A Taste of Desire(102)
The silence between them after the last exchange was deafening and fraught with an indefinable anticipation, for thereon he took to watching her. And there was nothing informal, pleasant, or even polite about his regard. He watched her as if he’d like to devour her instead of the roasted fowl on his plate. And she was helpless not to do the same, snatching a glance here and there when she thought no one was paying her any mind.
Thankfully, the others at the table—the twins, the countess, the earl, and of course, Lord Alex—kept conversation from being in short supply.
At the conclusion of the meal, the men came swiftly to their feet as the countess rose. Amelia quickly followed, desperate to leave before she did something stupid to give herself away. No one but her need know how completely besotted she’d become over Thomas, especially the man himself. It was obvious he wanted her physically, but she loved him. And as always, love made all the difference. It made her the more vulnerable of the two.
“I hope you’ll allow me to escort you to the drawing room, Lady Amelia,” said Lord Alex, already making a move toward her.
Charlotte’s gaze snapped to her and then back to him, a crestfallen expression now on her pretty face. Amelia’s heart constricted in sympathy. Had Lord Alex a clue that he’d just diced the poor girl’s heart in two?
“Amelia, I would like a word with you in private, if you please.” Thomas blithely ignored his friend and clearly expecting her to do likewise.
Amelia stilled as her pulse tried to leap beyond the confines of her skin.
“Perhaps the study?” he queried, passing Lord Alex to stand next to her. She conceded with a small nod and departed the room at his side while the rest looked on in silence.
“Armstrong,” Lord Alex called out just as they breached the threshold.
Thomas paused—as did she—and angled his head over his shoulder. He looked none to pleased at the interruption, but it appeared manners wouldn’t allow him to ignore his friend.
“I will accept your undying gratitude at a later date.” Lord Alex was all smiles and self-satisfaction.
The earl coughed in an effort not to laugh, and the countess tucked her chin to her chest to hide her smile. The twins looked on, wearing mystified expressions. Thomas made a grumbled sound in his throat that didn’t sound at all appreciative. With the jerk of his head, he clasped her satin-clad elbow and steered her from the room.
In tension-wrought silence, they entered the study, where Thomas relinquished his hold of her. Amelia sought out the closest seating, sinking weakly onto a finely napped sofa of indeterminate color—something between green and beige—avoiding his gaze by fidgeting with her skirts.
A glass-encased clock ticked in time with the lengthening silence. Don’t look or you’ll be lost. Amelia kept her gaze fixed on her lap, her fingers now idly tracing the embroidered edge of her flounce.
“How can I talk to you if you refuse to even look at me?”
Somehow the gentleness of his tone put her at ease when she was certain nothing could. She drew a shaky breath and lifted her head to meet his stare. He wore a half smile, his dimples lending him a boyish appeal in the masculine planes of his too-handsome face. Lord, he was more potent than any wine she’d ever consumed.
“I gather this is in regard to Lord Alex.” She really hadn’t a clue as to why he wanted to speak to her, but his friend would probably be as good a place to start as any.
Thomas abandoned his post by the door and took a seat on the edge of the armchair by her. Leaning forward, he braced his forearms on his splayed legs. “I hope you’re not taking his interest seriously. Cartwright has an unfortunate sense of humor at times.”
Amelia wanted to laugh at the seriousness of his tone. His face was now all angles and hard lines, his mouth straight. He actually thought she believed his friend had an interest in her. Perhaps he even thought she returned that interest. Lord if he only knew that at that moment she could barely breathe properly, much less conceive a coherent thought with him sitting so close and his warm scent enveloping her. If he only knew that, if she allowed her emotions to run amuck, she could pounce on him like a woman in the throes of a Spanish fly overdose.
“I can assure you I have no designs on your friend, nor do I believe he has any on my person.” She paused a moment to look at her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Peering at him from beneath her lashes, she asked softly, “Would it bother you much if such an interest existed between us?”
Thomas heard his own indrawn breath without being aware he’d taken it. Bother him? If she had taken a poker from the fireplace and prodded him with it—hard—the thought couldn’t have pained him more.