A Taste of Desire(91)
“Thomas!”
A woman—slim, tall, and blessed with an abundance of chestnut hair—flew past Amelia to launch herself into his arms. He caught her fast and held her secure.
Amelia instantly recognized her from several portraits at Stoneridge Hall—Lady Windmere, or as her family so affectionately called her, Missy. The portraits, however, hadn’t done her justice. She possessed a vibrancy the artist hadn’t quite captured, giving the real flesh-and-blood woman a rare, indefinable beauty.
“God, Missy, you’re smaller than you were before you got with child,” Thomas said, releasing her after a prolonged embrace and setting her before him, his hands clasping her lightly by the waist. Amelia had never seen him smile quite like that before, a smile that rivaled the sun on the brightest day and the glitter of the stars against the darkest and clearest of nights. Her belly dipped sharply.
“Try taking care of two infants and you’ll see how little time you have for anything else. Of the choice between eating and sleeping, sleeping has been winning handily,” his sister replied with a laugh and then pulled him to her once again. “I’m so glad you’ve arrived.”
Thomas’s expression sobered some when he turned to her. “Missy, Lady Amelia, I believe the two of you met the year before. Although at the time my sister was not yet the Countess of Windmere.”
The chestnut-haired beauty turned to her. The woman’s eyes, an arresting mixture of slate grey and blue, glowed in genuine welcome, and she looked positively radiant from her flushed face, right down to her festive hunter-green wool and satin gown. And if the countess had indeed given birth only months past, one would be hard pressed to tell, as her waist couldn’t be more than twenty inches.
“Lady Windmere.” Amelia dipped into a shallow curtsey. How could she ever forget the circumstances under which they’d met? And Amelia was certain the countess remembered the woman who had insulted her brother at their introduction. A brother of whom, she might add, the countess appeared intensely fond. Her actions then, coupled with the warmth of her reception now, shamed her. Unfortunately, it was one year too late for regrets.
The countess, however, would have nothing so formal. She took Amelia’s hands in hers and patted them with the familiarity of old friends.
Nonplussed, Amelia could think of little else to do but allow it. Not since Elizabeth had a woman her age touched her in kindness. If an indication existed that Lady Windmere wouldn’t hold her past behavior against her, this was it. This relieved Amelia to no end.
“Of course, I remember Lady Amelia.” The countess sidled an impish grin at her brother. “I’m so pleased you could join us for the holidays. This is so much better than tea, don’t you agree, Thomas?”
Thomas’s mouth tightened at her question. Amelia’s gaze darted between the siblings. Better than tea? “Pardon me?”
“After our introduction last year, I urged Thomas to invite you over for tea. But I think an entire fortnight is much better, wouldn’t you agree?” She gave Amelia a guileless sort of look and gave her hand a final pat before releasing it. “And please, none of this Lady Windmere nonsense. I am Missy to any friend of my brother’s.” She shot her brother a look of pure mischief.
Any friend of Thomas’s? She certainly was not his friend, she was his—Amelia halted, refusing to complete the thought. Their situation was too confusing and discomfiting to be mused about at the present time.
Amelia forced a smile. “I would be more than happy to dispense with the formality of titles.”
In response to her invitation, Missy appeared more than a little pleased. Thomas, on the other hand, raised his brow, clearly surprised by her willingness to do so. She had held a rather hard line with him. But why shouldn’t she? Just because the countess—Missy—was his sister. She’d far outgrown the stage when she’d hold a person’s association with him against them. She wasn’t nearly that petty … anymore.
“Thank God you’re finally here, Armstrong. I thought my wife would expire awaiting your arrival.”
Amelia started as the deep male voice sounded from behind her. Twisting on her heel, she took in a very handsome, tall dark-haired man casually attired in shirttails and black trousers. The Earl of Windmere. The only member of the dimpled trio she had yet to meet. Goodness, Thomas and his friends must have kept the females of London in a constant state of wanting. And undoubtedly still did.
The men greeted each other in the manner of longtime intimates. After they concluded the Englishman’s form of an embrace—a brisk handshake and some masculine shoulder slapping—Lord Windmere turned to her. He then exchanged a brief inscrutable look with Thomas. “And this must be the fair Lady Amelia.” He watched her with a teasing glimmer in his pale blue eyes. Beautiful eyes.