A Taste of Desire

chapter 19



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.