A Taste of Desire(52)

Two weeks, ten perfectly amiable women later, and the right chaperone for Amelia continued to elude him. Deliberately, he was almost certain.

“I gather she won’t do either?”

His mother’s voice drew Thomas’s attention to the door. She proceeded in, in a rustle of silk and satin.

“Would you have the woman give notice before she has enough time to put away her belongings?” he asked wryly.

“Oh, you’re too hard on her. Lady Amelia is a lovely young woman. Why in the past month, I’ve seen a marked change in her. And she has been wonderful to the girls, so I won’t hear another word against her.”

Yes, a whole month had passed since her arrival and she’d warmed to everyone—including the servants—save him, of course. Since their last exchange during their outing, a chasm now existed between them, unbridgeable and empty. And frankly, he was glad of it. He wanted as little to do with her as conceivably possible. But as it was apparent his mother had become her staunchest defender, Thomas wisely kept such opinions to himself.

“Have you considered Miss Foxworth?” his mother continued. “She’s of an appropriate age and is as respectable as they come. I’m certain you need only ask her and she would agree. Remember, with only three days until our departure, you haven’t a lot of time. I absolutely refuse to leave the two of you here without a proper chaperone.”

Ah, Camille! Though somewhat self-effacing, she was loyal to a fault, which would do him well in dealing with Amelia.

“Yes, you might be right. She could suit the position adequately. I’ll send off a letter to her today,” he said, and settled into the deep pocket of his chair.

“Then perhaps you will come with me and your sisters to London and escort Camille back. You can make a trip of it.”

“And what, pray tell, would I do with Amelia?” He’d be damned if he’d leave her here alone. Lord only knows what chaos would await him upon his return.

“Well, why else do you think I’m suggesting the trip? Of course, Lady Amelia would come along. Honestly, Thomas, you have the poor girl like a prisoner in your study all day long. And don’t give me any nonsense about her wanting it so. A young girl needs her amusements. I’m certain she would welcome the change.”

Yes, and therein lay the problem. She’d enjoy it too much. But perhaps his mother was right. A trip to London would give him an opportunity to visit Grace. Over a month without sex had begun to wear on his nerves and temper.

“As you wish,” he acceded.

The viscountess’s gaze skittered around the room. Several times she turned to him, her mouth open as if to speak only to snap it closed. Her hands began to fidget with the gauze net of her skirt.

Once again, she shifted her gaze back to him, a smile fixed on her face. “Thomas, I’ve been thinking….”

In the context of many women, these were ominous words in and of themselves, but added to the gravity of his mother’s tone, they sent a jolt of trepidation through him. Thomas swallowed and indicated she continue with a brief nod of his head.

“When I was speaking to Amelia yesterday—”

And just like that, Thomas could add another phrase to the list of the most dangerous terms in the English language.

“—she asked me what I intend to do with myself when the girls are gone. I must confess, I am embarrassed to admit I hadn’t a response.”

Thomas emitted a heavy sigh. “Mother—”

“No, dear, I have given this much thought. It has been eleven years since your father’s death, and I am not growing any younger.”

“With your beauty and grace, a woman half your age would be considered fortunate.” And that was no empty praise.

A blush heightened the color of her face. Pivoting on her heel, she strolled over to a side table and picked up the intricately carved ivory horse she’d given him last Christmas. She examined the figurine as she spoke. “In just three years Sarah will make her debut, and soon after I shall be alone.”

His mother gazed at him, and in that instant he saw something in her eyes he had never seen before: loneliness. When his father had died, he’d witnessed her sadness, her hurt, and her fear. But never this. She’d had responsibilities then: an estate to run, three young daughters to raise to maturity, and a son going off to Cambridge.

Thomas was out of his chair and at her side within seconds, his arm wrapping tightly about her shoulder. “You will never be alone, not with the brood of grandchildren Missy will give you to spoil,” he teased and lightly brushed his lips against the smooth skin of her temple. He slowly released her and took a step back.