A Taste of Desire(98)
“I didn’t do anything,” he protested, all mock innocence. “Your brother really needs to try to control that temper of his.”
“He could freeze to death out there.” Another jab of Missy’s finger to his chest was followed by another unconvincing wince.
“You saw for yourself—Rutherford is bringing him an overcoat,” he reasoned, still smiling.
The countess rolled her eyes. “You are impossible,” she said, sounding thoroughly exasperated. “Just don’t come complaining to me when Thomas beats you black and blue.” With a sharp turn on her heel, she dismissed him as one would an exasperating younger sibling. “Come, Amelia, let us go and eat so that Alex can determine the best way to bring down swelling without a poultice.”
If his fate involved a sound trouncing, as the countess inferred, the man in question didn’t look the least bit concerned. He acknowledged their departure with an overly deferential bow and a playful glimmer in his grey eyes.
The countess led Amelia down the hall, hooking their arms at the elbows like longtime friends while grousing about what an unapologetic rapscallion Lord Alex had become. Amelia, who was little more than a novice at sharing this kind of intimacy with a female contemporary, permitted it, somewhat taken aback and too polite to react differently.
A short time later, they entered the breakfast room. Candles lit the room as only weak rays of sunlight streamed through three large windows.
“Please help yourself. We’re generally only formal for supper,” Missy invited her, angling her chin toward the sideboard, which was currently home to silver-covered platters of varying sizes. Amelia’s stomach gave a celebratory lurch, growling at the bombardment of pleasant smells assailing her nostrils.
The countess laughed. “I told my brother someone should have awoken you last night, but he insisted you needed your rest more.”
Amelia didn’t know quite how best to respond. Though the countess made the statement without any apparent innuendo, his actions came across almost … protective. “I was quite tired,” she said, busily piling her plate with crumpets, poached eggs, bacon, and oven-warmed bread. Hunger should not suffer the pretense of female delicacy.
After their plates were duly filled, the women took them to the linen-covered table, where the attending footman—a tall, sturdy young man with a shock of red hair—seated them. When he reached for the teapot, Lady Windmere lightly batted his hand away. “We are fine, Stevens. Please go and ensure Lord Alex has no hot water for his shower bath.” She proceeded to pour two cups of tea before glancing at Amelia. “A cold one will do him good.”
As though that kind of order were commonplace, Stevens gave a brisk nod and bowed out of the room.
The countess let out a soft chuckle at Amelia’s raised brow and wide-eyed stare. “As fitting a punishment as that would be, Stevens has known me long enough to know that I am not serious.”
Beauty and a sense of humor. In the past, Amelia wouldn’t have thought the two traits together admirable in a female. Usually, it was the lack of the former that necessitated the latter.
They commenced eating, Amelia digging into her food with zeal. After a minute of companionable chewing, Lady Windmere said, “Would you like to tell me what caused that display out in the foyer? Is something going on between you and Alex?”
“N-No!”
“Between you and my brother then?” she asked pleasantly, picking up her teacup to take a sip.
Given the previous question, the second one shouldn’t have surprised Amelia at all—but it did. It so discomfited her, her mouth couldn’t form a denial. “Um—”
“You find me terribly forward, don’t you? Ask my husband, it’s a terrible personal flaw of mine.” But there was no embarrassment or apology in the countess’s admission.
Amelia slowed the chewing of her buttered scone to give her time to collect her thoughts. How did one articulate to the man’s sister the complexities of their relationship? He’s taken me to bed, where we had scorching, passionate sex, but still we don’t exactly get along. Somehow that just didn’t seem a wise thing to say. At least not at the breakfast table.
“Lord Alex has been kind to me. He is my friend—or at least I believe he holds me in that light.” There, it was much easier to start with the initial question. The relationship she understood. She knew that whatever Lord Alex was playing at, he had no interest in her as a prospective wife, or even a conquest. But it seemed it would take the return of Christ to convince Thomas of that.