A Taste of Desire Page 0,41

see how he likes having the tables turned on him.

“Yes, Lord Armstrong is truly remarkable in that respect. I’m quite certain he too is in search of a woman exactly like Miss Roland. But wait, if Miss Roland is willing, I daresay he won’t have to look very far.” Amelia sent the aforementioned parties a look of pure guilelessness.

The crystal chandelier soaring above them was lit by at least four dozen candles. There were gas-lit wall sconces and two candelabras on the dining table. Mrs. Roland’s smile shone brighter than the light of all combined. Everyone else remained mute.

“I must say—”

“How good of you to offer your matchmaking services, Lady Amelia,” Lord Armstrong cut in before Mrs. Roland could finish. “However, I’ve known Dorothy since she was a child—a babe really. I look upon her as I do my own sisters, and I’m sure she feels the same.”

The viscountess gave a faint smile, appearing relieved her son had handled the delicate matter so tactfully. His sisters exchanged a look Amelia couldn’t decipher. Miss Roland slowly nodded her agreement to his assessment of their relationship. But poor Mrs. Roland sat motionless in her chair, rendered mute by his gentle yet unequivocal refusal to entertain a match with her daughter.

Suddenly, Amelia was contrite. In her zeal to embarrass Lord Armstrong, she’d included others in her wide-reaching net. Blast it all. It was he who had started all of this with his “The beauty who is an utter shrew” tale. And because of that, Mrs. Roland now bore the pained expression of dashed hopes and misspent dreams.

“Well, if not the viscount, a far luckier gentleman will have the privilege of taking Miss Roland as his wife,” Amelia said, in an attempt to temper the—albeit gentle—rejection.

The girl, seventeen if she was a day, still had a couple years more to add some flesh to her figure. The men would come calling then, for her complexion was clear and her features quite regular. Though she might never be considered a rose, she certainly wasn’t the least bit objectionable. With the appropriate dowry, she’d fair well in the marriage mart.

“Do you really think so?” Miss Roland asked, a faint note of hope in her voice.

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it. You are only, what seventeen, eighteen?” Sixteen?

“Seventeen.”

“I was quite a fright at that age.” An out-and-out lie, but Miss Roland would never know that. The viscount knew; his eyes told her so. But he said not a word, merely watched her in contemplative silence.

“I don’t believe that for a second. I thought…” Sarah trailed off at the quelling glare from her sister.

“You can ask anyone.” There was no one to ask, save some of the servants. Cloistered at their country estate with only one friend to speak of, Amelia hadn’t been seen by anyone in society until the past year.

Miss Roland regarded her with an expression close to awe. As if she could barely believe the transformation that had turned a fright into the female who now sat opposite her.

“And look at me now, finished my second Season with no marriage prospects as yet.” Which was technically true if one asked her father. “You’re still very young and have many years to find a man worthy of your affections.”

“Yes, dear, plenty of time,” her mother echoed, having come out of her stupor of silence. “I’m certain next Season Thomas would be happy to introduce you to some of his friends. I believe Lord Alex is still unattached. And so very handsome.”

In the midst of taking a sip of his wine, a coughing fit seized the viscount. Amelia smiled and resumed eating.

Three courses and an hour and a half later, the women rose to retire to the drawing room for tea. Amelia politely demurred an invitation to join them. Indeed, it had been a long day, and she yearned for the privacy of her bedchamber.

“Lady Amelia, might I have a word with you before you retire?” Lord Armstrong called out from behind her as she proceeded to exit the dining room.

Amelia stopped, her belly knotting as the women disappeared beyond the doors and into the hall. Reluctantly, she turned to find him advancing toward her, only stopping when he stood close—too close. His scent, wholly masculine and provoking, assailed her nostrils in a rush. She stood quietly while he made a sweep of her body with those green eyes of his, her heart lurching in traitorous and maddening response.

Unsettled by his nearness but loath