A Taste of Desire

chapter 20



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.

By the third day of her confinement, and much to Thomas’s satisfaction, she did appear restored to full health. Only then did he finally grant her leave to venture beyond her bedchamber walls. And he, like a drunkard resisting the silent call of a bottle of alcohol, spent the better part of the day down at the stables with his latest purchase, a majestic grey thoroughbred.

That evening, she presented herself at the dining hall looking vibrant and fetching in a lavender dress and a neckline whose appeal lay in what remained hidden rather than what it revealed. Thomas had to physically steel himself from going to her and touching her, as he mentally stripped her down to bare skin and pink nipples.

Cartwright, who should have departed Devon the day before but had insisted on staying until he was certain of Amelia’s full recovery, brightened noticeably at her appearance. Thomas scowled, and his annoyance with his friend sparked anew.

“Good evening, Miss Foxworth. My lords. I hope you’ll forgive my tardiness.” She sent them a warm, all-encompassing smile.

Cartwright hastily came to his feet. Thomas belatedly followed. The effervescent glow about her that cast so many women in her shadow had unsettled him several moments too long.

She laughed lightly. “Oh please, my lords, do not stand on ceremony on my behalf.” The second footman followed her dutifully to the table to seat her in the empty chair beside Cartwright.

“I didn’t think you would be up to joining us for supper this evening,” Thomas said as he wondered what their reaction would be if he insisted she and Cartwright exchange places to have her sit at his elbow.

After she settled in, he and Cartwright resumed their seats. “And as I told you this morning, I’m perfectly well. If you hadn’t been so stubborn, I would have been up and about yesterday.” She treated him to a teasing look, something she’d never done before.

“I’m simply relieved to see you looking so well,” Camille said with a smile.

Amelia smiled in return, and not the kind of smile generally reserved for Thomas. This one held no trace of ire or mockery, just pearl-white teeth shown in contrast against succulent pink lips. Thomas’s loins began a painful and pleasurable throb.

“I’d say looking well is a vast understatement. In my opinion, Lady Amelia looks radiantly stunning. The picture of beauty, health, and prosperity.”

Thomas shot a look at his friend. Radiantly stunning? Beauty, health, and prosperity? Good Lord, with only a little more wax, his friend could single-handedly seal all the envelopes in London. Just how bloody cozy had they become during their time together? It appeared it had been time enough to turn Cartwright into not only her protector but a doting suitor. Thomas was revolted by the thought.

Amelia made a sound like the faded remnants of a full-bodied laugh. “Truly, Lord Alex, you gift me with far more admirable attributes than I deserve.”

Thomas’s gaze darted to her. By God, was she actually falling prey to that balderdash? “Yes, don’t you think you’re plying it on rather thick?” Thomas said, unable to keep the sardonic note from his voice.

Cartwright merely laughed. “I’m a second son. I haven’t the luxury of subtlety.”


Amelia dipped her chin to hide a smile. Lord Alex was witty and charming beyond words. Thomas, on the other hand, looked anything but pleased. He wasn’t scowling—at least not anymore—but his face was set in such a mask that anything as beguiling as a smile would fall victim to a cold, hard death.

If she claimed any intimate knowledge of him, she’d say his behavior held the green tinge of jealousy. But perhaps that was her exalted opinion of her own charms. He could very well have entirely different reasons for his surly disposition. Perhaps he didn’t think her good enough for his friend.

Although, that notion certainly wouldn’t explain what he’d been doing slumbering in a chair at her bedside when she was ill. In the grip of her fever, she’d thought she’d dreamed him there. However, along with the cold light of day the next morning, she’d awoken to the lingering scent of bergamot in her bedchamber, proof she hadn’t conjured him up on the sliver of a wishful thought. Something inside her had melted with the knowledge, her opinion of him irrevocably changed. He wasn’t in every way like her father, as he’d actually come to her in her time of illness.

Yes, perhaps he was jealous. And for him to succumb to that emotion, he had to care for her at least a little beyond their undeniable, potent physical attraction.

While she and Thomas fell silent, Cartwright inquired politely to Miss Foxworth of her plans for Christmas, which was only a month away. Amelia had no special fondness for the holiday, at least not since her mother had died.

“Today, I received a letter from my brother. He hopes to be home for Christmas this year.” Miss Foxworth did not so much as respond to Lord Alex as announce the news to the occupants of the table.

“Foxworth finally coming home? Truly a reason to celebrate this year, eh Armstrong?” Lord Alex said, flicking a glance at Thomas before returning his attention to Miss Foxworth. “I can only imagine how eager you must be.”

Miss Foxworth’s pale cheeks flushed to apricot as she bobbed her head in agreement, a stark longing flaring in her eyes. “It has been almost two years since I’ve seen him. I wonder how much he has changed. But certainly my biggest hope and prayer is that he come home safe and unharmed.” Her gaze then flew to the viscount’s expressionless face. “Lord Armstrong, I hoped perhaps you could spare me some time during Christmastide?”

Thomas seemed to snap to attention as if her question had jerked him from deep thoughts. “Forgive me. I’m afraid my mind was occupied with a business matter. Did you say your brother is due home?”

“He expects to arrive back on English soil three days prior to Christmas. If you could spare me for three or four days that would—”

“Three or four days? Absolutely not. You will remain with him as long as you wish. How long is he to remain in London?”

“He wrote for two months—or that is the hope.” Camille turned to Amelia. “Marcus is the only family I have.”

“Oh, no need to explain yourself to me. I think it’s wonderful that he should have such a devoted sister.” Oftentimes, when she was a child she’d craved a sibling.

“Missy has invited us to spend Christmas with her and her family. However, I can see that would in no way compare to seeing your brother.”

Amelia shot a wide-eyed look at Thomas. They would be spending Christmas with his sister? Why was it only now she was hearing of this?

“Why, that’s wonderful. I want you to know that in my absence, I fully intended to find a replacement. But if you will be in Berkshire with your sister and Lord Windmere …” Miss Foxworth’s voice trailed off.

“And as my mother and sisters will be back by the New Year, there will be no need for you to return. That should give you as much time as you please to spend with your brother.”

“Yes, then it all works out perfectly.” Miss Foxworth’s gaze dropped to her plate but not before Amelia noted the faint yearning in her eyes. She wanted to return, that much Amelia could see. It was absurd, really ridiculous, as she’d never seen Thomas treat Miss Foxworth in anything but a brotherly manner, but in a moment of her own twinge of jealousy, she could hardly wait for the woman to leave.

In an effort to veer from the unwanted feelings, Amelia shifted her attention to Lord Alex. “And you, my lord, how will you be celebrating Christmas?”

Cartwright’s shoulders rose and fell negligently. “Not entirely certain. Perhaps I’ll take Lady Windmere up on her invitation.”


“My sister’s invited you too?” Thomas heard the sharpness in his own voice and regretted it.

“Actually, Rutherford mentioned it when he was in town on Parliament business.”

Normally, Thomas would have welcomed the company of his friend during his stay at Rutherford Manor. He couldn’t count the number of times Cartwright had celebrated various holidays and celebrations with his family. He was, for all intents and purposes, a surrogate member of the Armstrong clan, the two having met when they were young boys at Eton.

But this Christmas was different. This Christmas Amelia would be there, and the thought of Cartwright and her spending that much time together, and in such close proximity, rankled more than it should. Thomas could summon only a stiff nod.

Cartwright chuckled dryly. “You don’t look pleased. Am I no longer a welcome guest?” He placed his spoon in his soup bowl and edged it forward as an indication he was finished with that course.

“Of course not,” Thomas snapped, angry with himself for making his displeasure so evident. Amelia was driving him crazy—completely mad. And that he should allow her to come between he and Cartwright was paramount to a betrayal of their twenty-year friendship. “I was just surprised since you said your father wanted you home for the holidays this year.” When the Duke of Hastings summoned his son, Cartwright usually abided, although always reluctantly due to their strained relationship.

His friend’s silver eyes grew cool at the mention of his father. “Yes, well, as you know I have no desire to see the duke. Now or during the holidays,” he said in a tight voice.

Thomas quickly changed the subject. The duke was the one person who could put the even-tempered Cartwright in a foul mood. This had been the case for at least ten years now. And Thomas had learned not to ask the reasons as to what had caused the rift.

“Do you play cards, Lord Alex?” Amelia asked, ending the taut silence.

Cartwright’s expression instantly eased. “Not for money, but I’ve a knack for vingt-et-un or blackjack, and I have been known to dabble in whist.”

Thomas didn’t like the course of the conversation, nor did he like the sudden brightening of his friend’s mood as he lazily surveyed Amelia.

“Don’t you think it best if you rested? You’ve only recently recovered,” Thomas objected.

“My lord, I hardly think a game of cards will put my health in jeopardy,” Amelia replied with a laugh.

“Nevertheless, it’s better to be safe. And I’m sure Cartwright wouldn’t want in any way to be party to the cause of your decline.”

Cartwright’s gaze turned to him. For a moment, Thomas thought he intended to challenge him—scoff that his argument was beyond ludicrous. After studying him for several seconds, his friend shifted his attention back to Amelia. “Yes, I have heard parlor games are known to cause an illness of sorts, and I certainly wouldn’t want you to fall victim to it.”

In this instance, Cartwright’s barely veiled mockery was acceptable. It was infinitely better than a row, Thomas thought with the full knowledge that what he spouted was nothing shy of grasping at straws. He also knew everyone at the table was aware of it too. Luckily for him, they were too civilized to call him on it.

“Well, since it appears I’m too fragile for a game of cards, I shall take myself off to bed. Suddenly I’m feeling rather fatigued.” Cartwright made a move to rise. Amelia stayed him with a wave of her hand as she stood. “Oh, do remain seated.”

A footman materialized at her elbow to assist her from her chair. Thomas hadn’t intended to send her so early to her bed; hadn’t intended to deprive himself of her company. He sat mute as she smoothed the folds of her velvet skirts, trying to quell the image of those slender hands sliding lovingly over his hard, bare flesh, wrapping around him.

“I shall see you all in the morning.” Her regard flickered to him. “That is, if I have not gone into decline.” A teasing light glinted in the sapphire blue of her eyes, and a smile tipped the corners of her mouth—a smile whose effects Thomas felt from his chest right down to his loins.


After Amelia quit the dining hall, she didn’t walk but floated up the stairs. She hadn’t really wanted to play cards with Lord Alex. She’d only been seeking proof that Thomas didn’t want her to. Who would have guessed—certainly not she—that she was the type of woman who would stoop to engaging in games of jealousy? And who would have guessed upon eliciting the desired response, she’d be left feeling giddy and dizzier than she had when she’d been swooning about the place with a fever.

Leaving the dining table had been a matter of survival, for if she’d stayed, she would have sat there looking as besotted as she felt. He cared enough about her to be jealous of his friend. He cared enough about her to sit at her bedside when she was ill. Thomas, Viscount Armstrong, cared about her, period, and right now that was all that mattered. Tomorrow, she decided with steadfast determination, they would begin their relationship anew.

Amelia was still in a euphoric glow when she heard the unmistakable sound of a cat as she made her way to her chamber. Turning in the direction of the plaintive meow, she saw a blur of fur dash in the direction of the opposite wing.

No animals resided in Stoneridge Hall, of that she was certain. Undoubtedly a stray sneaking in from the cold. The poor dear was probably hungry. Amelia proceeded in search of the cat.

After much coaxing and whispered pleas of, “Here kitty, kitty,” she found the cat huddled beneath a hall table with a heavy base that came half a foot off the floor. And she discovered it wasn’t a cat but a tiny, frightened kitten with camel-colored fur. Soon, Amelia was on her knees, her right hand stretched out to capture the skittish animal, her voice soothing and low. As her fingers made contact with the downy fur, the kitten darted from beneath the table and through the closest open door.

Sighing, Amelia scrambled to her feet. She hesitated at the threshold. Then she heard the kitten’s cry. She would be quick about it. Miss Foxworth and the men were occupied downstairs and none of the servants were about.

Quashing every single one of her misgivings—and she harbored quite a few—Amelia inhaled a deep breath and entered the room. Save for the blaze in the fireplace, the chamber was shrouded in shadows of varying shades of grey. It took several seconds for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. The chamber was large. With a fresh wave of trepidation, she realized fate, with its sometimes macabre sense of humor, had deposited her in the master’s suite. Thomas’s bedchamber. If she had any sense at all, she would leave. A quiver of anticipation coursed through her as she ventured farther into the room.

Amelia took in big, dark furniture, including an enormous four-poster bed. She shivered again. There was nothing fussy about it. No softening contours or feminine embellishments, just polished mahogany and a dark green counterpane covering the mattress.

A flash of fur darting from under the bed to somewhere in the darkest corner of the room caught her eye, yanking her back to her purpose for being there. Before Amelia could move, she heard a faint creak, then saw a splinter of light originate from the area in which the kitten had disappeared. The light lengthened and broadened across the carpeted floor in front of her.

With no time to think and only a second to act, Amelia made a dash to an area in the chamber where she saw no shadowy grey just the blessed oblivion of black. She braced up against the wall beside a towering wardrobe. Her nostrils were immediately assailed by the scent of starch and something else … bergamot.

The kitten emitted a pitiful meow. Amelia barely dared to breathe.

“How on earth did you get in here?”

Thomas. Amelia’s breath left her.

“Lord, aren’t you a tiny little thing. I bet you’re hungry?”

It took her a moment to realize he was speaking to the cat. As much as a human was capable, she plastered herself against the wall.

“Come, let’s get you something to eat. Perhaps Cook has some leftover fish. What do you think?” The kitten purred as if in agreement.

He was leaving. With her fingers splayed against the wall at her back, Amelia waited. She heard muffled footfalls, then the sound of the door opening, and then silence. Blessed silence. She quickly darted a glance around the wardrobe to ensure all was clear. It was.

Amelia had never moved so fast in her entire life, the soles of her suede shoes scarcely touching the floor. Unfortunately, fast wasn’t quite quick enough.