A Taste of Desire

chapter 31



Thomas should have breathed a sigh of relief when he crossed the threshold of Stoneridge Hall; instead he felt the emptiness of knowing Amelia was gone.

It had been three weeks and four days since he’d seen her. Midnight would add yet another day to the crawling total.

Harry had taken her home, back to Fountain Crest. His letter informing Thomas of this had arrived at his residence in London three days before. It was a timely departure as his mother’s winter ball was set for this evening. At least he wouldn’t have to see her.

“Thomas, you are late,” his mother said as she coasted toward him, her chartreuse taffeta and tulle gown floating about her. She kissed his cheek in the manner of a mother affectionately admonishing her offspring.

“Good evening, Mother.” He wanted to protest he wasn’t that late. In fact—he glanced around—he appeared to be one of the first people there.

“I have so many little things to tend to before the guests begin to arrive and every one of the servants is occupied. Dear, would you mind terribly if I asked you to check about the place for the punch bowl. I’ve mislaid it somewhere, I simply cannot remember where. Oh, and you can store your coat in there. I have no idea where all the footmen could have gone.”

Thomas glanced around, noting the frenzy of activity in the brightly lit Stoneridge Hall. It appeared his mother had emptied the biggest local candle shop of its inventory.

“You might want to start with the library. I believe I went in there earlier for some reason or another.” She finished with a motherly pat on his hand, before turning and hurrying toward the ballroom.

With his great coat draped over his forearm, Thomas strode down the corridor to the library. It too was brightly lit although the curtains were closed. He walked over to the brown leather armchair. His coat fell to the floor at the same time his mouth fell open in dull surprise.

A wide-eyed Amelia stared at him from the sofa. She looked ravishing in a lavender gown, the neckline leaving an expansive amount of creamy skin on display. And that was all it took after over three long weeks to make him hard. And then angry with her, but more with himself for his lack of control.

“Thomas.” She whispered his name like a prayer come true.

His heart slammed against his chest. “I was told you were gone,” he said coldly, as he bent and scooped his coat from the floor.

The light in her eyes dimmed. “I can’t imagine who would have told you such a thing,” she said, coming to her feet.

“Your father.” And idiot that he was, he’d believed him. He should have known. Damn, he should have known. Harry Bertram had proven to be a premier manipulator.

“By any chance, have you seen my mother’s punch bowl?”

Amelia shook her head, giving him a blank-eyed stare.

You might want to start with the library. I believe I went in there earlier for some reason or another.

And it appeared his mother was in line to assume his mantle should Harry ever relinquish it.

“Then my business here is done.” He bowed deeply and turned to go.

“Thomas, please. May I speak with you?” He’d heard Amelia plead but once. He discovered the second time made it all that harder to deny her.

He halted but kept his back to her. While his traitorous heart urged him to go to her, his pride willed him to continue on his way. He’d told her he loved her and she’d said nothing. His pride—as always—won the battle. At the door, he heard a muffled noise that sounded like a sob. But that was impossible because Amelia never cried. Never allowed herself to give in to the weakness of tears.

Once standing outside the library door, he saw he was still in possession of his coat.

“You will go back in there and speak with that girl.”

The viscountess’s presence several feet away startled him. The tone of her voice even more so. It had been a long time since she’d reprimanded him with such rank censure.

“I’ve spoken all I care to, to Amelia. And I beg you to keep out of my personal affairs. I manage them quite fine without either yours or her father’s interference.” Rarely was he forced to speak to his mother in this manner, but then rarely did she give him cause.

She approached him, her mouth set in a line of disapproval. “I don’t know what crime Amelia has committed to cause you to treat her this way, nor do I really care to. What I do know is that for almost a month she’s become a shadow of the girl who returned from your sister’s home. She mopes about the place like a lost soul. She jumps every time someone comes to call because she believes it might be you returning home. She looks haunted every time your name is mentioned. If not for her sake or your own, then go back and talk to her for my sake. Listen to her. Perhaps you’ll see sense enough to lower that pride of yours.”

Thomas wasn’t sure for whose sake he turned and reentered the room, but he did.

Amelia’s throat locked up, and the corners of her eyes stung. She heaved in another painful sob. But her eyes remained dry.

After another minute of grieving the death of her hopes, Amelia rose to take her leave when the door opened and Thomas strode in, halting by the table of spirits. Without glancing at her, he poured himself a drink, downing it in one swallow. Only after he’d placed the empty glass back on the table, did he turn to regard her.

Amelia longed to sink back onto the stability of the chair, but as it was, he was peering down at her, his green eyes glacial and narrowed, his mouth a slash under his nose. So she remained standing, her hands clammy and cold.

“I returned at my mother’s urging,” he stated coldly.

“Thank you,” she whispered hoarsely.

The room went silent.

“I’m waiting,” he said, impatience and a trace of anger in his voice.

Lord, he was going to make her crawl—not that she believed it would do much good. “My father was here. We talked.”

“And your point being? I am quite aware your father was here.”

Amelia swallowed hard, and before her courage splintered into a train wreck at her feet, she whispered, “He told me that you might care to see me again. That perhaps you’ve been unhappy since you left … me.”

A short, dark laugh rent the air. “And in your arrogance, you believed him? Well let me clarify my position. If I was at all unhappy, it was not due to our parting but due to my own gullibility. That for even one second I believed you to be anything than the utterly selfish and feckless woman I met the year before.”

Amelia’s head dropped as if her neck couldn’t bear the weight. She closed her eyes briefly and drew in a shaky breath. “Since Christmas, I’ve wished to apologize for my behavior toward you. I’ve long realized how truly abominable I’d been. But as I thought we had become close …”

At her words, Thomas abruptly turned from her. Amelia raised her head and viewed the black jacket covering the broad expanse of his back. Despair caused a tight knot to form in her throat. She should go. He was lost to her. Any affection he’d had toward her was obviously long gone. But she wouldn’t leave until she’d said what she had to say. She refused to be her father, living his life with those kind of regrets. Regretting that he hadn’t tried harder, hadn’t pushed for explanations when she’d grown cold and distant, hadn’t fought to keep her affections. He hadn’t fought for her love.

“Once I believed you intended to ask my father for my hand.”

Thomas slowly turned to face her. He regarded her in silence, his expression closed, his gaze hooded. A vein in his temple jumped. “Obviously a supreme lapse in judgment on my part.”

His cool dismissal stabbed at her heart. “Mr. Cromwell, Lord Clayborough, neither truly meant anything to me. They were both just means of getting out from under my father’s roof. Men who would demand little of me and I of them.”

His expression did not shift. He did not blink. He merely regarded her with a cold, blank-eyed stare. “None of that matters now, as I said I will no longer be making that offer.” He paused. “No doubt you’ll soon find another marriage prospect.” A hint of dry sarcasm fractured the coldness of his tone.

Amelia advanced closer, her gaze locked with his, willing him to show the barest hint of softening, anything to indicate he still cared—if only a little. He only stiffened, his jaw tight, drawing himself up to his full height.

“I couldn’t marry Lord Clayborough. I can’t marry any other man. Do you know why? Because I’m in love with you,” she said quickly before her courage deserted her altogether. She halted in front of him, her head tipped to meet his gaze. “I love you, Thomas.”


For a moment Thomas said nothing, did nothing, just stood fighting to control his emotions. She looked so beautiful, so vulnerable. He yearned to pull her into his arms. How he’d missed the taste and feel of her. He missed her indefatigable passion. But she’d let him walk away that night. Hadn’t tried to stop him. He’d made a fool of himself over a woman once before, and damn if he’d do it again.

“Is that what you wanted to say?” He made his voice cold. “If so, you’ve wasted both our time.”

“So what you felt for me is gone? In a month’s time, it is gone?” her words emerged choked, raw with emotion.

The pain he’d buried inside him since he’d left exploded. Gone? What he wouldn’t give that it was so. Unable to articulate his response, he inclined his head in a curt nod.

The light in her eyes went out like a snuffed candle. She turned her back to him, her arms wrapped tightly about her slender torso. He thought she was collecting herself, controlling her emotions, until her shoulders began to heave. Pitiful and desperate sobs shook her body as she stuffed fisted hands to her eyes. He knew what those tears had cost her. The last vestiges of seven years of control. She’d shed them only for him. Because she loved him, wanted him. Only him.

Thomas thought his head would burst and the ache in his heart would never subside. Watching her was more than any man could bear, never mind a man who loved her to his very soul.

“I love you, Thomas.” She sobbed it. She chanted it. The sweet melody of the sound echoed throughout the room.

He couldn’t stand anymore. Turning her around, he pulled her into his arms, absorbing her tears with his jacket.

“God, please don’t cry, Amelia. Do you want to cripple me?” he asked, his voice hoarse with emotion.

Her response was to wrap her arms tightly around his neck, and pull his mouth to hers in a desperate kiss. He tasted her tears and tasted the sweetness of her lips, neither able to savor, their need frightening in its intensity. Tongues met, teeth clashed, hands grappled for the other.

His hands sought her hips and then moved to cup her buttocks, pulling her hard against his throbbing erection. He could think of nothing else but laying her out on the rug and losing himself in her slick warmth, taking her again and again.

Releasing her mouth, his lips trailed her cheek to feather the back of her ear. Amelia let out a whimper. “I want you now,” he said on a groan. “Let’s go upstairs.”

Passion-drugged, glassy eyes stared up at him. “But the ball—”

He cut her off with a hard kiss. “I don’t care about the ball. I’ve had to survive almost one month without you. Tonight, I’m going to make love to you until I’ve had my fill—at least for tonight.” He would never get enough of her.

Without another word, he whisked her up to his chambers.

In short order he had them out of their clothes, black wool, lavender silk, and white muslin littering the floor. They came together in a burst of passion, desperate for the feel of their naked flesh in fiery contact. He kissed her deeply, plunging into her helplessly, his control long gone. She met every delectable stroke as her thighs encircled his hips. When Thomas felt the exquisite pressure of her contractions pulsing around him, he thrust into her one final time. Then he let himself go. His own peak catapulted him into unspeakable, unfathomable pleasure before he finally shuddered in completion. Limp and spent, he rested atop her, the brunt of his weight at her side, while he remained snug inside her.

* * *

Amelia never wanted to move from this position. Turning slightly on her side, she pulled him closer, her arms tight around his sweaty torso. “Does this mean you forgive me?”

Thomas made a sound between a groan and a laugh. “For that, I’d forgive you almost anything.” His eyes grew serious as he gazed at her. “Will you marry me?”

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. Amelia could only manage a nod as tears began to stream down her face.

“God, Princess, don’t cry,” he said in a pained voice. With his thumbs, he wiped the tears from her cheeks before pressing a long, tender kiss against her parted lips. “I love you. There will be no more running away for either of us.”

Amelia wanted to laugh at his teasing tone, but tears continued unabated as if released from their prison of seven years. “Do you believe me when I say I never loved Mr. Cromwell or Lord Clayborough? Neither of them. Never.”

“Yes, because you saved yourself for me.”

Smiling through her tears, Amelia nodded. “And you were well worth it. If you want, I shall publicly attest to the supremacy of your sexual prowess,” she teased, planting a kiss on the side of his smooth jaw.

“I’m content in the knowledge that the only woman who will judge my performance is more than satisfied.” He smiled a wicked smile.

“I would say ‘more than satisfied’ is a vast understatement,” Amelia whispered, her voice husky with desire. She then went on to demonstrate how an appreciative woman showed her appreciation.