A Taste of Desire(97)
Good God, the bloody man was laughing at him. “Christ, if I’m going to have to deal with you too, I’ll bloody well go back to Devon.” Thomas pivoted abruptly to start toward the front.
“You’re in love with the woman. Why can’t you just admit it?”
It was Rutherford’s words that caused him to halt, not the restraining hand he placed on his coat sleeve. Thomas slowly turned to face him, feeling as if he’d been struck in the head by a heavy instrument, numb from the bluntness of the question and the starkness of that word. Love.
“I ran from Missy for four years, and where did it get me? Bound to her for life—and happier than I ever thought possible. There’s something to be said for beautiful, stubborn, willful, infuriating females. They can prove to be downright irresistible.” As it always did at the mention of his wife, love lit Rutherford’s eyes and softened his features.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out what his friend was angling at. “Please don’t compare your relationship with my sister to mine and Amelia’s. I wouldn’t even term what the lady and I have as a relationship, unless incessant fighting classifies it as such.” And passion with enough fire to reduce a thousand forests to ashes.
Their unplanned trek had left them at the back of the house, next to a final line of hedgerows before the land gave way to gently rolling hills blanketed in shimmering white. Thomas fixed his gaze on a patch of clouds hanging incongruously in an otherwise crystal blue sky.
“Whatever is going on between you two must be strong if it has you like this.” And they both knew that this was him acting the fool over that slip of a woman.
“This is Cartwright’s doing.” Thomas growled and jammed his hands into his coat pockets.
Rutherford chuckled dryly. “Well, he does like to have his fun.”
“Has it come to your attention that this fun he’s intent on having is at my expense? Who the hell told you to invite him for Christmas anyhow?” Thomas slanted him an accusatory look.
“You know damn well I haven’t any say in these matters. Moreover, your sister adores the man.”
Yes, Cartwright held a special place in Missy’s soft heart. Lord, she had known him before she could crawl.
“So will you now admit you’re in love with Lady Amelia?”
Thomas gaze snapped to his friend, his mouth poised to issue a forceful denial. But the commiserate expression on Rutherford’s face stopped him cold. Although the words died in his throat, the very essence of who he was as a man begged him to bluster and prevaricate something—anything that would give him the appearance of being immune to the debilitating emotion.
As if sensing his turmoil, Rutherford gave his shoulder a firm squeeze. “If it’s at all comforting, admitting it to yourself is the hardest part. After that it’s just the matter of setting a wedding date and showing up at the church.”
Marriage to Amelia? A dull ache started in Thomas’s chest. He swallowed hard. “I would be a complete fool to even consider her for my wife.”
Rutherford’s lips quirked. “Perhaps not a complete fool.”
Thomas’s toes were growing numb from the cold and so too was his mind, for he wasn’t just contemplating marrying Amelia, he was all but resigned to it. What else is a fairly honorable man supposed to do when he takes a lady’s virginity? So what if the incident had taken place weeks before? He thought himself fairly honorable. She was already his, but marriage would legalize the union. Suddenly, what felt like a heavy weight fell from his shoulders. He wouldn’t concede it was love, but he felt the emotion was strong enough to sustain a marriage.
“Well, let’s see if the lady will have me.” Thomas turned and started back toward the house.
From behind him, he heard Rutherford mutter, “I have the distinct feeling she already has.”
After the door closed behind the earl, Amelia regarded Lord Alex, who appeared the very picture of guilelessness. But she knew quite well that if wickedness were a virtue, he’d by far be considered the most virtuous person there.
Missy peered up at him, a frown fixed on her beautiful face. “And just what, pray tell, is that smile all about? What did you do to my brother?” The countess punctuated her question by jabbing him in the shoulder—hard. He responded with an exaggerated wince. Missy possessed the litheness of a dancer and she was a half-foot shorter than Alex, but Amelia had no doubt she was more than up to the task of browbeating him silly.