the library.
By the time he slumped onto the sofa in the sitting area, he’d escaped the prison of his cravat and loosened the top three buttons of his linen shirt. In his wake lay the dress protocol of society, draped over one Utrecht plush armchair and discarded on an oversized ottoman.
With his forearms propped on his thighs, he shot a disgruntled glance at the desk at the far end of the room. A reform bill, a stash of receipts from Tattersall’s and various documents from Wendel’s Shipping awaited his attention. But the plague that was Amelia Bertram, made it all but impossible for him to concentrate on his eminently more important tasks.
He pushed to his feet in a move that marked his impatience. From one wall of book-laden shelves to the other, he prowled the length of the room, finally permitting himself to go back there … to his introduction to the current source of his discontent. And the memory came rushing back with the kind of clarity that came with a day passing … not an entire year.
Thomas had immediately known who she was as she crossed the threshold of the ballroom at her father’s side. Harry Bertram had indicated that his daughter, Amelia, would be accompanying him to Lady Coverly’s Season-ending ball.
She had looked stunning in a glittering gold gown, her tall, slender length fashioning it better than any woman present could. She had worn her dark mane upswept, silken tendrils wisping the sides of her face. From that distance, however, he hadn’t been able to discern the color of her eyes, just finely arched brows and a slender nose set in an oval face.
Harry met his gaze over the throng of partygoers and then immediately started in his direction. Thomas took in her graceful walk with nothing short of frank male appreciation.
“Thomas,” Harry said moments later once he reached his side. With his face wreathed in a smile, the marquess proffered his right hand.
“Nice to see you in attendance, Harry.” Thomas clasped his outstretched hand and gave it two firm pumps. He then introduced him to his sister, Missy, who had joined him only minutes before.
After making his acquaintance with Missy, Harry said, “And this is my daughter, Amelia.” He urged her forward with a nudge to her elbow.
Missy performed a graceful curtsey. Thomas bowed, smiled broadly, and said, “Your father speaks most highly of you, Lady Amelia. I’m delighted to finally make your acquaintance.”
Lady Amelia treated his sister to a polite smile and then turned to look askance at her father. Harry flushed a crimson red. Like a queen addressing one of her lowly subjects, she turned her attention to Thomas. “Is that so? And I’ve heard you are considered, at best, a rake about town, and at worst, a debaucher of women and maiden sensibilities. I certainly hope you are not going to ply your trade here this evening.”
Thomas heard a sharply indrawn breath and a muffled giggle. He could only stare at the dark-haired beauty utterly stupefied while his brain ordered him to continue the life sustaining process of breathing.
The young debutante stared back at him, her manner supercilious, her visage placid and cold. However, he noted her eyes, the richest royal of all the blues, were replete with satisfaction. That she had enjoyed delivering him that particular set-down was evident.
“Amelia, you will apologize to Lord Armstrong at once.” Harry Bertram gave the order in the severest of tones.
She met Thomas’s gaze directly. “I do apologize, my lord, that you felt the need to lie to me. My father could never bring himself to speak highly of me, but perhaps that is something you were not aware of, making the lie you just told me quite innocuous. I, however, did not lie, and for that, I do apologize. As I have found, there are certain truths that should never be voiced in polite society.”
Missy gave a high-pitched squeak, and Harry made an audible sound in his throat. Thomas dared not move a muscle, for he feared, if he opened his mouth, he would surely annihilate the imperious harridan standing before him. That, or give her the sound thrashing she deserved.
“Father, I believe I have apologized. Are there any other gentlemen you wish to introduce me to?” Lady Amelia asked, her expression deadpan, her tone unruffled.
Harry sent a beseeching look heavenward as if he prayed for deliverance from his own child. Red-faced, he muttered an apology before ushering his daughter off.
As well as making him