A Taste of Desire(58)
Amelia forced her limbs and the muscles in her face to relax. When she was able to wade her way through her pique, a sobering question reared in her head. What is she doing here? Then a horrifying thought struck her with the same force of Lord Stanley coming down on her toes during an energetic polka dance—he was eighteen stone if he was an ounce—surely Thomas didn’t intend for her …? No, the idea was preposterous.
Miss Foxworth smiled and executed an elegant curtsey. “Good day, Lady Amelia. I believe we were introduced on another occasion. The Randall ball earlier in the Season.”
Lest she wished to appear lacking in the basic societal niceties, Amelia acknowledged the woman with a dip of her head, endeavoring to keep her emotions from her expression. She received a sharp look of censure from Thomas for her efforts.
“Yes, I do recall,” she replied, her voice having acquired a thin layer of ice.
Amelia ignored another one of his hard stares.
“Miss Foxworth has agreed to be your chaperone while my mother is away.” Thomas’s features instantly softened when he turned his regard to Miss Foxworth—who stared up at him as if he were a deity, and she his worshipping subject.
In turn, Amelia stared at the woman, her horrifying suspicion confirmed. She took in her thin figure in a dress more appropriate for an elderly matron, and her eyes, blue beacons amid a ghostly complexion, and became inexplicably angry.
“Is that so, indeed? I would assume that Miss Foxworth would have infinitely better things to do than to take on such a task.” Amelia paused in an effort to stem the words and the rise of bitterness within her. But it was to no avail. The desire—the need—to cut the woman down to an insignificant, paltry existence was such that she’d never experienced before. “But then again, I imagine being a single woman with no marriage prospects might leave you with quite a bit of time on your hands.”
Once the final word ended the most egregious statement to ever pass her lips, Amelia would have given anything to take back the insult. She cursed whatever it was that had taken over her, turning her tongue into a vehicle of insolence of the worst sort. But her wave of contriteness came too late.
Thomas’s breath escaped in a hiss, but Miss Foxworth’s only reaction was a brief gaze downward as if to hide the effect of her words.
Amelia willed the floor to open up and envelop her whole. Miss Foxworth had never personally done anything to her. Her only crime appeared to be her association with the viscount and her apparent adoration of him. And since Amelia managed to rub along quite well with the viscountess and her daughters, surely she didn’t consider even that a crime.
“As you can see, Lady Amelia has not yet learned the manners of polite society,” Thomas said through clenched teeth. He gave the woman an apologetic half smile. “If you will please excuse us, Camille, I would like a word with Lady Amelia in private. I’ll call for you once I’m finished here.”
Miss Foxworth nodded slowly, and with her gaze chasing the area rugs and the parquet floors, she quietly exited. The soft click of the door closing echoed her departure.
Thomas’s handsome face could have been carved from stone. Amelia didn’t have the courage to meet his eyes when she spoke, but she was defensive nonetheless.
“I know in its entirety what you’re going to say, so please spare me the lecture. I’m quite aware that what I said—”
His hand shot out and grasped her forearm, his grip unyielding. With a jerk of his hand, he brought her inches away from his rigid form. He had only a six-inch advantage in height but seemed to tower more than that above her. “Don’t you ever insult my guest in my presence,” he said, his voice a grated whisper. He was furious. He was red-faced. He looked as if he would happily throttle her within an inch of her life.
Had she not come from sterner stock, she might have recoiled in the face of the kind of ire that undoubtedly had many men shrinking in their own shadows. She winced as fear crept inexorably to settle in her bones.
He immediately loosened his grip but did not release her. Amelia made no move to further extricate herself from his hold.
“Why did you choose her of all women, for heaven’s sake? Is your ego so grand you must have someone fawning over you night and day?” There, she’d laid bare the crux of her objection.
Thomas didn’t reply at first; he drew back and stared at her, his anger now replaced by something cryptic and unnerving to behold. “What exactly do you believe I intend to do with her?”