A Taste of Desire(24)
Another kiss landed on his abdomen. “You, my dear man, know exactly how to do that. To add to that, you’re very generous. None of my previous protectors ever cared about such things as birthdays and holidays.”
Thomas knew she referred to the ruby pendant he’d given her for her birthday several weeks back.
“How utterly thoughtful you can be when you want.”
And thoughtless when he wanted, but he knew that complaint would go unsaid—at least for the evening.
But would such qualities be enough for a cold fish like Lady Amelia Bertram? He had never tried—in all actuality, he’d never had to try—to seduce any woman. In England, young, rich, and passably attractive (he could humbly claim to be at least that) gentlemen of the ton were pounced upon with the same speed and determination as one would an upended barrel of guineas in the midst of Covent Garden Market. He had certainly never faced the prospect of having to exert the full force of his charm on any female with a disposition like that of Lady Amelia.
“Why do you ask?” Grace inquired, her hand inching down his chest to where the hair arrowed, then thickened.
“Perhaps I’m wondering if more than my money keeps you here.” This time he allowed her fingers to wrap around him and work his stiffening rod with long, firm strokes. Quickening pleasure pooled under the smooth glide of her talented hand.
Grace slid down the length of his body, taking his shaft into her mouth and twirling her tongue eagerly around the sensitive tip. Seconds later, she lifted her head and regarded him through passion-drugged eyes. Her mouth curved into a seductive smile, as her hand continued to work his turgid length. “This is what keeps me here.”
Parting her lips, she took him deep into her mouth. With a low groan, Thomas threw his head back, all coherent thoughts having fled from his mind.
Chapter 8
Amelia might have bargained her soul to the devil himself to halt her departure from Westbury entirely, had she not feared the eternal fires of damnation. Though, in actuality, sharing a roof with the viscount would be its own form of damnation on earth.
However, no amount of praying or wishing could deter her father from his course. The month following her return to their country estate, he dispatched her from Fountain Crest with the rapidity and sanguine relief one would a guest who’d stayed months too long.
A broken axle interrupted their journey to Devon. Then they—she, Hélène, and George, her father’s trusted manservant—missed their connecting train to Torbay, causing them a day’s delay. A delay that vexed George mightily but a respite she welcomed. By luncheon time the next day, Amelia had arrived at her destination, her spirits having worsened with every mile that had brought her closer to imprisonment. Closer to her gaoler. Thankfully, it was his mother, and not he, who awaited her under the vaulted ceiling of the grand foyer of Stoneridge Hall.
After her father’s initial introduction to the viscountess years back, he’d claimed her one of the most elegant women he’d ever met. Given such singular praise, Amelia expected to find a woman of unparalleled beauty. In that, the viscountess did not fall short.
Above average in height, Amelia was accustomed to peering down at most females and standing eye-to-eye with half the gentlemen of her acquaintance. The viscountess, however, topped her by an inch or so, her slim figure wrapped in a burgundy gown of fine merino wool. Her complexion, creamy and unblemished, had done well in weathering the wrinkling and dulling of age that had wreaked havoc with many of the fading beauties of the ton.
“Lady Amelia, welcome. I’m relieved to see you have arrived safely. Your father sent word expressly notifying us of your delay. I pray things went better this morning.”
At the offering of a smile of such genuine kindness, Amelia’s heart sank. How easier this whole ordeal would be if the viscountess was as arrogant and disagreeable as her son. But her manner, her tone, the warmth of her green eyes indicated quite the opposite.
Amelia dipped in a stiff curtsey. It still wouldn’t be wise to grow fond of the woman, blood being all that it was. “Good afternoon, Lady Armstrong. Yes, I must admit we fared a great deal better today.”
“Wonderful. You had us quite worried. Thomas was—”
A scant second before Lady Armstrong broke off and shot a glance over her shoulder, the air became charged. Even before Amelia saw him appear in the stretch of hall in front of her, she’d perceived him. Like some malevolent being, his presence filled the surroundings, causing her senses to shift into high alert.