A Taste of Desire(27)
The silence that followed was of the variety of an insult being thrown just before a brawl ensued. Thomas didn’t know whether to expect her accession or a dagger through his heart. Then as though a puppeteer controlled her actions, her head jerked in something resembling a nod.
Ah, sweet, divine acquiescence. A truly glorious, if somewhat painful, sight. He smiled and reclined back into his seat. “Then I see no reason that this experience should not be at the very least a tolerable one.”
“Will that be all?”
Her voice was cold, but the heightened color in her cheeks said she was hot. Hot with anger and capable of a blaze to rival the Great Fire of London. More than ever now, he was convinced her frosty exterior was merely a layer of ice only in need of the proper handling to bring about a spring thaw. He grew hard again at the thought and seriously considered bedding her for real.
Thomas continued to watch her, his eyes skimming the length of her lithe figure. Soon she began to shift beneath his gaze, her hands flittering over the folds of her skirt. He liked her off-kilter. He liked that she was trying desperately not to be the one to break the stare. Finally defeated, she looked away, her face pomegranate red.
“Yes, that is all.” Turning, he jerked the tasseled bell pull near his desk. “I will have one of the servants escort—”
He turned back in time to see the flutter of checkered brown skirts disappearing through the doorway, a light flowery scent left to linger in her wake.
Chapter 9
Amelia had run away from the hideous boarding school, but she’d never run from anyone. The pig on one of the tenants’ farms didn’t count because, of course, that was an animal, and a girl of twelve would certainly run from one the size of a—well very big pig.
She’d run from Thomas Armstrong. And just as quick as her legs could take her.
Finding a servant to show her to her bedchambers had been the easy part of her escape. Now, secured in a room done in many varying shades of blue, Amelia slumped against the door, her heart racing out of control.
One moment she’d been vexed beyond comprehension and the next she’d stood fidgeting under his perusal, his green eyes glittering with a brilliant intensity. His look hadn’t held the scorn, annoyance, or gloating satisfaction she’d grown accustomed to from him. What it had held was something infinitely more dangerous, for it had had the power to unnerve her enough to forget herself. What remained back in that study was her poise, plain and simple.
Amelia gave her head a shake hard enough to cause a thick lock of hair to spill down her back. Pushing off the door, she crossed the room to the mahogany four-poster bed.
The viscount might be able to charm all the women of London, but his attractions were lost on her. She knew that with unshakable certainty. But her reaction to him was troubling. For over a year, she’d managed minimum contact with him. And it had been a mutual avoidance. On the rare occasions they’d both attended the same ball, no less than a league was sufficient distance enough to separate them.
However, the circumstances were quite different now. There would be no avoiding. And with every minute she remained in his company, it grew ever apparent this wasn’t just a man she should steer clear of but one that should have her running pell-mell in the opposite direction.
Passing the three trunks sitting at the foot of the bed, Amelia dispensed with her petticoats, kicking them onto the carpeted floor, and clambered onto the mattress.
It was clear the two days of travel had finally taken their toll. It hadn’t been him she’d been reacting to but the circumstances. Obviously, what she needed was some rest. Perhaps when she woke her world wouldn’t seem like it was whirling out of control and she’d be herself again.
Four hours of sleep taken at midafternoon should have left Amelia pleasantly rested. Instead, she awoke long after the sun had made its descent below the horizon, still weary, her head pulsing behind her eyes.
Squinting, she inventoried the room, noting her trunks now sat beside the large wardrobe against the wall and her toiletry lay spread on the adjacent vanity. Hélène had unpacked and put away her belongings without disturbing her, a sign of a truly efficient lady’s maid.
No sooner had Amelia made the observation before a knock sounded at the door and Hélène bustled into the room.
“Ah, oui, you are awake,” her maid said with a smile. Striding over to the wardrobe, she threw both doors open and immediately began to contemplate several of Amelia’s supper dresses, her fingers skimming over one with a gauzy, pale yellow skirt.