her knees? As heinous a man as he was, that seemed several levels beneath his character.
“Oh, I don’t just expect it—I shall relish it.” He tossed the rag in the water and started toward her, his movements lithe and controlled.
Amelia stood her ground, commanding her legs not to move. When he drew within several feet, she balked and stammered, “If you dare lay one finger on me, I shall create so much noise, everyone will think someone is being murdered.”
The viscount came to a smooth stop in front of her, his expression implacable. As if to test the sincerity of her threat, he stroked the curve of her cheek with his finger in a feathery caress. Amelia’s stomach plummeted the same way it had done when she had once lost her seat on her mount. She vividly recalled the terrifying feeling of hurtling forward to meet the hard earth. At least when she had hit the ground unharmed but shaken, the sensation had stopped. In this case, there appeared to be no end to her fall.
Wide-eyed, she regarded him, unable to move, incapable of protest.
He lowered his head until she could feel his breath, lemon-scented and warm, on her forehead. “This is my finger,” he whispered. “Maybe I’ve gone deaf, but I can’t seem to hear your screams.”
It took a moment for his words to register, her thinking having been momentarily suspended by the lull of his dark, silken tones. Amelia took a hasty, if somewhat jerky step backward, breaking the heated contact as she endeavored to collect herself.
Really, this whole situation was laughable—or perhaps one day she’d look back upon it and feel so.
“That’s because you are not listening closely enough.” Certainly one absurd statement deserved an equally absurd response.
Lord Armstrong answered her with one undaunted forward movement. When Amelia attempted another step backward, she encountered the hard edge of her desk.
He was going to kiss her, his intent clear in his eyes. A silent yearning had taken root within her, setting her blood pulsing wildly and starting a dull throb at the apex of her thighs. She watched, transfixed, as his mouth drew closer. Not only was he about to kiss her, she was going to permit him the liberty … again.
Then, in a flash, he was gone, his movements a blur. By the time she regained a portion of her bewildered senses, he was beside his desk looking the picture of equanimity.
Then she heard it again. The knock. The sound she’d thought was the frantic beating of her heart had been someone knocking on the door. Her face went up in flames. She sat down with an abruptness that knocked the next breath from her, laid her hands flat on the desk and willed them to stop their god-awful trembling.
Lord Armstrong issued the terse command to enter and made a show of sopping the coffee from his trousers with a clean handkerchief.
The door flew open. Sarah entered with her smile and sunny disposition. If Amelia had been inclined to grand shows of physical affection, she might have hugged her.
“Good morning, Thomas, I wondered if—” Sarah halted. Espying her brother, her eyes grew round and her mouth formed a perfect o. Then she giggled, a girlish sound that reminded Amelia of innocent mischief making. “What happened to your trousers?”
The viscount shot her a dark look and ceased his ineffectual wiping. “I’m glad I’m able to amuse you this morning. What do you want, brat?”
How different the word sounded when used in reference to his sister, exasperated but warmly affectionate. Certainly not the tone he’d used with her.
“I—well, I came to find out if I could assist Amelia again today.”
Amelia nearly groaned aloud. The innocence of youth also had its drawbacks. How she wished the girl knew when to keep her mouth shut. She half expected a bolt of lightning to zigzag down from the sky and impale her right where she sat. That was just the sort of day she was bound to have.
“What do you mean ‘again’?” the viscount asked in a deceptively soft voice. Though he addressed his sister, he affixed his regard on her.
Amelia swallowed hard.
Sarah’s gaze bounced between them several times before responding. “Um—I helped Amelia with some …” Her voice trailed off as a storm gathered in the viscount’s eyes.
“Did I do something wrong?” Sarah asked, after a moment of charged silence.
“No, you did nothing wrong. If anyone—” Amelia began.
“Amelia will not require your assistance any longer,” the viscount cut in smoothly.
Sarah shot