A Taste of Desire (25 page)

Thomas reluctantly trailed Cartwright from the room. Once in the hall, Cartwright immediately confronted him. “What the hell was that all about?”

“Now is neither the time nor the place,” Thomas responded in clipped tones. “Why don’t you go and wash off that stench of horse from you?”

The quick flaring of his nostrils was the only indication that Cartwright was perturbed. They stood eye to eye for several seconds before his friend abruptly pivoted and walked away, his tread muffled by the velvet-pile carpeting.

Thomas intended to return to the main floor to await Dr. Lawson after Cartwright left to go to his chamber at the opposite wing of the house. But instead, he found himself pacing the hall outside Amelia’s chamber.

The door opened twenty minutes later, and Dr. Lawson emerged. He started when he saw Thomas standing there.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“Oh, Thomas, I was just on my way down.”

“What is wrong with Amelia?”

The familiarity of his address did not escape the physician’s notice as evidenced by the slight raise of his brow.

“I can see it’s nothing several days of bed rest won’t cure. I could hear no obstruction in her lungs, and her heart is strong. There is some swelling in the glands at her neck, but that I expected because of the fever.” Dr. Lawson switched his black physician’s bag to his other hand. “Now, if the fever hasn’t abated in the next two days, send for me again. I haven’t seen a reoccurrence of scarlet fever, but stranger things have happened.”

Thomas’s brows jumped.
Scarlet fever?
“What do you mean a reoccurrence?”

“Since her bout with it at the age of thirteen. Did she not tell you? She’s a lucky one as it appears she suffered no lasting effects. In the past year alone, I’ve lost four patients to the fever.”

Thomas’s panic must have shown on his face because Dr. Lawson added hastily, “Rest assured, that is not what’s ailing the young lady now. What she has is influenza of the stomach. She’s the tenth patient in the past two weeks. As I said, in two, three days at the very most, she should be back to normal.”

Thomas tried to convince himself his concern was normal. She was his friend’s daughter and an acquaintance—of sorts. Of course, her well-being would be of some concern to him.

Some concern?
a voice inside of him mocked. In the past twenty minutes, his anxiety had taken on that of a husband awaiting the safe birth of his heir.

“Lady Amelia shall have the best of care.”

Dr. Lawson inclined his head in a nod and touched his hand to his neckcloth in what seemed an unconscious gesture. “In that, I have no doubt.” He pulled a watch piece from his jacket and gave it a quick glance. “I must be on my way. Call immediately if the young lady’s condition worsens. Good
day, Thomas.” Tucking the watch back in his pocket, he started toward the stairs.

Good manners compelled Thomas to escort him to the door.

Without breaking stride or turning, Dr. Lawson said, “I’ve frequented this house for well over thirty years now. I can see myself out. I’m certain you’ll want to see for yourself that your guest is resting comfortably.”

Dr. Lawson needn’t have told him twice. Before the doctor could reach the stairs, Thomas was standing in front ofAmelia’s chamber pressing the door open with the tips of his fingers. The hinges gave a betraying creak.

The maid was sitting at Amelia’s side and angled her head when he entered. Thomas strode to the bed, keenly aware of the silence and the maid’s gaze following his progress. This was his residence, Amelia was in his care, so yes, he had every right to be here, to see to her welfare.

“Monsieur, mademoiselle iz sleeping,” the maid whispered.

Thomas halted at the side of the bed, his chest compressing at the sight of Amelia. Her head rested amid a froth of feather pillows. He took in the fan of dark, curling lashes against her fevered cheeks. With her features softened by sleep, she looked unbearably vulnerable. Beautiful.

Without removing his gaze from her face, he said, “So I see.”

“Did the doctor give her anything for the fever?” he asked after a long pause.

“‘e left laudanum
pour
the belly pains.” The maid continued to stare up at him, her expression quizzical and expectant.

He nodded slowly. He’d come to ensure she was resting comfortably, and from his observation she was. He should leave, yet his feet refused to obey his silent command.

“Then I shall leave you to tend to her.” Still he didn’t budge as he followed the rise and fall of her chest comprising
her shallow breathing. “Notify me immediately if she worsens—am I understood?”

The maid responded to the hard note in his tone and his sharp look with two rigorous nods.

Thomas gave Amelia’s sleeping form one final glance before taking his leave.

Thomas found Cartwright in the library, sitting in one of the armchairs, forearms braced on his thighs. He’d since changed from his riding clothes and the dampness of his hair indicated he’d taken the advised bath.

Cartwright shot to his feet upon Thomas’s entrance. “How is she? What did the physician say?”

Instead of offering an immediate response, Thomas strode over to the sideboard and poured himself a dram of rum, heedless that the appropriate drinking time still loomed hours away. As irrational as his feelings were, he hadn’t liked it one bit to see Amelia in Cartwright’s arms or his friend in the intimacy of her bedchamber. He sensed a familiarity there that the brevity of their association could not justify.

Throwing his head back, Thomas drained the contents of the glass in one burning swallow.

Cartwright sidestepped the center table and made his way to the edge of the rug spread beneath the sitting area. After waiting in silence, no doubt expectant of a reply, he flicked a glance at the door. “Am I permitted to see her? Miss Foxworth has also expressed great concern regarding her condition. I assured her I would keep her apprised.”

He would keep her apprised? The bloody gall!
Thomas
dropped the glass back onto the sideboard with such force it was surprising the glass hadn’t shattered as his composure was perilously close to doing.

Cartwright’s eyebrow slowly rose as he folded his arms across his chest.

“She’s asleep,” Thomas replied curtly. “Dr. Lawson says it’s nothing more than a stomach ailment which should clear up in a few days.”

“I see.” Cartwright dragged out the latter word as if he saw too damn much. “And I suppose you’re going to tell me what the devil is wrong with you? You’re carrying on as if I intend to ravish the girl. Give me some credit for possessing some kind of tact. If that’s what I had in mind, I’d at least wait until she wasn’t burning up with a fever.”

“I’m glad you can joke at a time like this.” Of late, Thomas found very little amusing about his friend’s sense of humor.

“Do I appear to be amused? I assure you, I’m perfectly serious.” Cartwright said, his countenance lacking his trademark dry half smile.

Some emotion in him—one Thomas dare not identify—bubbled to the surface in molten fury. “You will leave her the hell alone, is that understood? She’s not to be trifled with. She is my concern, and I will deal with her.”

“I thought you could barely tolerate her. I’d think you’d be relieved to have me take her off your hands for
any
amount of time.”

A slew of curse words sprang instantly to his lips, but Thomas bit them back with a violent oath. “Go to bloody hell.”

“Why, in need of company?” came Cartwright’s rapid-fire response, his mouth quirking at the corners in a manner that had Thomas glancing around for something to bludgeon him with.

He eyed the thick crystal decanter of brandy. How unfortunate it was one of his mother’s favorite pieces. He had to content himself with silently counting to ten as he fought to
retain the last vestiges of his control. “I’m glad you continue to find humor in this situation.”

“Lady Amelia ailing I don’t find the slightest bit amusing. You, however …” Cartwright’s voice trailed off as if he needn’t say more, his omission an indictment of Thomas. “And truly, Armstrong, this cavemanlike behavior toward a girl you claim no fondness for.”

Neatly boxed and gift-wrapped, his friend placed the argument before him tied with a bow. Juxtaposed, even Thomas could see his words and recent actions lay in sharp and damning contrast.

“Regardless of how I feel about her, she is a guest in my home and under my care.”

“Good God, man, you practically ripped her from my arms. I think that’s taking your role a tad bit too far, wouldn’t you say?”

When Cartwright became fixated on a notion, he refused to let go, which meant Thomas would have to accomplish the task for him. “I am going to the study. I will see you at supper.”

As it was only nine in the morning and supper wouldn’t be served until eight that evening, Thomas’s message rang as clear as it was loud in the echoing silence that followed him as he exited the room.

At first, Amelia didn’t know what had awakened her. Her chamber was dark and silent. She felt hot and cold all at the same time. After several seconds, her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She perceived the presence just before she heard the movement at her side.

Her head snapped in the direction of the sound. A startled cry escaped her dry lips when she spotted a form reposed in the chair at her bedside. For an instant, she hovered between confusion and terror before recognition set in.

Thomas.

His head rested against the cushion of burgundy brocade, and the deep, rhythmic whisper of his breath indicated he was asleep.

Her fevered mind tried to rationalize his presence there but couldn’t quite make the enormous leap as to what it signified. She could only lower her head back onto her pillow and watch him silently, her gaze drifting along the shadowed planes of his face. There was a certain vulnerability in his restful state that made him appear younger. Tender even.

No more than a minute passed before he moved and slowly raised his head. Had he sensed her watching him? Suddenly, he bolted up straight in his seat, his form alert and his green eyes glittering bright in the sooty night as he focused on her. “Is something wrong? Should I call for the physician?” he asked in a tone that didn’t convey he’d been asleep only moments before.

Weakly, Amelia shook her head, now aware of a parched feeling in her mouth. “I would appreciate some water.” Her words were whisper soft and her voice hoarse.

He was out of the chair and at the dresser before she could fully comprehend he’d gone. Soon, light suffused the chamber in a dim glow, and the slosh of water filled the air. Thomas returned to her side with a glass in one hand and a candle in the other. He set the candle on the night table by the bed. Awash in candlelight, Amelia could now see the fatigue on his face. His fatigue did not, however, detract from his masculine allure. Even in her illness, she clearly saw that and felt the inexorable pull of his appeal.

Instead of handing her the glass, Thomas sat on the edge of the bed. She started when he gently slid his hand beneath her head and lifted it up. “Here, drink,” he said, tipping the glass to her mouth.

Amelia automatically parted her lips at his softly spoken command. The water was neither cold nor warm, but it felt like heaven sliding down her throat. She drank the glass’s entire contents before slumping back onto the pillows.
Thomas didn’t remove his hand immediately. She felt the pressure of his palm, the weight of every finger with a keenness that had her skin tingling—a sensation not caused by her fever or body aches.

“Would you like me to get you anything else?” He stared at her with a quiet, disturbing intensity.

“No, I’m feeling much better now.”

“Your stomach is no longer paining you?” He removed his hand from beneath her head. Amelia felt the loss like a flower would miss the warmth of the sun on a frigidly cold winter day. But she wasn’t to be bereft of his touch for long. He placed the back of his hand against her forehead. “Hmm, while you’re not as hot as before, you’re still a little warm. But I am glad to see you’ve improved.”

Perhaps tomorrow, she would tell herself her weakened state had left her vulnerable to a bedside manner every physician should endeavor to emulate. But it wasn’t tomorrow, it was tonight, and her pulse pounded erratically. His nearness, the masculine scent emanating from his very pores, had her dragging in air as if it were a scarce element of nature.

“Yes, my—my stomach is much improved,” she said, her voice above a bare whisper. Her throat was no longer dry and she wasn’t feeling as poorly as she had been earlier, but it appeared she now suffered a different sort of sickness—one that could be every bit as dangerous to her as another bout with scarlet fever. Thomas Armstrong.

He removed his hand from her forehead, and he asked, “Are you certain? You look somewhat distressed. Are you not comfortable?” His hooded gaze skimmed the length of her body outlined beneath the counterpane and bed sheets. Amelia didn’t think she could have been more conscious of her body had she laid there naked.

“I am fine. I’m sure I just need some more rest.”
And I need you to leave so that I may regain my senses … my sanity.

“Then I will leave you now.” At the softly spoken words, Thomas stood, the wood of the bed frame creaking faintly at the removal of his weight. His face was immediately cast in shadow, the candle’s light illuminating the dark blond bristle of his jaw.

“I will see you in the morning.” His gaze seemed to linger on her before he turned and quit the chamber, closing the door softly behind him.

Don’t go,
hovered on her lips long after he’d gone.

Thomas was relieved Amelia’s fever lasted only twenty-four hours. But, despite its brevity, he instructed her to remain in bed until he determined she was fully recovered. She could fret and moan about it all she wanted—which she did. His position didn’t waver.

In addition to her maid, who cosseted her like a newborn, Thomas instructed two of his servants to cater to Amelia’s every need and ensure her every comfort. He himself, made it his duty to check on her twice during the day—visits he limited to the times he knew she was asleep.