A Taste of Desire Page 0,40
his every word as fact.
“I really must disagree. I’ve met my share of beauties who would have made a tour of duty seem like a picnic. Without divulging the name of a certain lady of the ton, I will tell you a story about my introduction to her the year past.”
The ting of utensils against the white porcelain plates halted. All eyes were riveted on the viscount, who needed only his crown to claim his position as the noble prince. The hairs on Amelia’s nape reared up as her unease began its ascent.
“She was quite beautiful. I would say almost as handsome as—” He paused as if in search of the right comparison. His gaze found hers. “Lady Amelia, I would wager. Certainly a stunning beauty by all accounts.”
All eyes in the room fell on her. She quickly gave her bowl of vermicelli soup her undivided attention. Her cheeks warmed with every extended moment of silence.
Amelia wasn’t naïve enough to think he’d intended to pay her a compliment. With this grand show in front of his rapt audience, she was certain he planned to make her the moral example of his little tale.
“Well, this young lady,”—he stressed the last word as if the term in regard to said “lady”—her—was suspect—”and I had no prior acquaintance. I won’t offend your sensibilities with the particulars of what she said to me during our introduction. Needless to say, it was the sort of thing you’d find in the gossip rags. Groundless, unfounded rumors maligning my character.”
“You mean there is a woman alive who can resist your charms?” the viscountess asked, the grave sincerity in her tone contrary to the amusement in her eyes.
At their mother’s remark, Sarah and Emily, who had been trying to stifle their laughter by covering their mouths with serviettes, abandoned all efforts to remain poker-faced and let out a torrent of girlish giggles.
“Abominable behavior,” Mrs. Roland exclaimed with a disapproving sniff, her back visibly stiffening, pushing back her plump shoulders. “Some of the young ladies these days are lacking in good breeding.” Turning her regard from the viscount, she beamed a smile at her daughter. “Now Dorothy here has what anyone would consider exemplary manners. Don’t you, dear?”
“But what good does all that do me? Manners alone won’t find me a husband. Gentlemen prefer pretty wives,” Miss Roland muttered, her gaze downcast.
The viscountess and Mrs. Roland looked primed to voice their replies. However, it was again Lord Armstrong who prevailed. “An intelligent man prefers much more desirable qualities in a wife. Qualities such as kindness, humility, warmth, and a good character. A beautiful wife who is disagreeable is hardly the sort of woman a man wants to remain chained to for the rest of his life.”
In a move that held all the innocence of a highwayman telling the magistrate he’d merely stopped the carriage for a ride while touting a gun and a mask, he shifted his gaze to her. “Don’t you agree, Lady Amelia?”
Just what was his game, to embarrass her? Didn’t he know one had to actually care for that to work? Besides, she hadn’t said anything that hadn’t been the unvarnished truth.
“Certainly, if in fact the lady in question was truly disagreeable. I, for one, did not witness the incident so I have no knowledge as to the circumstances under which the lady, um, insulted you, as you say. And as you haven’t enlightened us on exactly what she said, it would be unseemly of me to offer my opinion.”
“You have my assurances that this lady was indeed insulting.” The intensity of his regard could have seared a hole through her.
“Well, before I condemn the woman, I would have to hear her account of the events. As you know, there are always two sides to a story.” With that pert statement, Amelia spooned some soup into her mouth.
Silence befell the table. Amelia pretended to be oblivious to the gazes darting between her and the viscount.
“It’s good to know that you, Thomas, a gentleman of good taste and judgment, appreciates the finer, less obvious qualities in a woman.” Mrs. Roland endowed him with the smile of a woman who was closing in on her prey.
Then it all made perfect sense—touting her daughter’s exceptional manners, singing her praises to Lord Armstrong. Mrs. Roland wanted the viscount for her daughter, which would be the equivalent of teaming Little Red Riding Hood with the wolf.
But that being said, Amelia felt duty bound to aid in such a worthwhile endeavor. Let’s