A Taste of Desire(116)

Amelia shivered, from both an icy gust of wind and his steady, deliberate regard. He, on the other hand, appeared impervious to the outside elements, his stance wide-legged and his hands at his side.

“Who is it this time? Someone new or are you reverting back to your old favorites, Cromwell or Clayborough?” He spoke as if they were exchanging pedestrian pleasantries.

Amelia opened her mouth, but nothing resembling speech emerged. The air prickled the flesh beneath her coat. Nervously, she stepped forward, half expecting him to bar her, but he moved aside to permit her entrance. Once in the drafty, dimly lit alcove, she pulled the door closed behind her.

“Who was it?” he asked again softer.

“I—it’s not what you—”

“I saw you, so please don’t insult my intelligence.” A faint growl now threaded the accusation in his tone. “Or if you’d prefer, I can have one of my men stop him before he makes it off the premises. I believe trespassing is a crime.”

Tell him the truth, a strident voice inside her commanded. Please understand. Please understand. “It was Lord Clayborough.” She gulped. “But I sent him away,” she hastened to add. “He still believed that we—well, that we would be married.”

At the baron’s name, Thomas remained motionless, his expression impenetrable. “And why would he believe such a thing?”

Because I was too stupid and too giddy in love with you to give him a second thought, much less write and inform him of my change of feelings. “We haven’t corresponded since Lady Forsham’s ball. He assumed nothing had changed.”

“So you’re telling me he snuck onto my grounds against your wishes and without an invitation?”

Tell him the truth, the voice continued to chant. Like an idiot, she blindly, desperately followed its directive. “Not precisely. What I—”

“Did you or did you not give him leave to trespass on these premises?”

One tiny little lie would settle the issue. But the last thing she wanted was to lie to him. “I may have done so, but not in the manner as it appears. I—”

Again, he didn’t give her an opportunity to finish, a chance to mount her defense. “I’ll expect you to be packed and gone by tomorrow.”

It took a moment for Amelia to comprehend what he had said, what she had heard, before a crippling pain seared her heart, nearly sending her to her knees. “Thomas, please allow me to explain,” she implored. Reaching out, she touched the sleeve of his dressing robe.

He jerked his arm from her as if he could scarcely bear her touch. “Tomorrow.”

The single word sentenced her to a bleak and empty future. A life without him.

Her gaze slid helplessly over him, taking in his strong, tall frame, tousled golden hair, and shadowed jaw. Silently, she cursed Lord Clayborough for his less-than-impeccable timing, Thomas for his hard-nosed stubbornness, but mostly herself for thinking she could deal with the issue without involving Thomas.

“I don’t love him. I never did. Since the ball, I knew I could not marry him. I want to be with you. Please don’t make me leave,” she said, sounding pitiable and dejected. What she yearned to say was, I love you, but the words were still too foreign to her tongue.

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he perused her from her boot-shod feet up to her wind-rumpled coiffure. “You let him kiss you.” His words were a searing accusation, brimming with checked vehemence.

“He did so against my wishes.” And no one had been more surprised at his impassioned gesture than her. She’d put a halt to the kiss as soon as she’d gathered her scattered wits.

“Tomorrow I want you gone.” His tone was unyielding.

“Thomas, you can’t mean to—”

“Very well, then stay.” Without further ado, he turned and walked away.

It was only as he rounded the corner to the main corridor that Amelia was wrenched from her state of dazed confusion. Had he in fact acquiesced?

Instinctively, she made a move to follow him but halted after the first step. She watched him disappear from sight. Tonight nothing she said could penetrate his anger. Even a verbal declaration of her love would be ill received.

Clutching her coat around her shivering form, she made her way up the servants’ staircase directly ahead and finished the circuitous route to her bedchamber without hearing or seeing a soul.

Thomas would be of a calmer mindset tomorrow. And if not by tomorrow, the day after. Certainly by then he’d be willing to listen to her. It was that fervent prayer that finally lulled her into a fitful sleep.