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

  Taking a few deep breaths to steady herself, Betsey decided that there was no help for it, and she would simply need to hope that Lady Paulina would sleep soundly enough that she would not wake when Betsey returned.

  As quietly as she could manage, Betsey crept down the stairs to the entry hall. Ordinarily she would have used the servant’s stairs, but she did not wish to run into any of the other servants tonight. She knew that Lady Paulina and the Earl had both retired for the night, so there was no risk of running into them in the main house.

  Betsey breathed a sigh of relief upon reaching the front door without running into another living soul. She counted herself lucky when she was able to open the door without a creak and step out into the brisk night air.

  For a moment it occurred to her that she ought to turn back and retrieve the shawl her mother had knitted for her, to protect herself from the cold night air. Almost immediately she realized that this was madness, and she chastised herself for being so foolish. I was lucky enough to make it outside, undetected, once. It would be asking far too much to make it back here another time.

  Betsey breathed in the night air, and set her resolve. She would survive a few minutes of cold, and she would be thankful for it, if it meant that she could spend those minutes with the Viscount.

  The garden where they had walked, and kissed, on the night of the masquerade ball was at the back of the house. Since Betsey had exited through the front door, she would need to walk fully around the property to find the appointed spot. As she did so, nervous thoughts ran through her mind.

  She wondered if the Viscount would be there at all. Perhaps she had misread his letter and he would be coming at a different time or on a different day. Of course, she knew that was not the case, having read the letter so many times to herself that she could now recite it.

  Still, she wondered if something might have happened to prevent him from coming to meet her. Perhaps someone at Hillfield would have stopped him from leaving. Or something might have happened to him on his way here.

  The thought of the Viscount lying along the road somewhere, thrown from his horse, caused a lump to form in Betsey’s throat. But of course, she knew that he was an excellent rider, and it was a clear night with strong moonlight.

  Her last anxious worry was that perhaps this was some sort of cruel joke, and the Viscount did not care for her at all. She did not really believe that this could be the case, but what if she was mistaken? After all, why should a Viscount care about a lady’s maid?

  I must stop thinking like this! In a moment, I will turn the corner, and the Viscount of Somerwich will either be there waiting for me, or he will not.

  Betsey had nearly convinced herself that she would be fine in either case, when she turned the corner and saw a figure sitting on a bench in the garden. The figure was tall and lean, silhouetted in moonlight so that it looked almost like a silvery ghost.

  As she approached, the figure stood up and turned to face her directly. Betsey could see clearly now, that it was the Viscount of Somerwich, and a wave of relief such as she had never felt before flooded through her body. The tension left her stomach and her chest, and in releasing them, Betsey realized that she had been holding her hands in tight fists.

  “Miss Babington! I am so glad that you came!” the Viscount said, his voice sounding strained.

  “My Lord,” Betsey replied, curtseying out of habit, without even thinking about what she was doing. “I am glad that you are here as well!”

  “Of course I am, Miss Babington!” he replied with a chuckle. “It would be very poor manners, indeed, to invite you here and then fail to turn up to the meeting myself.”

  Betsey laughed nervously at this, feeling foolish for every having doubted his sincerity.

  “I did not mean to suggest that you would do something impolite, My Lord,” she said after a moment. “Only that I am very glad to see you.”

  The Viscount took her hands in his and pulled her closer to him. “I am so glad to see you, too. Please, you do not need to call me, ‘My Lord’. You may call me Michael, if it please you.”

  “Oh!” Betsey said, shocked at the idea of addressing him so informally, though she had wondered if he would ask this of her since seeing him sign his letter with only his Christian name. “If you wish it, My—I’m sorry, I mean, if you wish it, Michael. And I suppose you may call me Betsey.”

  “Only if you wish me to,” Michael said quietly, moving a little bit closer, reducing the space between their bodies to mere inches.

  “I do,” Betsey said, even more quietly.

  They now stood only a few inches apart, their chests nearly touching. From this distance, Betsey could examine every detail of the Viscount’s face, and she found that he seemed even more handsome than he had been just a few hours earlier. She did not know how such a thing could be possible, but it appeared to be happening before her very eyes.

  “Oh, Betsey,” Michael said, leaning in so that their foreheads were touching. “I have thought of nothing but you since the masquerade ball. Please, I must know more about you!”

  Betsey hesitated for a moment. His letter had suggested the possibility that she was a well-born lady disguised as a maid for some unknown purpose, but the truth was much less interesting. Would he be disappointed to learn that she was exactly what she appeared to be?

  Betsey decided that no good could come from lies or half-truths at this juncture, and chose to simply tell him the truth. She looked down as she explained that she had been born and raised in a nearby village, and had come to work at Cublertone nearly ten years earlier, working her way up to the position of Lady Paulina’s personal maid.

  Far from being disappointed by this, the Viscount seemed to find it all quite fascinating.

  “You say that your brother got you the position? Had he been working here for long before that happened?”

  “Just a few years, and then he was promoted to be the Earl’s personal valet, and recommended me for a chamber maid’s position, and that was the beginning of my time here.”

  “I suppose we have many servants at Hillfield who came to their positions in a similar way,” Michael said, sounding thoughtful.

  “You seem to be quite interested in the subject, more than most members of the ton, I would guess,” Betsey said, in a playful tone.

  Michael laughed at this and leaned in to whisper in her ear, “I must admit, I never was particularly interested until recently. But then I met the most beautiful and intriguing person, and as it turns out, she is a lady’s maid…”

  Betsey felt her skin tingling where his lips brushed against her ear. Every breath came faster than the last one, and she felt her heart beating in her chest. Every inch of her body felt alive, just as it had when she danced with the Viscount, and later when he had kissed her.

  Noticing every sensation in her body, Betsey found it difficult to focus on the words the Viscount was speaking to her, but she was able to gather that he found her quite enticing. The feeling was, of course, quite mutual, and without a thought, Betsey turned her face toward Michael’s.

  Soon his lips were on hers, and Betsey could not hold back a moan of pure pleasure. His kisses started off softly, but soon became more passionate. Betsey opened her mouth beneath his, allowing his tongue entry, as he took possession of her.

  A shiver ran up her spine as Michael’s arm encircled her, pressing her body close to his. She felt a tingling sensation in her nipples as her chest was pressed against him. The warmth of his body soon began to flow into her own, and Betsey no longer felt cold. She pressed herself even closer to Michael and allowed her tongue to explore his mouth, just as he had done to her.

  Michael gave a deep sigh of obvious pleasure, and Betsey soon found that this made her enjoy his kisses even more than she already did. When he moved his lips away from hers, Betsey felt a rush of disappointment, but it was replaced almost immediately with pleasure when he began to kiss her neck, just below her ear.

  Betsey le
aned her head back to allow the Viscount to kiss her more freely, and he trailed gently tickling kisses over her throat and collarbones. Another moan rose in her, and Betsey did not fight it. Between moans she whispered, “Michael…oh, Michael…” and Michael responded to the sound of his name with moans of his own.

  Betsey could not have said how long they remained in the garden, kissing, before the Viscount pulled away from her. She felt a pang of sadness when this happened, and looked longingly at him.

  “Oh Betsey, I wish that we could stay here, just like this, forever!”

  “That would be amazing,” she said, breathless. “I wish for the same thing, but I suppose such a thing would not really be practical…”

  “No,” Michael said, with a breathless laugh. “I don’t suppose that it would, but it is nice to imagine.”

  “Mmm…” Betsey sighed happily, leaning into him. “It is nice to imagine. But I suppose we must think about what we shall do in reality.”

  “Yes, I suppose we must,” Michael said with a sigh. “I am falling in love with you, Betsey.”

  “And I am falling in love with you, Michael,” Betsey replied, but her tone was sad. “But you are a Viscount, and I am only a maid.”

  “I told you in my letter, I do not care what your station is, all I care about is you!” Michael insisted.

  “That is very romantic, but are you sure that you have really considered this? I must be clear with you, I have risked my reputation already by agreeing to meet you tonight, but I will not risk it any further.”

  “And I will not ask it of you!” Michael said firmly. “Betsey, I am not asking you to be my mistress.”

  Michael took a step back from her, pulling his arms from around her, but holding both of her hands in his. He lowered himself to one knee and said, “I am asking you to marry me. Please, Betsey, be my wife, and make me the happiest gentleman in the world!”

  Betsey stared at him, incredulous, for a moment before responding. She wanted desperately to say yes to his proposal, to be his wife, and to claim him as her own for the whole world to see. But she knew also that doing so would create a scandal that might ruin him.

  “Oh Michael! I want nothing more than to be your wife, but what of Lady Paulina?”

  Michael paused at this and looked sadly into Betsey’s eyes. “I will be very sorry to disappoint Lady Paulina,” he said, sounding genuinely concerned. “I do not love her, and I can see that she does not love me. I am certain that we would never make each other happy.”

  Betsey could hardly argue with this assessment of the situation, so she merely nodded. “What of your parents? Surely the Earl and Countess would not approve of their son marrying a lady’s maid?”

  “I am quite sure they would not,” Michael said, his mouth set in a hard line. “My mother will come around, and I do not care what my father thinks. I doubt that he will disinherit me, as I am his only living heir, but even if he does, I will find another way to make my way in the world. His title and peerage are of little interest to me, in any event.”

  “But the peerage would mean that you could do some real good in the House of Lords!” Betsey said, shocked that he should be so dismissive of this.

  “I have yet to see anyone do any good in the House of Lords, but if I am given the chance to take up my father’s peerage, then I shall do my best to be the first,” he said with a smirk.

  Betsey could not help but laugh at this. After a moment she said, “I am quite sure that you will do much good in Parliament, given the chance. Are you certain that you are willing to risk losing that chance?”

  “I have never been more certain of anything in my life,” Michael said, standing up and kissing her once again.

  Betsey leaned in to the kiss, and returned it passionately for several seconds before breaking away from Michael once again. She looked deep into his eyes, and said, “If you truly are sure that you are willing to take all of this risk, then my answer to your question is yes.”

  “Yes? You will consent to marry me?” Michael asked, excitement obvious in his voice.

  “Yes!” Betsey repeated, a smile stretching across her face. “But there is one condition that I must ask of you.”

  “Anything you desire. I promise that I shall do anything within my power to ensure that your condition is met,” Michael said, his tone sounding more serious now.

  “Please,” Betsey said, a twinge of sadness in her voice, “You must tell Lady Paulina what has happened as gently as possible. You are right that she does not love you, but she will be disappointed, and you must make it clear to her that this is no fault of hers. I think that it will be impossible to avoid a scandal, but perhaps you can at least avoid hurting her feelings.”

  “Of course. I have absolutely no wish to hurt Lady Paulina in any way,” Michael promised. A smile spread across his face, and for a moment he looked as happy as a child, waking to find a bulging stocking at the foot of his bed on Christmas morning.

  Chapter 24

  Betsey left her meeting with Michael, feeling as though she were walking on air. She barely knew how she had made it back to the house, having been lost in her own thoughts since parting company with Michael—Michael, my fiancé, the gentleman I am going to marry! She could hardly believe it, even as she thought these words to herself.

  As she walked through the back door, toward the servant’s staircase, she knew that she must be careful not to be seen. Her meeting with Michael in the garden must remain a secret for at least a few days more, until he had a chance to speak to Lady Paulina. It would not do for Betsey to be discovered out of bed tonight.

  Though she was careful to walk as quietly as she could, Betsey heard a floorboard creak under her foot as she crossed the hall to the servant’s stairs. She held her breath for a moment, and then, seeing no one present, she continued to the stairs and up to the second floor.

  Betsey had nearly made it back to Lady Paulina’s room when she saw a figure in the shadows of the hallway. Before she could stop herself, she gasped audibly and the figure turned to face her. She breathed a deep sigh of relief when she saw that it was only Simon.

  “Simon,” she whispered, “what are you doing here?”

  Simon hesitated for a moment, before saying, “I suppose I ought to ask you the same thing.”

  Now it was Betsey’s turn to hesitate. She could not tell anyone where she had been, not even her brother. “Er…Lady Paulina asked me to fetch her some…um, feminine necessities…” she said, knowing that this would prevent Simon from enquiring further.

  “Oh!” Simon sounded flustered as he responded to his sister. “Right, of course, well, as long as you weren’t sneaking into any more balls.” He chuckled to himself at this last thought, and Betsey was forced to laugh along with him.

  “Well, good night!” Simon said, turning around quickly and walking away.

  On another day, Betsey might have spent many hours thinking about Simon’s strange behavior, and wondering what it might mean. Tonight, she thought only of Michael, and the day that she would become his wife. That was, until she tiptoed past Lady Paulina sleeping in her four-poster bed.

  Betsey could not be sure how Lady Paulina would react to the news that her maid was marrying the very gentleman that she herself was meant to marry. Perhaps she would be relieved to avoid marrying a gentleman she did not love, but surely, she would be embarrassed by the ensuing scandal. Betsey’s one regret was that she would hurt Lady Paulina.

  * * *

  The following morning, Betsey woke at sunrise, as usual, but yawned deeply, tired after her late-night walk in the garden. She dressed quickly and went downstairs to have breakfast in the kitchen with the rest of the servants. She wondered if Simon would say anything to her about their meeting in the hallway. Did he believe me about why I was there?

  She considered this as her feet followed the familiar path from her bedroom to the kitchen. She and Simon had always been close, and they trusted each other implicitly, so it seemed unlik
ely that he would suspect her of lying.

  On the other hand, Simon had always been a curious type, with an ear for gossip. If he had noticed that Betsey seemed nervous at all, he would be unlikely to leave well enough alone. The current situation was delicate, but Betsey could not help but smile to herself, remembering how Simon had always seemed to know when she misbehaved as a child.

  Betsey’s childhood infractions had been small and infrequent, but she recalled a time when she had discovered a bowl full of fresh strawberries on the kitchen table. No one else was around, and she had been careful to only eat two berries, making sure that the bowl still looked full. She had washed her hands and face to make sure that the juice left no mark.