A Taste of Desire(90)
Then the faint shuffle of movement came from the hall. A thread of light soon seeped across the floor outside the room. Thomas quickly stepped back, straightening to his full height. In the next moment, his face was set into one of self-possession.
Amelia sighed in relief and turned away, clutching her cover-up around her as if it could shield her from his potency. She knew it could not.
“Good night.” She didn’t look at him—dared not—and quickly started toward the exit.
“We will be leaving on Saturday for Berkshire.”
She halted abruptly, her head swiveling back around. “Must I go?”
“Do you believe I would leave you to spend Christmas here by yourself?” He actually sounded as if the thought was quite absurd. Her own father had never had a problem with it. After her mother had died, Christmas stopped having much meaning to her father. If he happened to be there on the day, he would invariably hole himself up in his study going over business documents and account ledgers.
“I’d really rather spend it alone.”
Thomas eyed her as if he didn’t want her to come any more than she did. “You haven’t a choice in this, Amelia. You’re coming to my sister’s with me.”
Amelia gave a jerky nod before making a hasty departure, wondering how she was going to survive a holiday with Thomas Armstrong without losing herself completely.
What the hell was wrong with him? He’d have kissed her and God knows what else if one of the servants hadn’t unknowingly saved him from himself. The damned woman was making him crazy.
He recalled, with a clenching of his heart, the expression on her face as she stood there looking fragile and alone, gazing up at the tree. He’d glimpsed a poignant sadness in her eyes when she’d turned to him. He wondered at the cause of the sadness. Then she had started to retreat from him. Something in him, perhaps the predatory instinct that kept mankind from becoming extinct, had risen in him, and he’d pursued with the age-old lure to mate and possess surging wildly through his veins.
He gave his head a hard shake. He had to get a hold of himself. They would have two weeks in the confines of Rutherford Manor with Missy, her family, and Cartwright. His mouth instantly tightened. If for no other reason than for appearances, he needed to curb his baser needs when it came to Amelia. Whatever spell she had cast over him had to be temporary. Not to be overlooked was the fact he no longer had a mistress, which obviously left him vulnerable to her charms. How often had he ever had a young, beautiful, and desirable woman living under his roof for months on end? Never. No wonder he’d gone a little crazy. But in Berkshire, he could only hope his feelings would dissipate as quickly as bats scattered at the hint of daylight.
Chapter 24
The smoke swirling from the black-rimmed chimneys of Rutherford Manor seemed to morph into the clouds hovering above—grey ominous clouds foretelling a heavy snowfall. Amelia turned from the carriage window, taking great care to keep her regard from straying in the direction of Thomas, whose gaze burned her with a quiet intensity.
“Mademoiselle, are you unwell?” Hélène inquired from beside her. “You look piqued.”
Piqued would be a blessing if one considered she’d been anticipating their arrival there much the same way Marie Antoinette must have embraced her fate: with stalwart resignation.
“You have no need to be nervous.”
Her gaze snapped to Thomas, surprised at his oddly soothing tone and the sincerity in his eyes. “I am hardly nervous,” she replied, her voice unusually high. Lord, what was wrong with her? She’d never ever made a sound so missish in her life. She immediately lowered her voice. “I’m merely anxious to arrive so I can change. I feel molted, traveling a full day in this gown.”
There, she sounded like herself. A minor victory when it came to her quickly vanishing self-control in all things pertaining to Thomas Armstrong.
The door at her side opened, permitting an icy blast of air into the already cold interior of the brougham. A footman in a livery of navy blue and green waited to assist them from the carriage. Amelia quickly offered him her gloved hand, eager to quit the viscount’s disquieting presence.
A short time later, she was standing in the center of the three-storey foyer of the red-bricked structure. Amelia gladly relinquished her bonnet, coat, and muffs to the attending second footman. As Thomas was handing the young man his great coat, a high-pitched squeal pierced the silence.