A Taste of Desire(79)
But this Christmas was different. This Christmas Amelia would be there, and the thought of Cartwright and her spending that much time together, and in such close proximity, rankled more than it should. Thomas could summon only a stiff nod.
Cartwright chuckled dryly. “You don’t look pleased. Am I no longer a welcome guest?” He placed his spoon in his soup bowl and edged it forward as an indication he was finished with that course.
“Of course not,” Thomas snapped, angry with himself for making his displeasure so evident. Amelia was driving him crazy—completely mad. And that he should allow her to come between he and Cartwright was paramount to a betrayal of their twenty-year friendship. “I was just surprised since you said your father wanted you home for the holidays this year.” When the Duke of Hastings summoned his son, Cartwright usually abided, although always reluctantly due to their strained relationship.
His friend’s silver eyes grew cool at the mention of his father. “Yes, well, as you know I have no desire to see the duke. Now or during the holidays,” he said in a tight voice.
Thomas quickly changed the subject. The duke was the one person who could put the even-tempered Cartwright in a foul mood. This had been the case for at least ten years now. And Thomas had learned not to ask the reasons as to what had caused the rift.
“Do you play cards, Lord Alex?” Amelia asked, ending the taut silence.
Cartwright’s expression instantly eased. “Not for money, but I’ve a knack for vingt-et-un or blackjack, and I have been known to dabble in whist.”
Thomas didn’t like the course of the conversation, nor did he like the sudden brightening of his friend’s mood as he lazily surveyed Amelia.
“Don’t you think it best if you rested? You’ve only recently recovered,” Thomas objected.
“My lord, I hardly think a game of cards will put my health in jeopardy,” Amelia replied with a laugh.
“Nevertheless, it’s better to be safe. And I’m sure Cartwright wouldn’t want in any way to be party to the cause of your decline.”
Cartwright’s gaze turned to him. For a moment, Thomas thought he intended to challenge him—scoff that his argument was beyond ludicrous. After studying him for several seconds, his friend shifted his attention back to Amelia. “Yes, I have heard parlor games are known to cause an illness of sorts, and I certainly wouldn’t want you to fall victim to it.”
In this instance, Cartwright’s barely veiled mockery was acceptable. It was infinitely better than a row, Thomas thought with the full knowledge that what he spouted was nothing shy of grasping at straws. He also knew everyone at the table was aware of it too. Luckily for him, they were too civilized to call him on it.
“Well, since it appears I’m too fragile for a game of cards, I shall take myself off to bed. Suddenly I’m feeling rather fatigued.” Cartwright made a move to rise. Amelia stayed him with a wave of her hand as she stood. “Oh, do remain seated.”
A footman materialized at her elbow to assist her from her chair. Thomas hadn’t intended to send her so early to her bed; hadn’t intended to deprive himself of her company. He sat mute as she smoothed the folds of her velvet skirts, trying to quell the image of those slender hands sliding lovingly over his hard, bare flesh, wrapping around him.
“I shall see you all in the morning.” Her regard flickered to him. “That is, if I have not gone into decline.” A teasing light glinted in the sapphire blue of her eyes, and a smile tipped the corners of her mouth—a smile whose effects Thomas felt from his chest right down to his loins.
After Amelia quit the dining hall, she didn’t walk but floated up the stairs. She hadn’t really wanted to play cards with Lord Alex. She’d only been seeking proof that Thomas didn’t want her to. Who would have guessed—certainly not she—that she was the type of woman who would stoop to engaging in games of jealousy? And who would have guessed upon eliciting the desired response, she’d be left feeling giddy and dizzier than she had when she’d been swooning about the place with a fever.
Leaving the dining table had been a matter of survival, for if she’d stayed, she would have sat there looking as besotted as she felt. He cared enough about her to be jealous of his friend. He cared enough about her to sit at her bedside when she was ill. Thomas, Viscount Armstrong, cared about her, period, and right now that was all that mattered. Tomorrow, she decided with steadfast determination, they would begin their relationship anew.