A Taste of Desire(69)
Lord Armstrong barked a harsh laugh. “Who, Clayborough? I thought he was auditioning to be a ghost the way he tried to melt into that plasterwork.”
Her head jerked up, and her face flamed in embarrassment. He had seen him too? Another bit of shame to heap on her.
“What? Did you think I didn’t see that cowardly good-for-nothing? If that’s your idea of character in a real man, then I can see you require very little in a husband.”
Amelia despised his high-handedness. She hated his derision. She loathed even more that he’d found a fault in her choice of husbands he could use to render any defense of Lord Clayborough as ineffective as legs on a fish. But she refused to concede him a thing. “And what would you have him do? Make a scene and get into a brawling match with you?”
He met her bristling glare directly and replied calmly, “For the woman I intend to take as my wife? Yes. I would have done so.”
His response knocked the wind from her, leaving her in disconcerted silence. For the woman who managed to secure his love—if one existed—she could well imagine he’d move heaven and earth. The thought of what that would be like, to be loved by a man like him, evoked an unwanted longing in her. Like a cook with a rolling pin spying a mouse in the kitchen, she bludgeoned the feeling just as swiftly.
“Your father will never allow you to marry that blackguard.” His low-pitched voice broke the quiet of the carriage. “I will not allow it. Not while you are under my care.”
“I am not under your care—I am your prisoner.”
“Then as your warden it appears I have to expand your duties to keep you occupied. Tomorrow you’ll report to the cook. I believe we can use some additional help in the scullery.”
“You must be mad.”
“I assure you all my faculties are intact and functioning efficiently.”
“I won’t do it.” The words were ripped from her throat. “When I tell my father—”
“Your father will do nothing once I explain the circumstances. He too wouldn’t approve of you appearing in public so soon after the spectacle you made of yourself at Lady Stanton’s ball.”
Before she took the time to consider the recklessness and futility of her actions, Amelia launched herself at him.
Thomas instinctively threw up his hands to cover his face. Two women attacking him in the span of a day? Good God, had the whole world gone insane?
After several ineffectual blows to his shoulders and upper chest, she caught his lower jaw in a glancing blow. He quickly captured her flailing hands before she succeeded in doing any real damage.
“For God’s sake, get a hold of yourself, you bloody hellcat,” he muttered. Exerting little force, he used one hand to secure hers behind her back, finally ending the attack.
Thomas held her in a position that left one inhalation’s distance between their upper torsos. And to show him how little his body cared about her insolence, her woeful disobedience to his orders, his loins surged to life, growing hard behind the fall of his trousers. Reflectively, he bore her down onto the seat.
“Let me go.” Ragged breaths feathered his cheek, while she twisted beneath him, further encouraging his arousal.
“Stop moving,” he said harshly, his control slipping with the feel of her soft, womanly flesh.
Amelia stilled. She stared up at him, her blue eyes wide and wary as if she feared even a breath would draw attention to the way their bodies meshed from shoulder to hip.
“Right now I’m beyond tempted to lift your skirts and take you. Give me one good reason I should not.” His gaze dropped to the pink lushness of her lips and the avaricious hunger that had started weeks ago, threatened to consume him whole. He had to taste her again.
“Don’t.” The plea squeaked from her throat.
“Not good enough,” he murmured before lowering his head and smothering her breathy sounds of resistance with his mouth.
Blood, hot and thick, coursed through him, pulsing strongly between his thighs, his erection near to bursting. Impatient and hungry, he thrust deeply into her mouth. A shudder ran down the length of his frame when his tongue touched hers. He tried to temper his need, but it required only one delicious swipe of the cavern of her mouth before she eagerly, almost helplessly, joined in the sensual tongue play.
Thomas released her hands, dealt with the buttons of her cloak, and smoothed it from her shoulders without so much as a demur from her. The garment spread beneath her like an altar, with her as the offering.