A Taste of Desire(83)
Not a man who liked to cuddle as so many women craved after sexual intercourse, Thomas was disconcerted to discover he didn’t immediately want to bolt from the bed. Yes, it was his bed, but he had no desire to hustle Amelia back to her chamber. This, of course, was downright terrifying.
Good Lord, what have I done?
Amelia lay stiff beneath Thomas as he remained buried inside her. Lord, there hadn’t even been talk of the future, no promise of marriage, just the most exquisite pleasure her body had ever known. This was not how it was supposed to be.
Slowly, he slid from atop her, his chest hairs abrading her nipples, his sweat-dampened abdomen sliding over hers in a sensuous dance. Once again, Amelia could feel herself drowning into the misty haze of passion—lurid, decadent passion.
“A virgin.”
His tone said it all, hushed and incredulous. But it jerked her back to the harsh edges of reality. Not anymore she wasn’t.
Soon mortification replaced the vestiges of ardor. Amelia couldn’t bear to look at him, much less respond. She heard, rather than saw, him get out of the bed, taking all of his heat with him. She caught the edge of the counterpane and draped it over herself.
Thomas came into view as he padded toward the dresser. Amelia knew she should avert her gaze, but the sight of his buttocks, flesh and muscle sculpted to magnificence, captivated her. He opened the top drawer and yanked out a small piece of toweling and with it, several envelopes fluttered to the carpet.
Clasping the counterpane tightly to her breasts, she came up on the bed, her attention now riveted to the floor.
Thomas shot a quick glance at her, let out a mild curse, and started grabbing for the envelopes.
“No!” Heedless of her state of undress, she scrambled from the bed to his side, having discarded the cover in her haste. She grabbed his wrist, stopping his hand in midair, and stared at the now crumpled papers in his hand and the third, which lay on the carpet pointing at him like an accusing finger.
“These are my letters,” she said softly. While her mind reeled, her heart echoed a hollow beat in her ear. In black ink, Lord Clayborough’s name and address stood in stark relief against the pale yellow envelopes. Her handwriting. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he hadn’t received them. Thomas had had them all along.
“Amelia—”
Amelia dropped his wrist as if she held a vile object in her hand. Blindly, she turned, now acutely aware of her nakedness. Her eyes searched the floor frantically until she spotted her discarded clothes. She quickly donned her dress in several jerky motions. She had no time to waste on petticoats and flimsy undergarments when her sanity depended on removing herself from his chamber as expeditiously as possible.
Before she could move out of arm’s reach, Thomas’s hand shot out and caught her by the upper arm. Amelia halted but kept her head angled from him. She’d learned it was useless to fight against his strength.
“Amelia, listen to me. I was—”
“Save your excuses, my lord.” Her civil tone masked her growing hysteria. All she wanted to do was throw something, rage and scream at him.
His hold on her arm tightened. Amelia turned to regard him directly for the first time since she’d discovered the depth of his deceit. He didn’t look guilty. He looked like a frustrated, angry man whose coming defense of his actions would ring as absurd as he appeared indignant. He wore the expression her father had worn when she’d discovered, weeks after her attempted elopement with Joseph Cromwell, that he had been confiscating his letters.
“I gather you did this under my father’s directive?”
Thomas didn’t immediately respond, and that in itself was response enough for her. She tugged her arm free. He relinquished his hold and then snatched up the piece of toweling that had fallen on the floor and secured it about his waist.
Amelia turned away not only because she couldn’t bear the sight of him, but because he stood there arrogantly unselfconscious. “He’ll be proud to know you intend to follow in his footsteps in every way.”
“Can you honestly say you would be happy with Clayborough?” He snorted in disbelief. “Would you have given your virginity to me if you truly loved the man? Right now you should be thanking me for preventing you from making the biggest mistake of your life.”
Amelia whipped around to glare at him. “You pompous bastard! I’ve just made the biggest mistake of my life, and far from preventing me, you spurred me on and had a grand time while you were doing it.”