A Taste of Desire

by Beverley Kendall

  Clasping the counterpane tightly to her breasts, she came up on the bed, her attention now riveted to the floor.

  Thomas shot a quick glance at her, let out a mild curse, and started grabbing for the envelopes.

  “No!” Heedless of her state of undress, she scrambled from the bed to his side, having discarded the cover in her haste. She grabbed his wrist, stopping his hand in midair, and stared at the now crumpled papers in his hand and the third, which lay on the carpet pointing at him like an accusing finger.

  “These are my letters,” she said softly. While her mind reeled, her heart echoed a hollow beat in her ear. In black ink, Lord Clayborough’s name and address stood in stark relief against the pale yellow envelopes. Her handwriting. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he hadn’t received them. Thomas had had them all along.

  “Amelia—”

  Amelia dropped his wrist as if she held a vile object in her hand. Blindly, she turned, now acutely aware of her nakedness. Her eyes searched the floor frantically until she spotted her discarded clothes. She quickly donned her dress in several jerky motions. She had no time to waste on petticoats and flimsy undergarments when her sanity depended on removing herself from his chamber as expeditiously as possible.

  Before she could move out of arm’s reach, Thomas’s hand shot out and caught her by the upper arm. Amelia halted but kept her head angled from him. She’d learned it was useless to fight against his strength.

  “Amelia, listen to me. I was—”

  “Save your excuses, my lord.” Her civil tone masked her growing hysteria. All she wanted to do was throw something, rage and scream at him.

  His hold on her arm tightened. Amelia turned to regard him directly for the first time since she’d discovered the depth of his deceit. He didn’t look guilty. He looked like a frustrated, angry man whose coming defense of his actions would ring as absurd as he appeared indignant. He wore the expression her father had worn when she’d discovered, weeks after her attempted elopement with Joseph Cromwell, that he had been confiscating his letters.

  “I gather you did this under my father’s directive?”

  Thomas didn’t immediately respond, and that in itself was response enough for her. She tugged her arm free. He relinquished his hold and then snatched up the piece of toweling that had fallen on the floor and secured it about his waist.

  Amelia turned away not only because she couldn’t bear the sight of him, but because he stood there arrogantly unselfconscious. “He’ll be proud to know you intend to follow in his footsteps in every way.”

  “Can you honestly say you would be happy with Clayborough?” He snorted in disbelief. “Would you have given your virginity to me if you truly loved the man? Right now you should be thanking me for preventing you from making the biggest mistake of your life.”

  Amelia whipped around to glare at him. “You pompous bastard! I’ve just made the biggest mistake of my life, and far from preventing me, you spurred me on and had a grand time while you were doing it.”

  “I wasn’t the only one,” he said darkly.

  Too angry to be embarrassed, her response was fierce. “As long as this remains between just the two of us, we are safe. More than anything, I want to forget this ever happened. We’ll not speak a word of this again, agreed?”

  For many moments, Thomas stared at her without answering, his expression unreadable. He ended the silence with a slow nod. “Yes, I suppose that would be for the best. No one wants to be reminded of their mistakes.”

  His words clobbered her, effectively releasing her from the invisible hold he had on her. Amelia hastened from the room, allowing herself the luxury of a ragged breath only once she was secured within the thick walls of her bedchamber.

  Chapter 22

  When Hélène awakened her at the dreadful hour of seven, Amelia contemplated remaining in bed. Thomas could hardly fault her given her recent illness, but he would know her absence had everything to do with last night … the debauching of an innocent. For that reason alone, she forced herself to rise.

  Except for a cup of tea, she hadn’t touched the contents of her breakfast tray. And now as she sat alone at her secretaire, the rumble of her belly proclaimed the morning was destined to be a long one. But, it would have been regardless of the state of her appetite, for neither time nor sleep had blotted the memory of the time she’d spent in Thomas’s bed … in his arms. When sleep had finally claimed her, his kisses, his touch, the feel of him inside her had chased through her dreams to her waking moments and dogged her still.

  In an effort to block the torrid images of his aroused, naked body from her thoughts, she tried to focus instead on his duplicity. Although she’d mentally severed ties with Lord Clayborough weeks ago when she’d realized he was not the man for her, that did not excuse Thomas’s deceitful machinations. She needed to remain angry. Anger didn’t make her feel weak inside or cause her to yearn in ways she’d never dreamed of.

  Amelia was firmly resolved to forget the incident. She’d allowed a handsome face, a few passionate embraces, and a token gesture of concern to cause a ruinous lapse in her judgment. Despite the good she’d seen in him these past months, taking—no stealing—her letters was proof of his true character. With a new resolve, Amelia did her utmost to busy herself with the work on her desk.

  Ten minutes later Thomas arrived, and with that her heart sank. Had she really believed his allure could be muted or its effect controlled? He was the kind of man females clamored to like Christians to church. But how many women knew that beneath his good looks and surface charm lay such a lying, conniving soul—an attribute undoubtedly honed and perfected at the feet of her own dear father.

  “Good morning, Amelia.” He spoke briskly, barely sparing her a glance as he strode to his desk.

  Amelia hid her surprise, managing a crisp nod. He didn’t appear uneasy, his expression displaying not one iota of guilt. He had taken the innocence of a lady. He had plenty to be guilty for. An honorable gentleman would already have the ring fitted and polished, and her father’s blessing. Not even she could have anticipated he’d treat her with such disregard. She tipped her chin and lengthened her spine.

  “As you can see, the work has accumulated in your absence.” He sounded distracted as his gaze roamed over the piles of paper littering his desk. “I will be working in the library if you require my assistance.” He regarded her. “File these.” He gestured broadly about his desk. “And once that task is complete, I have a contract requiring translation. Oh, and try not to tire yourself.” Without a backward glance, he picked up the ledger and exited the room.

  Amelia didn’t know how long she sat there frozen, her composure crumbling. While she railed at herself for being a hundred different kinds of fool, she swallowed the lump in her throat. She wouldn’t cry—desperately willing herself not to spill bitter tears of disbelief and regret. She hadn’t cried last night, so she certainly wouldn’t cry now. He had duped her once, but she’d take the veil before she ever allowed it to happen again. He wasn’t worth her precious tears or another dram of wasted emotion. Moreover, this was what she herself had insisted on. The sooner they both forgot about the incident, the better. She expected nothing from him. Nothing.

  A shuffled sound drew her attention to the study door. Blast, he’s returned. She quickly picked up a stack of contracts and lowered her head in the pretense of deep concentration.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  At the sound of Lord Alex’s voice, Amelia raised her head, a wave of relief flooding her. He looked as handsome as ever, freshly shaved and clad in olive trousers and waistcoat, and a matching cravat was knotted about his neck. A pair of black leather gloves hung from his left hand.

  “Good morning, Lady Amelia.” He greeted her with an easy smile, advancing toward her before halting in front of the desk.

  “Good morning, Lord Alex.” She tried her best to adopt an amicable tone that wouldn’t reveal her inner turmoil. “And no, you’re
not—at least nothing that can’t wait.” He was a friendly face, one she could desperately use right now.

  “I’ve come to say good-bye. I believe I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

  Don’t leave, she wanted to plead, but of course, her pride would never permit her to utter such words. At the understanding smile that tipped the corners of his mouth, she wondered if her expression looked as stricken as she felt.

  “If I’d known you would be such pleasant company, I would have arranged to stay a month. As it is, business matters compel me back to London. As no sensible woman will have me, I must continue to work for my keep.”

  Amelia let out a throaty chuckle. “I hardly believe things are quite that dire.” Her father had once told her the profits from Wendel’s Shipping alone would have the future generation of Cartwrights exceedingly well cared for. In addition, with his stunning good looks, second son or not, she imagined there weren’t many women who would refuse him.

  “I’ve managed to keep myself off the streets, so I guess things could be worse,” he replied with a wink.

  “Perhaps, I shall see you again before I leave.”

  “That, Lady Amelia, would be my dearest wish.” Then with an exaggerated bow, he took her proffered hand to his mouth, his lips treating the back of it with an airy kiss.

  “I also need to have the—” Thomas’s voice broke off as he came to a jarring halt in the doorway.

  Amelia instinctively snatched her hand back and then cursed herself for acting like a thief caught in the act. Peering over Alex’s bowed head, she met Thomas’s gaze. His green eyes narrowed and his mouth firmed.

  “I thought you were on your way out?” Although he addressed Lord Alex, his gaze held hers.

  Straightening, Lord Alex turned to him, his expression unperturbed. “How could I depart without saying good-bye to Lady Amelia?” he asked, a note of mocking, chastisement in his voice.

  Thomas observed them, his features set in a severe cast. “Don’t let me stop you.” The chill in his voice and his stance—wide-legged and bold—emitted a challenge. A pregnant silence followed, the atmosphere thick with the kind of tension capable of destroying friendships.

  Alex returned his friend’s regard before moving back to her, a wry smile on his face. “I’m getting the distinct feeling I’m being ushered out. Once again, my dear Lady Amelia, I hope we can further our acquaintance in the near future.”

  “I would be so honored, Lord Alex,” Amelia replied, ever conscious Thomas loomed behind them like a menacing prison guard. Perhaps, that’s what goaded her on. “I do hope you’ll join us for Christmas in Berkshire. It would be lovely to see a friendly face—never mind one so handsome.”

  As if he understood the reason for her flirtatious compliment, his smile stretched the full width of his jaw. “You make it impossible to refuse.” Grasping her hand again, he brought it to his lips for another kiss.

  “Don’t you have a train to catch?” Thomas bit out each syllable.

  Lord Alex peered up at her, and with another audacious wink, he released her hand, executed a shallow bow, and turned to Thomas. “I see I have greatly overstayed my welcome. Don’t get so worked up—I’m leaving.”

  “Amelia has important work to do. Bid your adieu and go.”

  Lord Alex strode to the door, passing his friend’s stiff form without a word. At the threshold, he shot a glance back at Thomas. “I gather then I’ll see you at Rutherford’s.” With that parting shot, he was gone.

  “I’m surprised you have any friends at all,” Amelia said, peeved and perversely pleased at his highhanded manner.

  “You will stay away from Cartwright, do you understand me?” Gone was the stoic man of minutes before as was his veneer of civility.

  “I believe I can manage that now that he’s gone.”

  His hands, fisted at his sides, moved spasmodically. His green eyes blazed as if he wanted to wring her neck and only the thought of hanging from a rope in the middle of Trafalgar Square prevented him.

  “That you find me objectionable for your friend but availed yourself of me is truly the height of hypocrisy.” Amelia hadn’t intended to say a word about the prior night, but too frequently the man caused her to speak without thought.

  “When I discover an uninvited woman in my chambers, I’m obligated to have my way with her.” His reply came back with biting promptness. “And as I’m sure you recall, my intentions were welcomed with great enthusiasm. But I’m sure that’s the part you most want to forget.”

  Smug, arrogant cad. He’d find every opportunity to throw the incident back in her face. “I unfortunately lack your vast pool of experience as to what is de rigueur in that particular situation.”

  His mouth quirked in a fashion she found infuriating: smug yet grim. “It certainly didn’t stop you from scratching my back and howling like a cat in heat.”

  Reflectively, Amelia lowered her head to hide the blush scorching her cheeks. Her father had always said she was impetuous. This was one conversation she wished she hadn’t broached.

  “Ah, I see you have no response to that.”

  She could hear the amusement in his voice. He sounded like he was rubbing his hands together in glee.

  Amelia jerked her head up and pinned him with a withering stare. “You are deplorable.”

  His smile broadened. “I don’t believe that’s what you said last night. If I recall, you could barely speak. There was all that gasping, whimpering, and moaning. Whoever thought you would be such a lustful bedmate. Thankfully, I discovered before it was too late, the best way to—”

  The chair toppled wildly as Amelia sprang to her feet. Her heart pounded madly. “Stop! Stop! I will not sit here and listen to this. You are the most—the most—” She broke off, the right word failing her. At that moment, there wasn’t a word strong enough, heinous enough to describe Thomas Armstrong.

  “Skilled lover you ever had?” he asked innocently.

  “Ha!” she shrieked. “The only one I’ve had thus far. And I’m certain you will shrivel in comparison to the next man.”

  The speed at which he reached her desk and hauled her into his arms was staggering. And the speed at which her mouth parted to accept his tongue even more so. Her only excuse was he had caught her unawares. She hadn’t had the time to fortify her resistance. And her stupid body didn’t know it wasn’t supposed to succumb to this man again. And again, and again.

  She tasted like peppermint. She felt soft and firm in all the right places—her delectable bottom, her beautiful breasts. And God, she could kiss. She knew how to use her tongue for such an innocent. She had a way of capturing his between her lips, and languidly sucking, coaxing, sipping on it as if she were enjoying one of those flavored Italian ices that were so popular.

  Thomas adjusted their positions so he could fit his erection against her sweet mound, silently cursing the endless swaths of grey fabric of her skirt. His cock jerked at the contact. He ached for nothing more than to take her right there on the study floor.

  Again, he was experiencing a loss of control. Amelia had somehow managed to turn him into a simpleton when it came to matters of the flesh. He dragged his mouth from hers and feathered down the smooth line of her neck back up to the sensitive spot behind her ear. At his kisses, she began to pant and moan. His mouth then sought the indent of her shoulder. She moaned again.

  Drowning, that sound was his lifeline back to sanity. Summoning up a will he required in Amelia’s presence, Thomas released her. His release was so abrupt she stumbled backward. Her hands caught the edge of the desk to steady her. She stared up at him, her blue eyes unguarded for a moment. Surprise, lust, and yearning were all there on her face. She quickly turned her back to him, her breath ragged, her slender shoulders heaving with the exertion of unspent passion.

  Thomas thought to say something—anything. He could think of nothing. He cleared his throat, his heart pounding as if he’d been holding his breath under water until his lungs threatened to burst
. And each drawn breath didn’t bring him the relief he sought. Slowly, carefully, he turned from her bent figure, and made his way from the room as if she were opium and he, addicted.

  Amelia straightened only when the door whistled closed. Her breath escaped her lips in an audible, jagged hiss. She tentatively put her hand to her throat and then touched her face to ensure she was still there. Then the knowledge rushed through her with the force of a wave crashing against the shores. It had been he who had called a halt to the kiss, not her. He who had pulled away.

  Her face burned; her hands trembled. What was this man doing to her? She had offered little to no resistance when he’d taken her virginity. She had liked it. Who was she fooling, she’d been like a gourmand at the most lavish spread in all of London, gorging herself to satiation, and then wishing she could go back for more.

  Chapter 23

  Amelia’s gaze toured the bronzes and Staffordshire figures on the rosewood étagère in the drawing room. The ornaments displayed were not so plentiful as to give it a cluttered appearance. She herself preferred sparse simplicity rather than a hodgepodge of knickknacks laying claim to taste and money. Yes, Lady Armstrong had made Stoneridge Hall a place anyone would be proud to call home. Which was one of the other reasons Amelia so desperately needed to leave—the sooner, infinitely the better.

  She hadn’t intended to become comfortable here. More important, she and Thomas had crossed a line in their relationship and couldn’t go back. With the heat of his touch and kiss … his possession, he could send her high as a kite in flight, ascending the dizziest heights. But all too soon, she was cast down low to the darkest depths of despair. Never in her life had a person affected her so. She feared the risk of remaining would somehow include her heart—a risk she wasn’t willing to take.

  Since Lord Alex’s departure three days ago, they now circled each other like strangers. Their conversation—such as it was—extended to staggering five-word sentences. Good morning. I’ll be at the stables. And the moment he finished, he’d vanish and not return for the remainder of the day. She worked the hours in solitude. Rarely did he speak to her during the evening meals, choosing to converse almost exclusively with Miss Foxworth, who proved to be a most captive audience. He’d committed the grievance, yet she was being ignored. More glaring evidence of his arrogance.