A Taste of Desire Page 0,38
just performed a sort of verbal intercourse with her.
Amelia dropped back into the chair, landing on the cushioned seat with a soft thump. She was angry, and agitated that her anger was threefold.
Firstly, Thomas Armstrong was a loathsome man. Secondly, he aggravated her more than any person should have a right or power to. And lastly, but the one which distressed her most, she was angry with herself. That he should have the power to fluster her with not just his words or his regard, but at times with his very presence, was an excruciating blow to a woman who’d always thought herself immune to his overstated charms. Humiliating if she considered just how unaffected he appeared by their exchanges.
The knock on the door jarred her from her damning admission. A young girl whose age Amelia estimated at no more than fifteen, entered and eagerly approached her. If the color of the girl’s hair—which was a shade lighter than the viscount’s—hadn’t proclaimed her an Armstrong, then her green eyes certainly would. Moreover, she possessed a striking resemblance to the viscountess.
“Hello. Lady Amelia.” The address seemed more an afterthought, as though the girl had suddenly remembered her manners. And perhaps if the young Miss Armstrong knew Amelia would rather be troweling under the hot desert sun, she’d have saved her greeting for someone who could more appreciate her exuberance.
She halted beside Amelia’s desk, an impish smile wreathing her face. “We had so hoped to meet you yesterday—my sister and I. I’m Sarah. Thomas never mentioned how pretty you are.”
Amelia was at a loss as to which of her hodgepodge of statements to respond to first. “Um—hello, Sarah. Perhaps that’s because your brother doesn’t believe I am.”
Sarah laughed as though she’d just heard the most amusing tale, her braid swaying at the jostling of her shoulders. “One thing my brother does know better than most is a beautiful woman, and I’m sure he finds you so.”
Amelia stifled a laugh. No diffident female was Miss Sarah Armstrong. “Well then, thank you. I shall take that as a compliment coming from a beauty such as yourself.”
Most girls—women—would have simpered at the compliment or made sounds of feigned denial. Sarah merely smiled, her eyes bright with delight. Her attention then moved to the contracts stacked neatly in front of Amelia.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting these documents in order,” Amelia replied, resuming her task. “And if I intend to make supper this evening, I can’t afford to dawdle.”
“I think it’s admirable that you’ve offered to help Thomas with his charity work.”
Amelia covered an eruption of laughter with a cough. So that’s what he’d told his family. He’d painted her as the saintly do-gooder instead of the daughter whose father had passed her off to the viscount like unwanted baggage.
“Indeed it is,” Amelia replied dryly.
“Perhaps I could assist you,” Sarah offered, her expression so eager and earnest, Amelia regretted that she had to refuse her.
Or did she? Amelia took in what represented almost two hours of work on her desk and in the box. Work that would take her right up to the supper hour. She would not even have time to dress at leisure.
“Won’t you be missed?” Amelia inquired, angling her head to gaze up at her.
“No, for the next hour Mama will be practicing the piano, and Emily is still with Miss Jasper completing today’s lesson.”
“Then should you not be taking lessons also?”
“I’ve already completed the lesson. Emily despises French because her enunciation isn’t terribly good. She’d be there all night if Miss Jasper didn’t have to eat and sleep.”
Amelia suppressed a smile while she considered the offer. Why not have the girl help? She was obviously willing. The viscount hadn’t told her how she was to complete the task, just that she should. And two pairs of hands would certainly speed up the process. Surely that should please him. It would certainly please her.
“Well, if you insist.” Amelia rose from her chair. “Come, you may have my seat while I instruct you.”
Chapter 11
“Ah, Lady Amelia, so good of you to join us,” Lady Armstrong said upon Amelia’s entry into the dining room at precisely two minutes to eight that evening.
The viscountess, resplendent in a double-skirted gown edged with velvet vandykes, stood beside two women—well, the younger female might not be considered a woman just yet.
“Good evening, Lady Armstrong,” Amelia replied.
“Please, allow me to introduce you to my dear friend, Mrs. Eleanor Roland, and her daughter Dorothy. Eleanor, Dorothy, may I present Lady Amelia Bertram. She