A Taste of Desire (24 page)

In the morning, Amelia was surprised to see their traveling party had acquired an additional member: one Lord Alex Cartwright. It appeared he too would be a guest at Stoneridge Hall. Thomas had been vague as to the duration, but the time—a day, a week—was immaterial. Anyone who could create a buffer between her and the viscount would be more than welcome.

Miss Foxworth appeared genuinely disappointed that Amelia had been too unwell to remain at the ball, but did indicate, in that subdued manner of hers, that she had enjoyed herself thoroughly. Lord Alex greeted her kindly while Thomas treated her with a studied indifference, which was just fine with her.

En masse, they departed Mayfair to Paddington Station. The women rode in the comfort of Thomas’s carriage while the men followed in a hired hack. Traveling separately from the viscount was another added benefit to having Lord Alex accompanying them.

On the train, the men discussed the latest methods of shipbuilding and the merits in acquiring stocks for a steel company lately trading on the London Stock Exchange. On that stretch of the trip, Amelia read a novel she’d brought with her, taking a short break for lunch when
Thomas produced sandwiches, biscuits, fruit, and lemonade prepared for them by the viscountess’s cook.

They changed trains at Newton to go on to Totnes, where upon their arrival at the station, Thomas hired two hacks. At seven that evening, they concluded the ten-hour journey back to Stoneridge Hall.

“Will you be joining us for supper?”

Amelia paused on her way up the stairs, shooting a look at Thomas over her shoulder. Given he had spoken precisely five words to her the entire day—
Good morning
and
Are you hungry?
—the question surprised her.

“I think I’m going to retire for the evening.” Feeling travel weary and with her stomach unsettled from the long journey, she had absolutely no appetite.

Thomas’s gaze flickered over her briefly, his expression inscrutable. He nodded curtly. “You may resume your duties on Tuesday. Take tomorrow to rest.”

Coldly polite was an apt phrase to describe his manner toward her, yet his abeyance of her duties suggested something else. Something she’d be a fool to examine too closely.

Amelia turned quickly and made her way up to her bedchamber, where it would require another three hours to find escape in sleep.

A morning walk had been a mistake. Amelia realized it the moment her belly contracted in the second wave of pain. She should have heeded the signs when she awoke still feeling queasy from the night before. A mug of hot chocolate at breakfast had done nothing to settle it. And when she started to feel warm, instead of getting herself back to bed, she had decided fresh air—cold though it might be—and a quick walk would be the thing. She’d clearly been in denial.

The truth was, she had been all too eager to leave the house before anyone else arrived for breakfast. She also hated being sick. She hated the helplessness of it. Memories
of fevers wracking her body and the smell of mint water could still elicit the odd niggling sense of fear. Stubbornly ignoring the signs would change nothing. She was ill, plain and simple.

As Amelia turned to go back to the house, she caught sight of Lord Alex cresting the hill before her. He looked exceedingly handsome, his lean muscular frame donned in tan and brown riding clothes.

Halting in front of her, he greeted her with a dip of his head and a tip of his hat. “Lady Amelia.”

“Lord Alex,” she replied, suddenly aware that this was the first time they’d ever been alone together.

“I wasn’t aware that you would be out walking this morning.” He took in her attire. “I assume you have come out for a walk?” he queried politely.

“Yes, one does get tired of being indoors for an extended length of time.” Even if one wasn’t feeling quite up to par.

A faint smile tipped the corners of his mouth—a full mouth, especially for a man. “Given my friendship with your father, I can’t believe we aren’t better acquainted. I hope to rectify that during this visit.”

Disarmed, Amelia could only stare at him, at a loss for words. She quickly collected herself. “Yes, well, that is-is surprising.”

“But I see no reason we cannot further our acquaintance now. I pray you won’t hold Armstrong’s behemoth-like behavior against me?”

In her weakened condition—and indeed she did feel weak—Amelia couldn’t gauge whether he was toying with her or not. His handsome face was everything to be found in gentlemanly solicitousness.

“Certainly not.”

“Good, glad to hear. I hadn’t pegged you as one to judge me solely by the company I keep.” He smiled a slow, thoroughly engaging smile. “Given a chance, I can be charming and agreeable—or so I’m told.”

Amelia chuckled softly despite the cold penetrating the thick wool of her cloak and beginning to seep into her flesh. She imagined he was everything he claimed and more with his silver-grey eyes and his dimpled chin. Thankfully, Lord Alex didn’t affect her senses as his friend did.

She emitted a pained gasp as another shooting pain nearly doubled her over.

“What’s wrong?” he asked sharply.

Amelia briefly closed her eyes to fight the dizziness threatening to engulf her. “No-no, I’m fine. I must not have gotten enough sleep.” The last thing she needed was his sympathy.

Lord Alex was immediately at her side, concern etching his features. “Is it your stomach? You look ready to keel over.”

“I-I’m fine.” Then to make a complete liar of her, she clutched the sleeve of his jacket, his forearm steady and hard beneath her gloved hand. “I can’t imagine what could be the matter,” she murmured as another dizzy spell sent her head into a spin.

Amelia closed her eyes against the weakness in her limbs. Lord Alex swiftly removed the glove from his hand and pressed his palm to her forehead.

“Good Lord, you’re burning up,” he said, his voice raised in alarm.

“I think I may be ill,” she said faintly.

“Oh really?” he asked, a touch wryly. “Come, let’s get you back to the house.”

The house was about fifty yards away, but she began panting at the prospect of the walk.

She started forward, resting more of her weight on his arm than she intended. With a swiftness that left her gasping, he hoisted her up in his arms, high against his chest.

“No,” she said—a feeble protest a man with any sense of gallantry and the strength to carry eight stone would ignore. “Please put me down, I can walk just fine on my own.”
Another roll of her belly had her promptly dropping her head back on his shoulder as her entire body contracted sharply against the breath-stealing pain.

“You don’t even have the strength to hold up your head and you think I will permit you to walk. What you need is your bed and a physician.”

Amelia closed her eyes and inhaled the frosty air. She had never been particularly fond of physicians. Hélène was apt to take better care of her. But her protests would be futile. Much like his friend, Lord Alex looked like a man rarely refused anything. Both men carried themselves with an inherent arrogance, but could command goodwill without a word.

It took him only a few minutes to cover the required distance, carrying her as if she weighed nothing at all. They entered the house through the rear and were immediately enveloped in its warmth.

“You can put me down now,” she murmured, her eyes fluttering open.

“I will put you down when—”

“What is going on?”

In unison, their heads jerked in the direction of the viscount’s steely quiet tones. He loomed just outside the billiard room, his expression containing all the outrage of a husband catching his wife with her lover.

“Send for a physician. Lady Amelia is ill.”

At his friend’s barked command, Thomas strode swiftly toward them, placing himself in the direct path to the staircase.

Lord Alex’s black brows drew over narrowed grey eyes. “Move aside, man. I’m taking her to her chamber.”

Thomas’s gaze flew to take in Amelia’s wan visage. Her eyes fluttered, the spread of dark lashes fanned above the crest of her cheekbones.

“Give her to me,” he demanded, his hands already reaching for her.

Cartwright’s mouth formed a tight, displeased line as he pulled her tighter against his chest. “Damn it, man, I have her. Just direct me to her bedchamber.”

What bloody gall!
And damn if he needed Cartwright’s permission. Amelia was his.
His guest,
he quickly corrected. He and he alone was responsible for her. “I will take her.” His words came out a growl. And since Cartwright remained unwilling to give Amelia to him, Thomas took her, extricating her smoothly from his friend’s arms.

Cartwright relinquished her without another word of protest. He did one better. He watched him, all sober-faced and assessing.

With Amelia securely in his arms, Thomas studiously ignored him and headed for the stairs. He ascended to the first floor with swift, sure steps.

He glanced down at her again to find her peeping up at him. “You needn’t act like such a boar. He was being a gentleman. In any case, you can put me down. I’m quite capable of walking unassisted. It’s nothing more than a bellyache and perhaps a touch of a fever.”

“We’ll let a physician determine that,” he said grimly.

In her chamber, he placed her gently on the bed. Seconds later, Amelia’s maid came rushing to her bedside, anxiously peering at Amelia from behind him.

“Oh, mon Dieu, qu’est qui s’est passé?
Monsieur says zu are ailing. What ‘as ‘appened to mademoiselle?”

“Your mistress is unwell. Find Alfred and have him send for the physician.”

“Monsieur has already sent for a physician.”

By monsieur, Thomas assumed she meant Cartwright, whom he was relieved to see was nowhere in sight.

“Mademoiselle, iz it your belly? Your appetite has not been right.”

Amelia nodded slowly. “And some dizziness, but I’m sure it’s nothing a day in bed won’t cure.”

The maid sighed softly, then turned and made her way to the adjoining bathing room.

Thomas’s gaze flew to Amelia. He began to mentally catalogue her symptoms. Dizziness and stomach pains? Brought on by what, nausea? Suddenly the possible cause of her illness had
his
stomach dropping and his head spinning.

“Are you with child?” Behind his harshly bitten-out question lay a fear so distasteful he found it hard to swallow.

Her eyes rounded. “Good Lord, you shall always think the worst of me, shall you not?”

He’d been holding his breath in anticipation of her response. He expelled that breath and swallowed the lump in his throat. She wasn’t breeding. Not even Amelia could feign that kind of affront.

Thomas shifted on his feet, momentarily averting his gaze. “Not an impossibility given your history.”

Her eyes darkened, and then she abruptly fell back against the pillow, her pallor stark against the navy bed sheets. “Please go. I don’t want you here.”

Amelia’s maid returned to her bedside with a rag in her hand. “If zu would pardon me, my lord.” She sent him a tentative glance, as if not wanting to offend. Thomas hastily moved aside to allow the woman access to her mistress.

Pregnant indeed!
The cool rag on her forehead was a balm against her fevered skin, but the wretched man was impossible.

Hélène began to remove the pins from her hair. Shortly, Amelia’s hair lay fanned about her head. Thomas, who had taken to pacing at the side of the bed, halted and stared at her.

“My lord, I will attend mademoiselle, and tomorrow she should be, as you English say, good as new,
non?”

Thomas didn’t reply to Hélène, just continued to stare at Amelia. She blinked against the intensity of his gaze.

“Worried I won’t be well enough to resume work tomorrow?” she whispered in an effort to blunt the sudden tension in the air.

Her voice seemed to snap him to attention as if coming out of a daze. “Don’t be absurd. What do you think I am, a tyrant?” he asked briskly.

“Oh, don’t scowl so. Just leave so I can rest. I can hardly do so with you hovering over me. And Hélène can—”

The knock at the door was followed immediately by the entrance of Lord Alex and a man who could only be the physician, given the black physician’s bag in his hand. Moreover, the older gentleman, tall and elegant with a thick thatch of snowy white hair, entered the chamber with an air of authority.

“Dr. Lawson was belowstairs treating one of the servants who appears to be suffering from something similar,” Lord Alex announced to no one in particular, advancing into the room as if anointed by some authority that he too was at liberty to be in attendance.

Leprosy might have received a warmer welcome than Thomas offered the arrival of his friend. Amelia noted the stiffening of his jaw and the coldness now glazing his eyes. Thomas gave Lord Alex a curt, dismissive nod.

“Good morning, Thomas. I gather this is the patient?” The doctor spoke with an informality that told Amelia he’d known Thomas many years, probably long before Thomas had gained his title.

The doctor advanced to her side and gazed down at her in a medically assessing manner.

“Yes, Dr. Lawson, this is Lady Amelia Bertram. She’s running a fever and is complaining of stomach pains.”

“Hmm. Well, let me take a look. Don’t worry, my dear, this will not hurt.” He gave her a reassuring smile, which did nothing to allay Amelia’s worries. Doctors had a way of
mucking things up before eventually curing you. Of course, that’s if they didn’t kill you first.

Thomas turned to Cartwright, who stood several feet behind him. “I believe Dr. Lawson has this in hand.” In other words,
You’ve done your good deed for the day, so run along your way.

In the midst of removing an instrument from his bag, the physician angled a look over his shoulder, and followed Thomas’s gaze with a discreet clearing of the throat. “Um, if you gentlemen would give me some time alone to examine Lady Amelia.”

Like the crack of a whip, his statement made Thomas more aware. He was standing by her bedside like that of a concerned spouse. “Yes, of course. We will confer once you’re done with the examination.”