blood from a stone. How was he, a man of questionable temperance and patience, and an inordinate amount of pride, supposed to accomplish such a feat? How was he going to make her want him—better yet, crave him, his touch, his kisses, yearn for the very thing she’d scorned? Were his acting skills truly up to the part of the smitten gentleman?
At present, the answer was an unequivocal no. But he’d need to hone those skills quickly enough if he was to see his plan to its completion.
“Apart from my title, my wealth, and my appearance, what is it that you find appealing about me?” All of the attributes the chit had discounted with a disdainful tilt of her chin. He surely had more to offer a woman than those things, didn’t he?
He could feel Grace’s hazel eyes boring into his profile. Angling his head to view her fully, he quirked a brow.
Silence met his question head on. Thomas laughed dryly. “As those are things largely out of my control, I’ll try not to feel insulted at your speedy response.”
“No, darling, I guess I just find it a strange question,” she said, smiling, tiny wrinkles fanning the corners of her eyes. “Don’t tell me you have been reconsidering your charms?”
“You still have not answered my question.”
Removing her hand from his grasp, she began playfully tugging at the hairs on his chest. “You present a challenge, and women love a challenge. Secretly, women would love to bring a man like you to heel.” She placed a kiss on his chest. Turning her face, she rubbed her cheek against the mat of hair, her gesture like that of a needy cat. “And women love being conquered. Especially by a man who knows just how to bring her to pleasure.”
Another kiss landed on his abdomen. “You, my dear man, know exactly how to do that. To add to that, you’re very generous. None of my previous protectors ever cared about such things as birthdays and holidays.”
Thomas knew she referred to the ruby pendant he’d given her for her birthday several weeks back.
“How utterly thoughtful you can be when you want.”
And thoughtless when he wanted, but he knew that complaint would go unsaid—at least for the evening.
But would such qualities be enough for a cold fish like Lady Amelia Bertram? He had never tried—in all actuality, he’d never had to try—to seduce any woman. In England, young, rich, and passably attractive (he could humbly claim to be at least that) gentlemen of the ton were pounced upon with the same speed and determination as one would an upended barrel of guineas in the midst of Covent Garden Market. He had certainly never faced the prospect of having to exert the full force of his charm on any female with a disposition like that of Lady Amelia.
“Why do you ask?” Grace inquired, her hand inching down his chest to where the hair arrowed, then thickened.
“Perhaps I’m wondering if more than my money keeps you here.” This time he allowed her fingers to wrap around him and work his stiffening rod with long, firm strokes. Quickening pleasure pooled under the smooth glide of her talented hand.
Grace slid down the length of his body, taking his shaft into her mouth and twirling her tongue eagerly around the sensitive tip. Seconds later, she lifted her head and regarded him through passion-drugged eyes. Her mouth curved into a seductive smile, as her hand continued to work his turgid length. “This is what keeps me here.”
Parting her lips, she took him deep into her mouth. With a low groan, Thomas threw his head back, all coherent thoughts having fled from his mind.
Chapter 8
Amelia might have bargained her soul to the devil himself to halt her departure from Westbury entirely, had she not feared the eternal fires of damnation. Though, in actuality, sharing a roof with the viscount would be its own form of damnation on earth.
However, no amount of praying or wishing could deter her father from his course. The month following her return to their country estate, he dispatched her from Fountain Crest with the rapidity and sanguine relief one would a guest who’d stayed months too long.
A broken axle interrupted their journey to Devon. Then they—she, Hélène, and George, her father’s trusted manservant—missed their connecting train to Torbay, causing them a day’s delay. A delay that vexed George mightily but a respite she welcomed. By luncheon time the next day, Amelia had arrived at her destination, her spirits