A Taste of Desire(80)
Amelia was still in a euphoric glow when she heard the unmistakable sound of a cat as she made her way to her chamber. Turning in the direction of the plaintive meow, she saw a blur of fur dash in the direction of the opposite wing.
No animals resided in Stoneridge Hall, of that she was certain. Undoubtedly a stray sneaking in from the cold. The poor dear was probably hungry. Amelia proceeded in search of the cat.
After much coaxing and whispered pleas of, “Here kitty, kitty,” she found the cat huddled beneath a hall table with a heavy base that came half a foot off the floor. And she discovered it wasn’t a cat but a tiny, frightened kitten with camel-colored fur. Soon, Amelia was on her knees, her right hand stretched out to capture the skittish animal, her voice soothing and low. As her fingers made contact with the downy fur, the kitten darted from beneath the table and through the closest open door.
Sighing, Amelia scrambled to her feet. She hesitated at the threshold. Then she heard the kitten’s cry. She would be quick about it. Miss Foxworth and the men were occupied downstairs and none of the servants were about.
Quashing every single one of her misgivings—and she harbored quite a few—Amelia inhaled a deep breath and entered the room. Save for the blaze in the fireplace, the chamber was shrouded in shadows of varying shades of grey. It took several seconds for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. The chamber was large. With a fresh wave of trepidation, she realized fate, with its sometimes macabre sense of humor, had deposited her in the master’s suite. Thomas’s bedchamber. If she had any sense at all, she would leave. A quiver of anticipation coursed through her as she ventured farther into the room.
Amelia took in big, dark furniture, including an enormous four-poster bed. She shivered again. There was nothing fussy about it. No softening contours or feminine embellishments, just polished mahogany and a dark green counterpane covering the mattress.
A flash of fur darting from under the bed to somewhere in the darkest corner of the room caught her eye, yanking her back to her purpose for being there. Before Amelia could move, she heard a faint creak, then saw a splinter of light originate from the area in which the kitten had disappeared. The light lengthened and broadened across the carpeted floor in front of her.
With no time to think and only a second to act, Amelia made a dash to an area in the chamber where she saw no shadowy grey just the blessed oblivion of black. She braced up against the wall beside a towering wardrobe. Her nostrils were immediately assailed by the scent of starch and something else … bergamot.
The kitten emitted a pitiful meow. Amelia barely dared to breathe.
“How on earth did you get in here?”
Thomas. Amelia’s breath left her.
“Lord, aren’t you a tiny little thing. I bet you’re hungry?”
It took her a moment to realize he was speaking to the cat. As much as a human was capable, she plastered herself against the wall.
“Come, let’s get you something to eat. Perhaps Cook has some leftover fish. What do you think?” The kitten purred as if in agreement.
He was leaving. With her fingers splayed against the wall at her back, Amelia waited. She heard muffled footfalls, then the sound of the door opening, and then silence. Blessed silence. She quickly darted a glance around the wardrobe to ensure all was clear. It was.
Amelia had never moved so fast in her entire life, the soles of her suede shoes scarcely touching the floor. Unfortunately, fast wasn’t quite quick enough.
Chapter 21
“Why do you continue to turn up in all the places you shouldn’t?” Thomas stood framed in the doorway, bathed in the iridescent light of the gas wall sconces in the hall, and spoke in a tone of dark amusement.
Shuddering to a stop, Amelia sought safety on the laddered rail of the footboard behind her—she’d only managed to get that far. The wood was solid and smooth under her fingers unlike the erratic beat of her heart. This was not at all the way she’d imagined their new start.
“I-I didn’t see you—I thought you had gon—I mean, the cat—” Amelia ceased speaking. What was the point? She’d heard animals could smell fear. In that case, she was amazed that every animal in the environs of Devon wasn’t growling at her feet.
He chuckled softly, slowly closing the door before turning to advance toward her with measured strides. “Oh, please do continue. I do love it when you stutter.”
Amelia quelled a dismayed groan, edging away from the safety of the footboard, intent on reaching the door, but a glance deemed her exit too far away to risk a mad dash.