A Taste of Desire(15)
“I see Harry’s progeny is quite taken with you.”
He turned at the witless remark his friend tried to pass off as humor, and acknowledged Lord Alex Cartwright with a baleful look. “I should have known better than to allow you to drag me here tonight. For all I know, you staged the whole thing with that little—”
“Uh, uh, uh, a gentleman should never speak ill of a lady,” Cartwright chided.
Grown men had quaked at Thomas’s glower. Cartwright didn’t bat an eye; nor did it ruffle one strand of black hair on his head.
“As much as I’d like to take credit for this entire affair, sadly I cannot. The honor of delivering you the set-down of the decade shall be held wholly and solely by the fair Lady Amelia.”
Well aware that his friend couldn’t have enjoyed the spectacle more had he been caught bare-butt with a woman of questionable morals trying to coax his limp cock to life, Thomas said nothing. He returned his gaze to Lady Amelia as she and her chaperone weaved their way toward the ballroom doors. Slinking away. As well she should.
“So are you going to tell me what you did to the lady to cause her to malign your manhood in the fashion of scorned lovers? Although, now that I think on it, Missy did say prior to your initial tête-à-tête with the lady, you’d been sizing her up like a gourmand at a banquet.”
Thomas slowly turned his head to regard Cartwright. For a moment, he was tempted to use his fist to wipe the smug, self-satisfied smile off his face. “My sister was at the time, and is still, a besotted female. She imbues every glance between a man and a woman with her silly romantic notions. Apparently, now I can’t even look at a woman without it being misconstrued as something more.”
“Still, I do recollect weeks after the incident, your next mistress bore more than a passing resemblance to Lady Amelia. I believe I mentioned it a time or two.” Cartwright’s brows rose, his expression displaying the innocence of a card shark holding a winning hand.
Thomas made a peeved sound in the back of his throat. The man hadn’t made the observation once or twice—he’d harped on it so often Thomas had been forced to end the arrangement just to shut him up. No more mistresses with coffee-brown hair and sapphire blue eyes. “One hadn’t a thing to do with the other, and to suggest so is imbecilic even for a man of your limited intelligence.”
“I may be dumb as a stone,” Cartwright said, tongue firmly planted in cheek, “but I, for one, don’t have women holding up my manhood for the ton’s derision.”
“From my vantage point, only the men were laughing. Spiteful bunch of sods. Women are astute enough to know a falsehood when they hear one and observant enough to spot a shrew at a dead run. Good God, everyone is aware of her reputation. I’m certain both Cromwell and Clayborough still suffer the frostbite from having taken her to their beds. And just who is she to judge any man’s performance—in or out of bed?”
Cartwright winced. Thomas shifted the course of the conversation.
“Yesterday Harry asked me to keep her in Devon during his trip to America. I, of course, declined. But …” Thomas cast a contemplative look about the room.
“But?” Cartwright prompted after several seconds of silence.
“But I now see the error of my ways. I owe Harry this.”
An amused glint appeared in Cartwright’s silver-grey eyes. “And his daughter?”
“Oh her, I owe a great deal more.”
“So, what’s your game? Entertaining plans of seduction are you? God help you if Harry discovers it. He’ll have your hide. And then he’ll give you a violent handshaking and welcome you into the family.”
Thomas shivered. The thought of marriage to Lady Amelia was the stuff of nightmares, plain and simple. But any male worthy of the title “man” would pleasure her until she lay whimpering and moaning incoherently—and make certain the pillars of society witnessed every lurid moment. Unfortunately, however fitting a punishment, a scheme of that sort was too ignoble for his tastes.
“Take that little wretch to my bed? Good God no. I intend to punish her, not reward her. I assure you, it won’t be anything so pleasurable—or merciful.”
Cartwright threw back his head and guffawed. “Then I pray you’ll grant me a front-row seat to the festivities.”
After a pause, his friend’s expression sobered. “By the bye, I thought it might interest you to know there have been recent sightings in town of Lady Lou—beg my pardon—I mean Her Grace. She’s back from France, and it appears for good this time. I’ve been informed that she’s been making subtle inquiries in regard to your whereabouts.”