A Taste of Desire (37 page)

“Then let’s go to your room.”

“We can’t,” Thomas said, but his eyes said he very much wanted to.

“Why not? You certainly displayed no such reticence at your sister’s home,” she whispered, reaching up to nuzzle his throat. She loved the feel of his bristled jaw against her flesh.

His eyes closed briefly as he let out another groan. “Believe me, I’m beyond tempted.” Grasping her hips in his hands, he brought her hard against the ridge of his erection.

Liquid heat coiled low in her belly as a dampness formed between her thighs. It had been less than twenty-four hours since she had him last, yet here she was rubbing against his hardness like a female in heat.

“Missy was no innocent when she wed Rutherford, and as much as I care for Charlotte and Catherine, they’re not
my
sisters. So out of respect for my mother and my innocent
sisters, we truly should not.” Thomas’s voice wavered on the last four words.

Amelia knew she could press her advantage if she chose. It was clear he was just as vulnerable as she to what flared hot between them, but his reasons managed to do what a bucket of cold water could not—prick her conscience. His actions spoke of high integrity and morals while her lack of thought to his family indicated the true wanton she’d become.

Slowly, she stepped away from the solid warmth of his body. His hands lingered at her waist, as if reluctant to let her go, before dropping to his sides.

“Then I shall see you in the morning,” she said softly.

His eyes darkened and he clenched his hands in a fist. For a moment it appeared he might change his mind. Instead, he stroked the crest of her cheek with his thumb. “Dream of me,” he murmured darkly.

That was like directing a fish to swim or a bird to fly. Dreaming of him was inevitable, as if preordained before the beginning of time. All Amelia could do was nod. She cast him one final longing glance before entering her bedchamber and closing the door, leaving her greatest temptation standing silent and still on the other side.

The day after their arrival back at Stoneridge Hall and only one month since the first occurrence, Thomas found himself in the unenviable situation of being forced to deal with Louisa once again. (He’d thank his mother for that later, as she could have turned the duchess’s footman away at the door). Appearing at his home unannounced breached all levels of decency and respect. The woman’s audacity knew no bounds.

They adjourned to the library, and he chose to remain standing, regarding her without the veil of societal politeness. Louisa, who appeared the picture of tranquility, took a seat in a blue balloon chair near the fireplace.

“You have precisely ten minutes of my time.” He was in love and soon to be married. He could afford to be generous as Amelia was currently occupied in the morning room with his sisters, listening to Emily practice the piano.

“My, you have become so cold. Please don’t tell me I am responsible for your lack of manners.” She wore the smile of a woman who truly thought much too much of herself and her vaunted appeal to the opposite sex. Why hadn’t he seen that tendency in her seven years ago?

“Don’t flatter yourself as nothing could be further from the truth. Just be happy I granted you an audience.” He
turned and strode over to the sideboard. With a sharp tug, he uncorked the top from the crystal decanter, then snagged a glass and poured himself a drink. One it was apparent he would require to get through the next ten minutes.

Louisa rose gracefully to her feet and rounded the center table. “Does the forsaking of niceties mean I shan’t be offered a drink?”

Thomas turned to face her and watched as she drew closer, a pout on her red lips. He preferred pink lips. Deep pink. Amelia’s delicious mouth. “I don’t expect you’ll remain long enough to enjoy it.”

“How cruel you are,” she chided mildly. “God only knows why I made this journey. It’s fortunate I have a house in Somerset as it appears I’ll also find you lacking in hospitality.” She halted in front of him, her full skirts brushing his trousers. A scent accosted his nostrils. Overbearingly florid and sweet, much like its owner.

“Yes, so I’m sure you don’t want to keep me in suspense any longer,” he responded dryly. Eager to put a distance between them, he stepped around her and made his way to the sitting area and took a seat in an armchair farthest from where she’d recently sat.

Undaunted and not to be outmaneuvered, Louisa followed and took up a spot on the adjacent sofa. “I thought of you often over the years, you know. I thought of what married life would have been like with you. I used to imagine that Jonathon was yours.”

She had a son? That was the first he’d heard of him. A life with Louisa would have been a disaster, but a child to tie him to her for life would have been an unmitigated catastrophe. He gave a silent prayer of thanks to his father for mismanaging the estates and leaving him penniless. If not for that, his youthful folly might well be the albatross that was the Duchess of Bedford.

“Actually, your betrothal to your duke was the best thing that could have happened to me.”

The duchess’s brows furrowed, and her mouth became a tight line of displeasure. Finally, a glimpse of the real woman under all that burgundy and black velvet. “I see I’m not going to be able to reason with you.” Her tone had adjusted accordingly, now carrying the tartness of lemons. “Which really is a shame given what I’ve learned. I’m certain it’s information that would interest you greatly.”

“I sincerely doubt you have anything to say that I want to hear—that is except good-bye, adieu, or adios. Any language will do fine as long as you mean it,” he said dryly.

Her brown eyes glinted unpleasantly, giving her visage a hard, sinister look. “Oh, I do believe this will be of some interest to you. It has to do with your mother’s houseguest, the Marquess of Bradford’s daughter.”

Although Thomas’s senses instantly sprang into awareness at her mention of Amelia, he made certain he exhibited no outward reaction. “Then do tell.” He issued the invitation easily before taking a swallow of his drink.

Louisa’s smile instantly reappeared. “Somehow I sensed that particular subject matter would be of interest to you. Although I must warn you, you might not be pleased with what I’m about to divulge.”

“I’m not naïve enough to imagine you’ve traveled all the way to Devon to bring me
good
tidings of Lady Amelia.”

“Well, I feel it is my duty to warn you the young lady under your roof has a reputation. While it’s not public knowledge, she’s been quietly linked to several gentlemen. The first is—if you can believe this—the son of some tradesman in one of the shires. A tradesman, of all things!” She paused for his response. After it was apparent none would be forthcoming, she continued. “And ever so recently, Lord Clayborough. And by linked, I mean in the same manner we were once linked.”

“Is that so?” Thomas drawled, hiking up an eyebrow.

Louisa appeared nonplussed by his reaction. For a moment, she sat utterly still, her brows furrowed and mouth
pursed. But dogged in her purpose, she charged on. “Yes indeed. I’m told the marquess has managed to thwart her marriage efforts so far. Regardless, it’s quite obvious her innocence is little more than an illusion, although I’m certain the marquess paid a princely sum to keep these incidents hushed up.”

Thomas smiled wryly. A princely sum would have been required to settle Clayborough’s debts, that was for certain. He knew in reference to Cromwell, Harry had threatened to sponsor a law that would greatly increase the taxes for companies doing business overseas, thus curtailing the senior Cromwell’s profits from his factories.

“And just what should all of this information mean to me?”
You scheming wretch.
How low would she sink? he wondered idly.

Louisa shifted in her seat as if uncertain how exactly she should deal with his response—or more aptly, lack thereof. Several seconds passed in silence as she watched him intently. He in turn watched her with bored disinterest. And then quite abruptly, she tipped her chin.

“Well, I would imagine if such a thing were to become public …”

Thomas had never heard a voice so softly cunning or so ruthlessly self-serving. “Did you come here to make threats, Your Grace, or will that be the happy result of your call?”

“My dear Thomas, I can’t think why you would think that of me,” she said, sounding suitably aghast. “I was speaking of other people who might already have this information. You know how the ton loves a scandal.”

Thomas drained the rest of his rum before pushing to his feet. “Your Grace, if this is the reason for your call, you’ve made it in vain. Now I’m going to bid you farewell and pray I will never see you at my residence again.”

Louisa bolted to her feet in a violent clash of velvet and brocade, staring up at him through narrowed eyes. “Do you understand she’ll be ruined?”

“The ton will have enough to gossip about when our engagement is announced.”

Louisa blanched, splaying her hand against the base of her neck. “Good God, you actually intend to marry the girl?”

“Not only do I intend to wed her, but I will challenge anyone who dares question her innocence. I can assure you with 100 percent certainty that no man has laid a hand on her.”

A savage glint of understanding lit her eyes. “If you think I’m going to believe—”

“I truly don’t give a whit what you believe. Now I
believe
your ten minutes elapsed one minute ago.” He turned and motioned for her to take her leave just as the library door opened.

“Thomas, I—” Amelia halted at the sight of the woman standing at Thomas’s side. “Excuse me, I wasn’t aware you had company.”
Certainly not such beautiful
female
company,
she thought with a pang of jealousy as she turned to leave.

“No, Amelia, please stay. Her Grace was just leaving.” There was a hardness in his tone that made the latter a command not a statement of fact.

Her Grace?
This time, Amelia gave the woman a more probing look. She vaguely recalled mention that the Duchess of Bedford had returned from France. All reports claimed she was blond, young, and beautiful. That would be an apt description of the woman standing before her.

“Truly, Thomas, you have all the manners of a dock worker. Are you not going to introduce us?” The duchess chided him with a smile but surveyed Amelia with a coldness in her eyes that conveyed anything but congeniality toward her.

Amelia stiffened. Women had subjected her to those
kinds of looks before. However, this time was different. Thomas was hers. Duchess or not, this woman hadn’t a right to regard her as one would assess an unwanted rival for a gentleman’s affections.

“Yes, Thomas, I believe an introduction is in order,” Amelia replied, walking toward them. She stopped at his side and curled her hand intimately around his forearm.
Mine.
The gesture couldn’t be mistaken for anything but proprietorial.

“Lady Amelia, the Duchess of Bedford. Your Grace, Lady Amelia Bertram.” Thomas’s voice was filled with restrained laughter. She was glad he found this so amusing.

The duchess inclined her head but just barely. Without removing her hand from Thomas’s, Amelia curtsied, also just barely.

“If you’ll excuse me, love, I was just seeing Her Grace out.” Taking Amelia’s hand in his, he brought it up to his mouth and kissed the inside of her wrist. “I’ll be but a moment.”

The duchess inhaled an outraged breath. Amelia barely heard her, for the feel of his lips on her skin started her senses rioting.

Thomas then hustled the blond woman out of the room, his every move sharp and impatient as if he had much better things to do. The duchess bore the indignity with the regality of a queen in the process of losing her crown: in stalwart silence while she undoubtedly plotted her revenge.

“What was that all about?” Amelia asked the moment Thomas reappeared in the library several minutes later.

After firmly closing the door, he sauntered toward her wearing a wicked grin on his face. “I could ask the same. I got the distinct impression you just stamped me your private property.”

Amelia didn’t refute his claim as that had been her intention. “I want to know why the Duchess of Bedford looked as if she would like nothing better than to see me an ocean away on some frozen tundra or in a tropical rain forest.”

Upon reaching her, Thomas slowly enveloped her in the warmth of his embrace. “I don’t want to waste another moment on the subject of the duchess. Suffice it enough to say she is someone of no relevance to you or me. Hopefully, we have seen the last of her,” he murmured as he nuzzled the ultra-sensitive spot behind her ear.

Weakly, Amelia twisted her head trying to dislodge his mouth. “Don’t try to-to distract me, Thomas….” His name ended on a moan when he nipped her neck with his teeth then proceeded to soothe the spot with his tongue.

Perhaps he took pity on her, reduced as she was to gasps and whimpers of pleasure, for he raised his head and regarded her somberly. “I swear to you, she is nothing to me. A folly of my youth, nothing more. Since her return to England, I hadn’t seen her for seven years. God, Amelia, you must know by now I love you and only you.”

Amelia’s breath stilled, all thoughts of the duchess forgotten. Dazed, she wondered if she’d heard him correctly. Then he was kissing her, sucking her into a maelstrom of passion.
Oh, Thomas, I love you too,
she yearned to say but she found the words impossible to say aloud. She gave herself up to his kisses, his touch, and the promise of more to come. She’d confess her love to him later. Yes, very soon. Perhaps, after the kiss.

“Mademoiselle, the baron is here!” Hélène’s panicked voice penetrated Amelia’s bemused thoughts.

As it was, Amelia didn’t confess her feelings to Thomas after the kiss, which had quickly escalated to intimate touching and heavy fondling. Thomas had halted it before it had burned out of control. After they parted company at the bottom of the stairs, their bodies still throbbing with unfulfilled desire, she took herself off to her chamber to rest until the evening meal.