A Taste of Desire(14)
The heat suffusing her face told Amelia she’d added a new hue to mortification. Of course, he knew. It shouldn’t come as a surprise. Who else would her father have confided in when she’d run off with Lord Clayborough but the man who had usurped her in her father’s affections and the man he no doubt wished was his flesh-and-blood son? She could well imagine what else her father had told him. Another wave of heat washed over her. Blast her father, and double blast this wretched man.
He kept her tight by his side as he retrieved two glasses of punch from a liveried footman. He thrust one into her hand. “Here, it appears you need this. You look quite flushed. Perhaps this will cool the fire in your cheeks … and other such places.” He directed a pointed look at her décolleté, raising her ire and color, the latter to her consternation.
It required every bit of control she possessed to stop herself from throwing the contents in his face. She managed by a gossamer thread, taking a sip of the tepid punch to occupy her mouth, lest she say something else she would regret that evening.
Lord Armstrong didn’t spend nearly the amount of time drinking his punch as he did eyeing her neckline. In two trips to his mouth, his glass came away empty while hers remained hardly touched. His arrogance, his proximity, his presence had obliterated her thirst.
“It’s not every day that I have a woman cast aspersions on my abilities in the bedchambers, especially in such a public venue.” So casual was his tone, he could have been speaking of the weather.
Some might have winced in embarrassment at having uttered something so raw and emasculating. Amelia felt no such emotion but instead clutched the glass as if her entire existence depended on her not upending it all over his head.
“So how do you intend to prove you’ve won the wager?”
Startled, she shot a look up at him, her desire to see him dripping in overly sweet punch forgotten for an instant. “What wager? What, pray tell, are you talking about?”
Guileless eyes regarded her as he batted decadent lashes. “Did you not wager your friends your dowry that I was not close to my rumored prowess in bed? By the bye, what exactly do the rumors say of me in that arena?” His hooded gaze dipped for a leisurely perusal of her form. “I suppose you’ll want to sample my abilities for yourself.” He spoke in a low purr as he directed his gaze back to hers. “I wouldn’t want you to have to depend on hearsay.”
A choked breath wheezed past her lips. The blasted man was thoroughly enjoying exacting his pound of flesh. Relished it, in fact.
“Not if you were—”
“Please don’t say the last man on earth; it sounds so trite. I would think a woman with your penchant for wit and scorn would have come up with something more original. More biting.”
Amelia sputtered, and her hand commenced shaking, nearly spilling her drink.
Gapping the distance between them so that he stood close enough for her skirt to brush his black trousered leg, he gently extricated the glass from her hand.
“You seem unnerved.” He paused, and then said in lowered tones and a throaty rumble, “I should kiss you senseless right here … right now.” He dropped his gaze to her lips, before lifting it back up to her eyes. “But perhaps that’s what you want.”
Before she could respond to his taunt, he bent his head, the warm, clean scent of his breath feathering her ear. For a brief moment, she feared he intended to make good on his threat.
“Contrary to what you may believe, I am a gentleman and I will not heap any more embarrassment upon you this evening by making you eat your words.”
He then delivered the coup de grace in a very, very soft whisper. “That must be saved for another time, for what I have planned for you won’t be fit for public consumption.”
Amelia’s mouth went dry. She shivered despite the unaccountable heat that scorched through her to settle low in her belly.
And then as if he’d not just threatened—promised—to commit untold debaucheries upon her person, he straightened to his full height and inclined his head in a bow. “Good evening, Lady Amelia.” With that, he sauntered off.
Chapter 5
Thomas had left Lady Amelia just as indignation had begun to replace the shocked look on her face. But he didn’t venture so far as to miss the graceful sway of her bottom as she crossed the room, her head set at an angle that expressed no signs of embarrassment or remorse. Haughty to the end.