A Taste of Desire(117)

Amelia found only the viscountess in the breakfast room the following morning. She sat at the head of the table, sipping from a porcelain cup. At her entrance, Lady Armstrong lowered the cup and set it on the table.

“Good morning, Lady Armstrong.” Amelia greeted her politely. Too politely given their past closeness.

The viscountess watched her intently, a faint line marring her forehead. “Thomas has returned to London.”

Amelia shuddered to a stop while everything shattered about her like glass hitting a marble floor. Her eyes began to burn and breathing became a chore.

“He’s gone?” she choked, sounding like a half-wit lost in the maze of the Royal Gardens.

Lady Armstrong rose quickly from her chair and came to her side, her expression a mixture of pity and concern. “Did something occur between the two of you last evening?”

Amelia was too stupefied to respond. She had anticipated many things from him—silence, coldness, anger, and perhaps even scorn—but not this. Never this.

Because she had refused to leave, he had. Just like that. Without a hint of forewarning. She had convinced herself that his, Very well, then stay, had meant he would eventually give her a chance to explain. But now he was gone. He had finished with her not long after she’d discovered she couldn’t imagine her life without him. The irony made her stomach roil.

“I no longer have an appetite. If you’ll excuse me, Lady Armstrong, I think I’ll return to my chamber,” Amelia whispered hoarsely.

The viscountess placed a restraining hand on her arm. “My dear, are you sure you don’t want to tell me—”

Amelia pulled her arm away and shook her head vigorously and then violently. “No, no, I just need to lie down. If you’ll excuse me.” She then hurried from the room and back up to her bedchamber where she could mourn her loss, dry-eyed and in private.


Three days after Thomas left, and on the third day of Amelia’s self-imposed imprisonment in her bedchamber, the viscountess personally informed her she had a caller awaiting her in the drawing room. She revealed nothing of the man’s identity, telling Amelia the gentleman in question wanted it so.

Upon hearing the news, Amelia’s heart nearly burst from her chest until reality doused her faint flicker of hope. The viscountess would not be coy with her if Thomas had returned home.

Her thoughts then flew to Lord Clayborough, but he too she dismissed swiftly. Their last encounter hadn’t left any room for doubt as to her feelings, or in regard to him, the lack thereof. And after he’d bitterly bemoaned the amount of time he’d spent courting her with money he could ill afford, she very much doubted he’d make the trek to Devon again.

Amelia entered the drawing room not knowing who or what to expect. Perhaps Thomas had sent Lord Alex or James to speak with her. The sight of her father sitting in the leather armchair dashed all her hopes.

He came to his feet. “Amelia.” He spoke her name softly, almost reverently, which was most unlike her father. He was normally all briskness and business.

“Hello, Father.” She addressed him without feeling her usual rancor or indifference. Somewhere, somehow, much of that was gone.

The marquess came forward, his arms reaching out to her before falling limply to his sides as if the incongruity of the gesture had just occurred to him.

In appearance, he was impeccable, his garments the finest money could buy, but his face looked drawn and older than his years.

“You look well.”

He was lying. She knew she didn’t look the closest thing to well. Lack of sleep had produced unbecoming circles under her eyes and she was pale. But she wouldn’t argue the point.

“Have you come to take me home?” she asked casually, as she walked over to the fireplace.

“Do you want to come home?”

Amelia shot him a look over her shoulder. When had her father ever asked her … well anything really?

“Do I have a choice in the matter?”

“Lady Armstrong would very much like you to remain until after her winter ball.”

Grateful, she nodded and said nothing. She wanted to remain until Thomas returned home.

“I saw Thomas yesterday,” he said in an abrupt change of topics. The gravity of his tone indicated it hadn’t been a happy encounter.

Amelia’s pulse leapt at the mention of Thomas’s name. She quickly schooled her expression and said, “Yes, I imagined you would.”

“He seems to believe I have neglected you over the years.”