A Taste of Desire(62)
Despite the fact that Rutherford had gently but firmly pried her hands from about his neck and left the scene shortly after, the incident had caused a small rift in their friendship. He’d confronted Rutherford the day after, but by the time he’d swallowed his pride enough to confront her, she was already betrothed to the Duke of Bedford.
Thomas had had to face the truth then. He, a young, penniless viscount with nothing but his name to recommend him, and his mother and younger sisters to care for, had been nothing more than a flattering diversion until she could worm a proposal from one of her two intended victims. Never mind that Thomas had meant to marry her.
“So how do you mean to handle the situation?” Cartwright continued.
“Well, I bloody well have to talk to the damn woman now, don’t I? She’s given me little choice, which I’m certain is exactly what she intended.” Thomas bowed his head and ran a weary hand over his face.
“Then you should come with me to Lady Forsham’s ball. I have it on good authority Her Grace has deigned to make an appearance.”
Thomas raised his head and eyed Cartwright skeptically. “You expect me to confront her at a ball? I don’t want to be more fodder for those damn gossip sheets.”
“Would you rather go to her home or worse yet, have her meet you at your residence? I would advise against being alone with her for any reason.”
Cartwright did raise a good point. No good could come of that. And the more thought he gave the idea of the ball, the better it was beginning to sound. Louisa was too aware of her position in society to create a scene in such a public venue.
“Very well, I will go, but don’t expect me to remain for the duration. As scintillating as I find these events, I have other duties to attend to. Since I had to retain a chaperone for Amelia and bring her into town with me, I’m forced to keep a close eye on her. I’m almost positive she’ll try to contact Clayborough, and while I’m confident Camille will be circumspect in her duties, I don’t want to leave anything to chance.”
A burst of laughter came from Cartwright. “A positively seamless foray into the discussion of difficult females as I’ve ever heard. But truly, Armstrong, Miss Foxworth chaperoning Lady Amelia? Have you gone soft in the head? If things are that bad, perhaps I could be of assistance. I wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on her for you.” His grey eyes glinted appreciatively as he waggled black eyebrows.
Thomas didn’t find him the least bit amusing but nonetheless forced a smile under the vehement protest of his facial muscles. “Thank you, but I believe I can manage.”
Angling his head, Cartwright narrowed his gaze. “And by managing you mean …?”
Thomas abandoned his relaxed posture and came up straight in the chair. “What the hell do you think I mean?”
Cartwright held up his hand in mock surrender. “Whoa, no need to get yourself into a state over a simple question,” he said, laughing. “The last I heard, you intended the fair Lady Amelia receive her, er, comeuppance at your hands. She did, after all, question your sexual prowess. I’m merely inquiring how things are coming along on that front.”
Given his overwrought reaction to Cartwright’s teasing, Thomas could only imagine what his friend must be thinking. He forced a low chuckle from his throat, relaxed back into the chair, and offered Cartwright a dry smile before taking a deep swallow of his port.
After resting the etched glass on the table to his left, Thomas said, “I’ve come to see she isn’t even worth the bother.”
Cartwright barked a laugh, his eyes dancing. “That bad, eh? Well, I’m certain there are a number of ladies prime for whatever you had in mind for Lady Amelia. Though if you want a mistress who won’t become too attached, someone like Lady Amelia would suit you admirably.”
A dull suffusion of heat warmed Thomas’s face. He quickly shuttered his expression, hoping Cartwright would mistake the reddening for distaste and not guilt. “The one thing I do require from the women I take to my bed is that they don’t despise me. It would also be nice if I had some liking for them.”
After draining the last of his port, Cartwright lazily pushed to his feet and padded to his desk to pour himself another. Turning, he silently held up the crystal decanter to his friend. Thomas declined with a shake of his head.
“When are you returning to Devon?” Cartwright asked, as he made his way back to his chair.
“Sunday.”
“Perfect. I’ll need somewhere to go while the duke is in town. If I remain, he’ll expect to meet with me. I’d rather spend time in Newgate than see my father.”