael had leased was in the fashionable West End, the Earl of Taunton’s was placed squarely on Park Lane.

  Her mother greeted Betsy with much warmth and more than a bit of disappointment. “Oh, my son-in-law isn’t with you?”

  Betsy held out her arms. “As you see.”

  Her mother’s brows knit. “I’ve grown quite fond of him, you know.”

  This tickled Betsy. “Truly, Mother?”

  “Yes, dear. No other lady of my acquaintance can boast of so handsome and accomplished a son-in-law.”

  They headed into the parlor, and she soon learned that her mother wasn’t finished giving her opinions.

  “He is no Lord Templeton to sure,” she went on, “but your beautiful smile has never been so bright as when you’re in your husband’s company.”

  “He makes me very happy, Mother.”

  Lady Bridgewater smiled. “You’ll scarcely believe who has also paid a call this morning.”

  “Who, Mother?” She stilled as she spied her mother’s favored visitor.

  “Hello, Betsy child.”

  Betsy could only stare at Lady Sarah Addington, the daughter of a long-time friend of her parents. She recovered herself and dropped a curtsy, managing a tight smile.

  “Lady Sarah,” she returned coolly, perching on the settee opposite.r />
  Betsy had never cared for the woman, and her dislike grew when she was a child and Lady Sarah had attempted to attach herself to Philip. She and Lady Bridgewater had arranged a betrothal of sorts despite Philip’s obvious indifference to Lady Sarah and his devotion to Maggie. She was still quite pretty, Betsy allowed, studying the lady’s shining black hair and deep blue eyes. But she knew the woman was cold and manipulative. Oh she had managed to present an affectionate front whenever Philip had been present, she recalled, treating Betsy liked a favored sister. That false warmth was evident this day as well.

  “I was quite astonished to hear of your betrothal to Templeton, Betsy dear,” Lady Sarah said, sipping delicately at her tea cup. “But my surprise increased tenfold when I learned you had broken your engagement to wed another.”

  Betsy bit her tongue to keep her comments behind her teeth. If only Lady Sarah would do the same.

  “If my memory serves, your husband is a frightfully handsome man.” She wore a sly smile. “Although I haven’t seen Michael—excuse me, I believe Lord Balsam is his title now—in years.”

  Betsy’s eyes grew round at the woman’s familiar use of Michael’s name. She set her own cup down and folded her hands in her lap, turning to face Lady Sarah fully.

  “I wasn’t aware you knew my husband.”

  Lady Sarah laughed, a sound that rang as false as her smile. “Oh my dear, you’ll find there are few people of high birth whose society I discourage. Pity about his fortune, however.”

  “What would you know of such matters?”

  Lady Sarah sneered then, her mouth an ugly slash. She soon smoothed her expression, smiling sweetly now.

  “You would be surprised to learn to what knowledge I am privy, my dear Lady Balsam.”

  “Sarah will be dining with us this evening, Betsy,” her mother said. “Perhaps you and your husband will join us?” She looked at Lady Sarah for a moment. “The earl is quite fond of Lord Balsam.”

  “We are attending a function this evening, Mother.” She too returned her gaze to Lady Sarah. “With Maggie and Philip.”

  The lady blanched visibly, taking a considerable amount of time to recover. But recover she did, Betsy noted with only mild surprise.

  “Ah, Lord and Lady Wilton,” she stated. “And how is your, um, sister these days?”

  Betsy didn’t miss the woman’s inference, her hesitation an obvious slight at the circumstances regarding Maggie’s birth.

  “Maggie and Philip are quite wonderful, Lady Sarah,” she said. “Most happy.”

  “Oh yes,” Betsy’s mother put in. “Margaret is still as beautiful as ever, Sarah dear. And Philip is ever the doting husband.”

  Lady Sarah managed another of her falsely sweet smile in the older woman’s direction.

  “Is that not simply wonderful?” she asked. “Oh, to find such a love as theirs. It is my fondest wish.”

  Betsy was not fooled for a moment. She couldn’t withstand Sarah’s company for another moment, nor could she quietly endure the woman’s thinly veiled barbs at her and Maggie’s expense.

  “Mother, I’m afraid I have more calls to make.”

  Her mouther blinked, but stood and gave her a kiss. “Do tell your husband to accompany you on your next visit, dear.”

  “I will.” She turned to Lady Sarah. “A pleasure, Lady Sarah.”

  The other woman smirked and Betsy took her leave. Dine with her tonight? Not tonight, and not ever.

  ***

  That evening Michael and Betsy readied to attend their first bash as a married couple.

  “You look marvelous, husband,” she said, coming to stand before him.

  He glanced over at her and his breath caught. Her gown was of silver silk, daring in cut. She wore the jewels he’d given her for Christmas, and the sapphire pendant rested nearly between her breasts. Her hair was upswept, and the sapphire earrings sparkled as she smiled up at him.

  “And you, Betsy.” He took her gloved hands in his. “I’ll have to beat the men away from you.”

  Betsy waved away his words.

  “It’s quite early in the Season, Michael,” she said with a cheeky grin. “I’m certain most of the younger gentleman still reside in the country. You must content yourself with thrashing only one or two very elderly gentlemen.”

  He chuckled. “Never mind,” he said, taking her elbow.

  Her smile grew brighter as they descended the stairs to await Maggie and Philip’s arrival.

  The party was held at the Earl of Winston’s, a most fitting location for one of the first bashes of the Season. The home was large, impressive, and beautifully appointed. Many candles lighted the ballroom, their light reflected off the polished floor. Michael and Philip escorted their wives into the room after greeting their hostess, leading them past the orchestra which played tunefully. Without hesitation the four of them took to the dance floor, enjoying several turns before the ladies at last begged a respite.

  Betsy and Maggie were then quite content to sit on two of the many gilded chairs which lined the space.

  “I’m surprised the place is such a crush,” Betsy said.

  Maggie clicked her tongue. “Nothing ever surprises me in town, Betsy.”

  “Would you like some refreshment?” Michael asked.

  Both ladies nodded and he and Philip made their way through the crowd of partygoers. They discussed a few of the horses Michael planned to work with when he returned to Bridgewater Park as they approached the refreshment tables.

  As they returned with glasses of punch for Betsy and Maggie, Michael caught sight of Lady Sarah Addington. She was still pretty, he allowed. But he knew a vicious heart was hiding beneath that pretty façade. And from the predatory glint in her eyes, she hadn’t changed one whit since he’d first made her acquaintance three years ago.

  “That cold bitch,” he muttered.

  Philip arched a brow. “Balsam?”

  Michael merely flicked his head in Sarah’s direction. Philip’s green eyes narrowed as he spied the woman. He looked back at Michael.

  “What the devil could you have to do with that witch?”

  Michael’s lips thinned. Philip laughed without humor, and Michael blinked at him.

  “Not you, too?” he asked in a low voice.

  Philip laughed loudly then. “No friend, but the chit did make an attempt.”

  “Unbelievable.”

  Philip eyed him closely. “Balsam, tell me you didn’t dally with her.”

  “No.” Another glance in Sarah’s direction showed she still watched them closely. He turned his back on her once more as they came to where their wives sat. “I’m quite certain we can find any number of topics of conversation vastly preferable to this particular one.”

  “And what topic would that be, Lord Balsam?” Maggie asked.

  “Yes,” Betsy added. “I am all curiosity over what has you two gentlemen so captivated.”

  Michael handed her a glass and took her other her hand in his. “I assure you, love. I’m solely captivated at this moment by the prospect of taking supper with my beautiful wife.”

  Maggie laughed lightly. “Have you been schooling Balsam, Philip?” she teased. “His tongue is nearly as smooth as yours.”

  Philip swore his innocence, taking her hand. Betsy smiled at them both, turning to gaze up at her husband.

  “Supper, then?” she asked him.

  All thoughts of Lady Sarah Addington left his mind as he gazed down at his loving wife.

  How could he entertain any thoughts of that viper when he had his Betsy in his sights?

  Chapter 25

  When the marvelous supper was nearly concluded, Michael bent his head to Betsy’s.

  “Do excuse me, love,” he said. “Wilton and Maggie have gone to speak with Lord Tratham. I wish to speak with him, also.”

  “Lord Tratham,” Betsy returned, sipping at her wine. “What care you of him? The man’s horse bested you at the Derby.”

  Michael smiled widely. “I�
��m well aware of that, wife,” he said. “However, Gusty did beat his gelding at Ascot. And if you recall Tratham has several other fine specimens in his possession. Of breeding age.”

  Recognition swiftly settled on her.

  “Oh, Michael!” she said with excitement. “Do go and speak with him directly. Just think of the marvelous horse we could breed off of Gusty.”

  “I believe I shall,” he said, standing. “Although I daresay you would attempt to spoil any foal that would result.”

  She swatted at his arm and watched him leave to join Philip and Maggie in the ballroom. She dabbed her linen napkin to her lips and rose, adjusting her skirts. As she was leaving the supper room a delicate hand lightly grasped her arm. She turned to find Lady Sarah’s intense gaze on her. Not wishing to be prey to more of the woman’s veiled insults, she nodded curtly and began to walk past her.

  “Your husband is quite delicious, Betsy child,” Lady Sarah purred.

  Betsy turned to face her, arching a brow and feigning an indifference she couldn’t quite feel.

  “Passionate as well.” Lady Sarah laughed softly. “I would wager, that is.”

  Betsy’s heart pounded at the woman’s inference. She squared her shoulders and forced a look of calm on her face.

  “Excuse me, Lady Sarah,” she said, her voice even. “I must go join my husband.”

  “I was surprised to find him attached to you,” she went on. “Not that you are without your charms. I’ve heard that your very generous dowry would have secured any man in the country.”

  Betsy stared at her for a long moment, speechless. Sarah laughed again, this time loudly.

  “It’s a pity that I didn’t know he was for sale,” She made a point of searching for Michael. “I would have purchased him for myself.”

  Betsy gasped at that and all but ran from her. Hateful woman. Her fingers itched to wring Sarah’s lovely white neck. Her mind spun with the woman’s words. She would have purchased Michael? How dare she! Betsy rushed headlong into a man standing in the ballroom and mumbled her apologies as he steadied her.

  “It is quite all right, Elizabeth,” a familiar voice said.