A Taste of Desire Page 0,87
all along.
“Amelia—”
Amelia dropped his wrist as if she held a vile object in her hand. Blindly, she turned, now acutely aware of her nakedness. Her eyes searched the floor frantically until she spotted her discarded clothes. She quickly donned her dress in several jerky motions. She had no time to waste on petticoats and flimsy undergarments when her sanity depended on removing herself from his chamber as expeditiously as possible.
Before she could move out of arm’s reach, Thomas’s hand shot out and caught her by the upper arm. Amelia halted but kept her head angled from him. She’d learned it was useless to fight against his strength.
“Amelia, listen to me. I was—”
“Save your excuses, my lord.” Her civil tone masked her growing hysteria. All she wanted to do was throw something, rage and scream at him.
His hold on her arm tightened. Amelia turned to regard him directly for the first time since she’d discovered the depth of his deceit. He didn’t look guilty. He looked like a frustrated, angry man whose coming defense of his actions would ring as absurd as he appeared indignant. He wore the expression her father had worn when she’d discovered, weeks after her attempted elopement with Joseph Cromwell, that he had been confiscating his letters.
“I gather you did this under my father’s directive?”
Thomas didn’t immediately respond, and that in itself was response enough for her. She tugged her arm free. He relinquished his hold and then snatched up the piece of toweling that had fallen on the floor and secured it about his waist.
Amelia turned away not only because she couldn’t bear the sight of him, but because he stood there arrogantly unselfconscious. “He’ll be proud to know you intend to follow in his footsteps in every way.”
“Can you honestly say you would be happy with Clayborough?” He snorted in disbelief. “Would you have given your virginity to me if you truly loved the man? Right now you should be thanking me for preventing you from making the biggest mistake of your life.”
Amelia whipped around to glare at him. “You pompous bastard! I’ve just made the biggest mistake of my life, and far from preventing me, you spurred me on and had a grand time while you were doing it.”
“I wasn’t the only one,” he said darkly.
Too angry to be embarrassed, her response was fierce. “As long as this remains between just the two of us, we are safe. More than anything, I want to forget this ever happened. We’ll not speak a word of this again, agreed?”
For many moments, Thomas stared at her without answering, his expression unreadable. He ended the silence with a slow nod. “Yes, I suppose that would be for the best. No one wants to be reminded of their mistakes.”
His words clobbered her, effectively releasing her from the invisible hold he had on her. Amelia hastened from the room, allowing herself the luxury of a ragged breath only once she was secured within the thick walls of her bedchamber.
Chapter 22
When Hélène awakened her at the dreadful hour of seven, Amelia contemplated remaining in bed. Thomas could hardly fault her given her recent illness, but he would know her absence had everything to do with last night … the debauching of an innocent. For that reason alone, she forced herself to rise.
Except for a cup of tea, she hadn’t touched the contents of her breakfast tray. And now as she sat alone at her secretaire, the rumble of her belly proclaimed the morning was destined to be a long one. But, it would have been regardless of the state of her appetite, for neither time nor sleep had blotted the memory of the time she’d spent in Thomas’s bed … in his arms. When sleep had finally claimed her, his kisses, his touch, the feel of him inside her had chased through her dreams to her waking moments and dogged her still.
In an effort to block the torrid images of his aroused, naked body from her thoughts, she tried to focus instead on his duplicity. Although she’d mentally severed ties with Lord Clayborough weeks ago when she’d realized he was not the man for her, that did not excuse Thomas’s deceitful machinations. She needed to remain angry. Anger didn’t make her feel weak inside or cause her to yearn in ways she’d never dreamed of.
Amelia was firmly resolved to forget the incident. She’d allowed a handsome face, a few passionate embraces, and a token gesture of concern to cause a ruinous