The Viscount Who Seduced Her (Steamy Historical Regency) Read online

  Mrs. Campbell scoffed at this, and Betsey looked up at her for the first time since saying the Viscount’s name.

  “I suppose that Lady Paulina believes she can make a better match than the Viscount?” Mrs. Campbell said, sounding sarcastic. “She always did have rather a high opinion of herself. Of course, that is none of my business.”

  Betsey knew that comments like these had little to do with Lady Paulina herself. They were based on Mrs. Campbell’s many years of experience working with members of the ton, all of who at one point or another, made some absurd request of their maids or housekeepers.

  Still Betsey felt defensive of her mistress. There had been a time when she might have said the same thing—when she had thought that Lady Paulina’s wish to marry her true love with a foolish fantasy. But after dancing with the Viscount, and kissing him in the garden, she understood that true love was not easily set aside.

  “She bears the Viscount no ill will, but she does not love him, though she agrees that he is handsome and kind.”

  “Handsome and kind, what more could she ask for?” Mrs. Campbell said, confused.

  Betsey did not know what to say to this. She had made the decision to trust Mrs. Campbell with her own secret, but she would not betray Lady Paulina’s trust.

  Instead, she confessed that she had snuck into the masquerade ball dressed as the Ice Queen, and that she had danced with the Viscount. She told Mrs. Campbell about their walk in the garden, leaving out the more intimate details of their kiss.

  “Betsey Babington, I never!” Mrs. Campbell said, her tone conveying her genuine shock at this behavior.

  “I know!” Betsey said, sounding miserable. “I know it was a terrible thing to do, to betray Lady Paulina like that!”

  “Well, I suppose it was that,” Mrs. Campbell said, sounding more stern than surprised now. “Lady Paulina will be just fine. I am more concerned for you, my dear. That was an awful risk to take. If you had been discovered, I shudder to think what might have happened to you!”

  Betsey had known this too, but hearing the words from Mrs. Campbell reinforced to her just how foolish she had been. She could think of nothing to say, and merely looked down at her hands in her lap, twisting her fingers together in her anxiety. To her horror, Betsey felt her eyes beginning to sting with tears, and she fought to hold them back, not wishing for Mrs. Campbell to think her a crying fool.

  “Well, now,” Mrs. Campbell said, her tone kinder now. “I don’t know how you managed it, but thankfully you were not discovered, so I suppose there is nothing to do but forget about the whole thing.”

  Betsey sighed deeply—they were coming to the most important part of the matter, and she knew that Mrs. Campbell would not like it.

  “It’s true that I was not discovered at the ball, but…” she began hesitantly, and then taking a deep breath she continued. “When the Viscount of Somerwich returned to visit Lady Paulina a few days later, I was their chaperone, and I did my best to stay out of sight, but the Viscount recognized me.”

  “Hmm…” Mrs. Campbell sighed, through pursed lips. “Are you sure that he recognized you? Are you sure that he was not just looking at a pretty maid?”

  “He gave me a note when he came visit today,” Betsey said. She considered handing the note directly to Mrs. Campbell to read, but her cheeks reddened at the idea. Instead she summarized its contents, leaving out the mention of their kiss.

  “Oh, I see,” Mrs. Campbell said, sounding concerned now. “Well, I suppose there is no mistaking his intentions then.”

  “No. I don’t suppose that there is.”

  “What are you going to do, Betsey?” Mrs. Campbell asked, still sounding concerned.

  “I do not know, Mrs. Campbell!” Betsey said, her voice sounding shaky even to her own ears now. “What can I do? Meeting him would be another betrayal of Lady Paulina, and another terrible risk to my own position at Cublertone. But the thought of not meeting him makes my heart ache.”

  “Well, I won’t deny that the answer seems quite obvious to me,” Mrs. Campbell said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Heartache seems a small price to pay for keeping your position with Lady Paulina. But then again, I am an old woman and have no more use for romance or intrigue. I remember what it was to be five-and-twenty.”

  Betsey had been looking down at her hands in her lap throughout this statement, but looked up suddenly at the last sentence. Is it possible that Mrs. Campbell understands some of what I am feeling?

  “I know that you will be sorely tempted to meet the Viscount in the garden tonight. I was young once, too, you know,” Mrs. Campbell paused here and stared off, looking wistful.

  After a few seconds of this, she seemed to snap out of her reverie and looked at Betsey once again. “However,” she said, returning to her usual business-like tone, “I am older and wiser now. I cannot tell you what you ought to do, but I can share with you the wisdom that I have acquired over the years.”

  “I would appreciate that very much, Mrs. Campbell,” Betsey said.

  “Here is what I know about men, be they stable boys or dukes: If there is one for whom it would be worth taking such a risk as this, I have yet to meet him. I am very doubtful that such a creature exists.”

  Her words were not unexpected, and her tone was not cruel or condescending, but Betsey could not help but be stung by this. Betsey did not doubt that Mrs. Campbell had spent many hours talking to younger servants about their romantic intrigues, and no doubt many of those had ended badly.

  Still, no matter how much Betsey tried to be logical about the matter, she could not let go of the feeling that the Viscount was different from those other paramours. Mrs. Campbell’s words only served to make her more determined to meet with him. She would talk to him and prove that he was worth taking the risk for.

  Chapter 22

  Michael was aware that his father had gone to bed directly after dinner ended—he was feeling unwell once again. His mother had joined him in the library for a few minutes, continuing her futile attempts to make conversation.

  “I do hope that your father will be feeling better soon,” she said, sounding worried. “His coughing fits drive him to distraction.”

  “Yes…” Michael said with a sigh, looking at the darkening evening sky out of the library window. He could not muster much feeling regarding his father’s cough at the best of times, and he was not willing to try very hard this evening.

  “Of course, the Earl has refused to see a physician about it thus far, but perhaps I should encourage him to reconsider,” the Countess continued, looking pointedly at her son.

  “Perhaps,” Michael said absentmindedly. Even in his current state of distraction, he knew that it would be useless to try to convince his father of anything that he did not wish to do. However, he also knew that his mother could be nearly as stubborn as her husband when she wished to be, and he sensed that this was likely to be one of those times.

  After a few more minutes of this, the Countess seemed to give up on getting more than one-word responses from her son, and she bid him goodnight. Her tone was rather colder than usual, but Michael was not much bothered by this. He sighed in relief when she finally left him alone with his own thoughts.

  It was not yet time to leave for his meeting with the Ice Queen, so Michael paced nervously back and forth across the library floor. Just as had been the case earlier in the day, none of his usual pursuits could distract him from thoughts of Betsey Babington. However, unlike this afternoon, Michael knew that continuing in this vein would be useless, and he decided to give himself over to thoughts of his Ice Queen.

  Sitting in his favorite leather armchair, Michael pictured her perfect face. He imagined staring into her warm, honey-colored eyes. They were unlike anything he had ever seen before, and he thought that he could stare into them for the rest of his life.

  This theory was soon disproven though, as his thoughts turned to her other attributes. Her pretty, cupid’s bow of a mouth was too enticing to be i
gnored, and it simply demanded to be kissed. I should be quite happy to answer that demand at any time, for the rest of my life.

  In addition to her soft lips, Michael imagined kissing her neck, softly, working his way downward to nip gently at her collarbones. This inevitably led to the idea of kissing the tops of her breasts, exposed by the fashionably low neckline of her Ice Queen gown. He imagined the moan that would form in the back of her throat, eventually escaping her lips.

  Michael’s thoughts were growing increasingly scandalous when the grandfather clock finally struck half past ten, pulling him out of his reverie. With relief, he realized that it was time to leave to meet with the beauty he had just been imagining. In less than two hours, if all went according to plan, he would be seeing that face once again.

  Michael did not wish for his parents to know where he was going tonight, but nor would he sneak out of his own house like a common thief. After all, he was an adult, and the heir to the Earldom. Still, he was careful to walk as quietly as possible to the front door, and was relieved to see no one as he walked out into the grounds.

  Michael entered the stables and saddled his stallion, Pepper, himself. Ordinarily a groom would have done this for him, but Michael had learned how to do it himself when he learned to ride, and still chose to do so occasionally, so it was no difficult task. He had been riding Pepper for several years now, and horse and rider had a strong rapport that made even a midnight ride easy and pleasant.

  Once in the saddle, Michael felt a sense of ease overtaking the anxiety he had felt all evening. Whatever happened now, he would at least know that he had made every effort to see the Ice Queen again. He set off at a quick pace, navigating the roads by moonlight, which was thankfully much brighter now than it had been at the masquerade ball.

  Moving quickly as he was, Michael arrived at Cublertone Manor in less than half of an hour, according to his pocket watch. He was early for his meeting with the Ice Queen, but late enough, he hoped, not to be spotted by any of the household servants.

  “Now Pepper, you must forgive me for tying you to a fencepost, but we cannot go to the stables tonight. You must remain here and be very quiet,” Michael said. He spoke in a serious tone that he always adopted when talking to horses, just as his riding instructor had taught him as a youngster.

  Pepper gave a very small snort and then bowed his head, allowing Michael to tie his reins to the fence post. Michael would never be so sentimental as to say that he and his horse could communicate as well as two people might, but he did think that Pepper understood more than most people would give him credit for.

  The relationship between a horse and rider was a special one. Of course, a skilled rider could usually ride almost any horse, but the best results came when horse and rider took the time to develop a relationship—each one learning the other’s particular needs and ways of communicating.

  Michael laughed quietly to himself. He was pacing in the moonlit garden of a beautiful, well-born lady whom he was expected to marry. The same father who had insisted upon finding exactly the right yearling horse for Michael to ride as a child, thereby ensuring an ideal affinity between horse and rider, had also insisted that his son marry a relative stranger based solely on her breeding.

  And yet, Michael could hardly chastise his father for this without admitting some fault of his own. He was not here to meet Lady Paulina, but her beautiful maid, Betsey Babington. He felt more sure with each passing moment that he was in love with her—but until just a few hours ago he had not even known her name.

  Michael reflected on this as he paced back and forth, wondering what it might mean about his future happiness. Perhaps the ideal marriage grows from an initial spark of passion, but requires time and curiosity to nurture that spark.

  Michael felt reluctant to compare either Miss Babington or Lady Paulina to horses, but he could not help but think that this had been true in his quest for the perfect horse as well. He had not felt passionate about Pepper, to be sure, but both horse and rider had been comfortable with one another from the moment they met, allowing them to learn from one another even more effectively.

  I must be more nervous than I realized, if my thoughts are wandering in such directions, Michael suddenly realized. He stopped pacing and sat down on the bench where he had kissed the Ice Queen. Once again, he pulled his pocket watch from his waistcoat pocket, and looked at the time. Only a few minutes had passed since his arrival, and he still had a quarter of an hour to wait until the appointed time.

  Taking a few deep breaths to steady his nerves, Michael cast around in his mind for something to distract himself while he waited. He thought about the chess game he had been playing against himself for some time, but was unable to think of a creative next move. He thought about Anne and Mabel at their boarding house in London, and smiled to himself as he remembered Mabel crawling about the parlor.

  His smile did not last long, as he remembered the man he had seen leaving the boarding house the next day. The man had seemed familiar, though Michael was still unable to think of where he should recognize him from. And he had seemed to stare at Michael for a few seconds longer than was strictly necessary.

  He had been nervous about it at the time, but had since more or less forgotten about the incident. Now that his nerves were on edge due to thoughts of Miss Babington, it seemed that his worries about being discovered as Anne’s patron were also coming to the front of his mind.

  This thought brought an entirely new worry to mind as well. What if Miss Babington should find out about Anne and Mabel? Would she wish to put a stop to the arrangement? He hoped that she would not, and that she would still be willing to marry him anyway. Of course, that is assuming that she will consent to marry me at all.

  At this thought, Michael stood up and began pacing once again. His boots would leave a well-worn path in the garden if Miss Babington did not arrive soon, but he could not bring himself to sit down once again. For some reason, movement seemed to help him feel slightly less anxious.

  Chapter 23

  Betsey left Mrs. Campbell’s room determined to meet with the Viscount in spite of what the housekeeper had told her. She felt certain that the Viscount was a good person, though she knew how foolish this sounded. I do not even know the gentleman, but I have never felt so certain of anything as I do of his goodness.

  She returned to Lady Paulina’s rooms in time to help her mistress prepare for bed. Betsey was distracted by thoughts of the Viscount as she helped Lady Paulina out of her gown and into her night clothes. While she was brushing her mistress’s hair, she imagined running her fingers through the Viscount’s hair, and bit her lip at the thought.

  Lady Paulina seemed eager to make conversation, and Betsey did her best to participate, but struggled to maintain her interest until the subject turned to the Viscount.

  “I must admit that I was surprised to see Lord Somerwich again so soon,” Lady Paulina was saying. “Perhaps he is growing more fond of me.”

  “Perhaps, My Lady,” Betsey stammered.

  “Papa says that he would not have chosen the Viscount for me if he were not a good gentleman. I know that he wants us to marry for political reasons, of course, but I suppose that is some comfort.”

  “Yes, I suppose it must be,” Betsey said, feeling a tightening in her stomach as she considered once again how she was planning to betray her mistress.

  “Of course, I would still rather marry for love, and to be perfectly honest, I believe that Papa is being most unreasonable on that point.”

  “Hmm…” Betsey sighed, not knowing what she might possibly say to this that would be helpful.

  “Still, if he will not concede that point, then I am glad, at least, that in addition to being rather handsome, the Viscount is a good gentleman in my Father’s estimation.”

  Betsey struggled with what she might say to this. She felt certain that the Viscount was, in fact, a good gentleman. However, she also felt certain that the Earl of Cublertone would have married his
daughter to anyone for political gain, without a second thought about whether or not he was a good person.

  Searching her mind for a response, and finding none, Betsey decided that it would be best to say nothing about this point. Instead she continued to brush Lady Paulina’s long, blonde hair, before gently plaiting it for the night and securing the end of the plait with a ribbon.

  “Thank you, Betsey,” Lady Paulina said, when her nighttime toilette was completed. “I think that I shall go directly to bed, as I am quite tired.”

  Betsey bid her goodnight and exited the room. Instead of going to her own adjoining bedchamber, Betsey went out to the hallway, making an excuse about needing to check with one of the other maids about something. She could not risk sneaking out of her bedroom and waking Lady Paulina before meeting with the Viscount.

  As soon as she had entered the hallway, Betsey realized the flaw in her plan—she would need to sneak back into her bedroom through Lady Paulina’s after the meeting. Her stomach clenched once again as a wave of anxiety hit her at the thought of waking her mistress whenever she might return.