A Taste of Desire

by Beverley Kendall

  This would be the first Christmas since her mother’s death that she’d spend with a family. A real family. The thought warmed her insides, flooding her with a sense of joy. Today she would purchase gifts for everyone.

  A quiet word to Thomas and he was quickly whisking Catherine off to the nearest pastry shop. She’d told him she needed privacy to select Catherine’s gift, which she did. But she also took that time to find something for him.

  Amelia soon discovered finding something fitting for her lover was much more difficult than shopping for the others, as she desperately wanted him to like it. Then she spotted a miniature of a ship. Carved from a rich mahogany wood, it was intricately detailed and polished to a low shine. Given his involvement in manufacturing the real ones, this seemed exactly the sort of thing Thomas would like.

  After she paid for her purchases, the accompanying footman took them to the carriage while she joined Thomas and Catherine next door.

  They wandered the shops for another hour, sending the footman back several times to store their packages in the boot of the carriage. By this time, Amelia’s feet began to ache and she was tired and hungry.

  As if sensing her growing discomfort and fatigue, Thomas cupped her elbow and asked, “Shall we return home?”

  At his touch, the layers of wool and varying weights of cotton could not prevent the spark of desire that shot through her. It was as if she’d spent her entire life unaware, then suddenly to be catapulted head first into stark, teeth clenching awareness.

  Amelia turned to Catherine, but mostly to collect herself. “Shall we?”

  The young girl nodded. “I can’t wait to show Charlotte the hair ribbons I purchased.”

  “Then we can be off.” She dared a glance up at Thomas. His eyes told her what he wanted; he wanted her. It was at that moment something inside her emerged. The reckless, abandoned side that understood the power of her charms. But not only understood it—reveled in it and wanted to flaunt it.

  The trip home was silent, save for Catherine recounting their visit to every shop and detailing all the delightful things she saw but didn’t have the money to buy, which proved to be quite a list.

  Amelia listened to her with one ear, speaking when a response was called for. The rest of her attention focused helplessly on Thomas, meeting his gaze with equal intent, equal desire. If his emerald-green eyes consumed, hers devoured. With Catherine duly occupied and apparently oblivious to what sizzled between her and Thomas, what was the point of hiding it or shying away from it? She’d experienced the power of his passion and returned it in spades. Whatever was happening between them, she never wanted it to stop. This journey was hers for the taking, and she fully intended to take it to wherever it would lead.

  Chapter 27

  Thomas entered Amelia’s bedchamber that evening as if he did so every night. As if it were his right. The entire day he’d spent leashed, exhibiting the control of a saint. He was no damn saint, so that control was all but taxed out.

  The fire blazing in the fireplace helped to ward off the cold. Amelia, who sat upright on the canopied bed wearing a pale pink nightdress, her nipples prominent against the silky fabric, made him hot. His cock, which had been in a state of semi-arousal the whole day, roared to life like a steam engine picking up speed.

  No longer reticent, she fairly oozed this potent sexuality, her blue eyes half-mast, her desire laid bare for him to see. He couldn’t get to her quick enough.

  “I never thought tonight would come.” If he sounded tortured, it was because he was and had been the entire day. He quickly dispensed with her nightdress to urgently cup her breasts in his hands, squeezing, kneading, and luxuriating in their softness and firmness. He slowly rimmed the nipples with his thumbs.

  Amelia’s laugh came out sultry and low. “I want you naked.” She let out a moan before launching herself into the task of helping him remove his garments. While he hurriedly worked on his shirt buttons, she tackled his trousers, her hands constantly brushing against his rampant erection.

  Between urgent caresses and kisses so scorchingly hot he was amazed the mattress hadn’t caught afire, they managed to divest him of every single piece of clothing. Only then could he have her underneath him, whimpering and gasping in rapturous delight. Her delectable breasts, her splendid thighs, and the notch there that promised endless gut-wrenching ecstasy, drove him ever onward, reaching for the satisfaction only the summit could bring.

  Amelia was lost to everything but the man between her thighs, her body ready, wet, and awaiting the feel of him, hard and hot inside of her. She clutched his sweat-dampened back with both hands, urging him closer. But he pulled back and levered himself up, while keeping his hands bracketing her hips. Strands of blond hair lay plastered against his forehead, his shoulders and chest heaving from passionate exertion.

  Widening her thighs for the coming pleasure, Amelia blinked in surprise when his hands, which had been on her hips, moved to her bottom, kneading the giving flesh briefly before carefully flipping her onto her stomach.

  Startled, she shot a look over her shoulder, taking in the dark intensity of his expression as he slid a pillow beneath her hips to prop them up. A ragged groan emerged from his throat, and beads of sweat trickled down the sides of his face. His hands urged her thighs wider apart and then cupped, rubbed, and petted her buttocks. Her head dropped limply back onto the pillow. His fingers found her aching, wet sheath. Amelia wanted to wail and scream for more, but could only manage half-tortured sobs. Driving her hips back, her arms reached behind to bring him closer.

  In one sharp jerk of his hips, he plunged into her. It was a tight fit, an excruciatingly good fit, a deeper fit than before. His pace increased with each sumptuous thrust. Before long he was pummeling her into oblivion, the peak so intense for a moment she was sure she lost consciousness. A grunt then a long hiss rent air humid with passion and lust signaled his release.

  They remained like that, him still buried to the hilt inside her while her sex continued to contract around him, each catching their breaths as they floated down from the euphoria of their climax. When she found the strength, she rolled onto her back and reached for him. He came instantly, embracing her, kissing her as if he never wanted to let her go. Her sleep that night was the best she’d had in years.

  Amelia was looking at the perfect tableau of Christmas morning: a family gathered around a beautifully decorated Christmas tree. The countess cradled her daughter in her arms while the earl held their son. Catherine was down on her knees, oohing and aahing over a flounced moss green velvet gown she pulled from a bulky box and held up against her torso. Charlotte, however, Amelia noted, sat perched on one of the nearby armchairs, plucking on the bow of a small box as she sent timorous glances at Lord Alex, who watched the festivities with the indulgence of Father Christmas himself.

  “This is for you.” Thomas had been digging about under the tree before retrieving a gaily decorated box. This he held out to her, his smile and piercing green eyes both tender and passionate all at once.

  He had gotten her a gift. Her throat constricted and her eyes began to burn. Don’t you dare cry. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Swallowing, she blinked the vaguest notion of tears away and accepted the round box with trembling hands. Their hands brushed. His eyes darkened, and Amelia had to fight to keep her mind in the moment and not think back to last night.

  Focus. But her fingers lacked coordination and it took her much longer to open the box than it should have. When she finally did, nestled inside was a stunning sapphire necklace. She gasped and clamped her hand to her mouth. She turned wide eyes up at him. “It’s beautiful, but I can’t accept this,” she whispered, her voice fraught with emotion.

  “You most certainly shall.” His voice was loving, but his tone indicated this wasn’t a fight she would win.

  “But everyone will think—”

  “Who?” With an eyebrow raised, he briefly scanned the occupants in the room. “These are my family and friends,
not strangers. And believe me, Missy and Rutherford wouldn’t dare judge our relationship.”

  Amelia looked again at the necklace. What exactly did a gift like this mean? It wasn’t a betrothal ring. Did he want them to continue as lovers? Could she live with that if that’s all he was willing to offer?

  “Thank you. It’s beautiful,” she choked. Despite being overwhelmed with emotion, she remained dry eyed, as tears of happiness were something her brain could not comprehend.

  “Let me.” He stood close, his scent an intoxicant to her senses. His warm breath disturbed the tendrils at her nape. With the ceremony of a formal marriage proposal, he removed the necklace from the box and secured it around her neck. The sapphire was a solid, cool weight against the exposed skin of her chest. The brush of his hands against her neck and shoulders felt more intimate than a kiss and had her heart bursting in restrained jubilation.

  She may be many things, and perhaps once or twice he had caused her knees to buckle, and yes, there was the dizzying euphoria that happened all too frequently when he was near, but a female fit to swooning she was not. Today, however, she was at risk of doing exactly that if she dared meet his gaze, her composure around him now easier to shake than a dilapidated cabin during a high wind.

  Had they been alone, she would have kissed him, but if she allowed herself even a chaste kiss, she’d want more. They’d both want more.

  Amelia desperately looked everywhere but at him, feeling the burn of his gaze. Lord Alex’s stare captured her attention. His teeth gleamed white against his dark complexion in a lazy smile. He inclined his head as if to acknowledge and approve the new status of her and Thomas’s relationship. He then turned and sauntered to Missy’s side and relieved her of her daughter.

  “You may give me a more appropriate thank you tonight.” Thomas’s dark, smoky voice promised an evening of untold pleasures, his words conjuring up an image of tangled sheets, bare skin, and a hot furious coupling. A tide of heat washed over her from head to toe. Dear Lord, she really needed to control herself. They still had the entire day to get through before night fell.

  “I also have something for you.” Amelia left him to ferret out his present from the sea of gift-wrapped boxes under the tree. She returned to his side and handed him the box, only then permitting herself to meet his gaze. His look devoured her.

  Thomas accepted the box and wasted no time in opening his gift. He stilled for a long second when he saw the model ship. His gaze flew to hers. The intimacy of that look turned her knees to the consistency of molasses.

  “I hope you like it.”

  Missy, ever curious, had come to her brother’s side. She peered into the box. “Oh, how lovely. Finally a ship more scaled to suit you.”

  Thomas ignored her quip as only a brother could and extricated it from the paper padding. Holding it up, he turned it around slowly several times, admiring the craftsmanship. It was clear the ship had been carved by expert hands and with loving attention to every detail.

  With his goddaughter still in his hands, Alex ventured toward them. “And here Father Christmas brought me only one fat lump of coal. Do tell, Armstrong, what did you do to earn such a jewel?”

  Missy tried to muffle her laughter without success.

  Thomas didn’t so much as blink before replying, “I haven’t earned her yet, but I’m hoping that’s just a matter of time.”

  At that precise moment, Amelia conceded she might indeed be exactly the type of woman prone to swoons.

  Following supper that evening, the women parted company with the men in the hall, proceeding upstairs to check on the babies. Thomas, Cartwright, and Rutherford filed into the drawing room.

  “So, Armstrong, when can we plan for your upcoming nuptials? My calendar tends to become more crowded in the spring.” Cartwright, with his unsinkable tact, did not prevaricate but got straight to the point.

  Rutherford proceeded to the sideboard to pour the after-supper port without commenting but Thomas could tell by his expression he too awaited his response.

  Thomas took a seat on the sofa and regarded Cartwright’s arched-brow countenance. “Your schedule doesn’t make the slightest difference to me. I’ll marry her with or without you in attendance.”

  “You realize there will be talk. The ton is still abuzz from your infamous public encounter at Lady Stanton’s ball.”

  “Let them talk. In any effect, our betrothal should put to rest any notion that there is any acrimony between us,” Thomas replied with a short laugh.

  Rutherford advanced toward them and paused by the sofa to hand him and Cartwright their glasses of port. Thomas accepted his gladly, quickly tipping his head back for a swallow.

  Rutherford took a seat in the nearby armchair while Cartwright remained standing, looking suddenly like a rudderless boat. “Bloody hell, it just occurred to me that both of you will be married.” He made the final word sound more like some ghastly infection than the state of wedded bliss.

  Thomas relished his friend’s apparent disgruntlement. “What, afraid you’re next?”

  Cartwright waved his hand dismissively. “God, that’s the last thing on my mind. My father thanks the saints every day he has Charles to carry on the name.” And as with every reference to his father, his voice held an acerbic note.

  “So when’s the long-anticipated proposal to be made? Missy will, of course, insist on having a hand in the preparations.”

  Thomas regarded his brother-in-law. Rutherford was right. His sister would turn his plans for something simple and small into something worthy of royalty, which meant expeditiousness could only be considered a feeble ray of hope.

  “I will speak to Harry once he returns from America.”

  “A mere formality,” Cartwright said with another dismissive wave of his hand.

  “Then I say we drink to your upcoming marriage.” Rutherford lifted his glass in a toast.

  “Hear, hear.” Cartwright appeared resigned to the fact he’d now be the lone bachelor left standing.

  “To your good fortune,” Rutherford said.

  “To my good fortune,” Thomas echoed clinking his glass with that of his closest friends.

  The visit came to a close much too quickly. If Amelia could have made the time in Berkshire stretch another month, she would have done so readily. But with the holidays over, reality crept in. Thomas had a business to attend to, as did Lord Alex and the earl.

  In the two weeks of their visit, she and Missy had formed a very close bond. And it wasn’t just Missy with whom she felt close, but the entire Rutherford family. That’s what made their departure so painful. Having to say good-bye caught and pinched at her heart.

  Their trip back to Stoneridge Hall proved as uneventful as crossing the French Riviera in a gondola draped in silken swaths of fabric and sipping the finest champagne in all of France—with a chaperone. Hélène sat quiet yet content beside her, seemingly oblivious to the fact both of the other members of her party wished her anywhere but there. For between she and Thomas existed a chemistry no words could describe. Their intimacy was familiar now and fraught with all the passion and lust between two new lovers. They needn’t look at one another to light the spark that had them touching, kissing, and exploring one another. That had happened often enough over the last few weeks.

  It was well past ten o’clock in the evening when they arrived at Stoneridge Hall. But despite the late hour, Lady Armstrong, attired in a pale yellow silk supper dress indicating she’d hadn’t yet changed to retire for the evening, was there to greet them.

  The viscountess’s green eyes sparkled and her cheeks were the pink of a gleeful young girl fresh from her first time at the Crystal Palace. It was clear she’d benefitted greatly from her trip to America.

  “The girls waited up as long as they could, but the poor dears started nodding off to sleep in the morning room.”

  Thomas dropped his hand from the small of Amelia’s back and advanced toward his mother. They embraced warmly, the viscoun
tess kissing both his cheeks.

  “I suppose a ‘Happy Christmas’ is in order. I gather you enjoyed your trip,” he said, drawing back, clasping both her arms in his hands. “I don’t think I remember seeing you looking quite so happy. Good Lord, I’ll go even so far as to say that I believe you’re glowing.” His eyes danced with merriment. “Perhaps you met a gentleman during your visit?”

  A deep pink heightened the color suffusing his mother’s cheeks. “You are even more impertinent than your sisters,” the viscountess scolded with a smile. She evaded the teasing question by turning her attention to Amelia.

  “Hello, dear, I hope my daughter made you feel at home.”

  How could one put into words the friendship that had developed between her and Missy? “Missy and James were the most gracious hosts. And the girls made me feel very much a part of the family. And as for your grandchildren, I could wax poetic about them for hours.”

  The countess took Amelia’s gloved hand in hers and gave it several pats. “Well, you might be happy to hear you should be bound for home very soon. Your father returned with us. He’s currently at his residence in town. He expects to come and collect you himself.”

  Amelia’s gaze instantly flew to Thomas.

  “Harry is in town?” Thomas asked before she could form an appropriate response. He appeared happily surprised.

  “Yes, he managed to wrap up his business two days before our ship was due to depart.”

  Her father. For the first time in years, the thought of him didn’t cause the clenching in her chest or anger to rush through her like blood pumps through veins. It was difficult to pinpoint exactly what she was feeling. “I must say I am indeed surprised,” she said quite honestly.

  “Well, you both must be weary from your travels. I will bid you good night. We will speak in the morning.”