A Taste of Desire (35 page)

Dropping his head into the crook of her shoulder, he labored to catch his breath while holding her tight in his arms. He sought her lips in a slow open-mouthed kiss, and she returned it with equal amounts of need and want. His cock stirred inside her, and the tilt of her hips and arch of her back indicated she was more than willing and more than ready for him again.

The morning could have arrived amid a sun veiled in darkness, accompanied by frogs, locusts,
and
hail, and still Amelia would have welcomed it with a smile rivaling the light of the sun at its zenith in a cloudless sky.

Thomas.
Amelia sighed the sigh of the truly besotted. He’d reluctantly dragged himself from her bed, donned his clothes, and departed her chamber. Of course, before he’d finally left, they’d shared a deep, lengthy good-bye kiss meant to hold them until the next one. The kiss had naturally progressed to the fondling of buttocks, and the nuzzling and suckling of breasts. When it appeared he’d end up right back where he started—the fourth time for the night—sinfully naked and buried between her thighs, he summoned the strength and halted the heated embrace with a muffled curse and a groan.

“If I don’t leave now, I never will. And we can’t allow your maid or one of the servants to find me here.” With a short, hard kiss to her mouth, he’d quickly exited the room.

That had been four hours ago. Yet the anticipation of seeing him again had her wiping damp palms against her skirt just before she entered the breakfast room.

Thomas was there standing in front of the sideboard, in his hand a plate piled high with food. He stopped as soon as he spotted her and treated her to the kind of look that had everyone else in the room turning to watch her.

A wave of heat flooded her face and other places she dared not think of. Ever conscious of her audience, she was brief in her acknowledgement of him: a silent dip of her head. But even as she turned to greet the earl and the countess, she could easily recall the exact shade of green of his waistcoat and trousers, and was envious of the fit of his shirt and jacket over his muscled shoulders, chest, and abdomen. Never had a man stirred her blood so.

“And how did you enjoy your evening?” The earl’s question ended abruptly with a grunt of pain. “Why—”

Missy condemned her husband with a sharp look, interjecting smoothly, “Good morning, Amelia.” She spoke as if she just hadn’t poked him in the side with her elbow—this contact the apparent source of his pain. The countess’s reaction suggested she knew exactly how and
with whom
Amelia had enjoyed her evening.

“Good morning, Lord Windmere, Lady—I mean Missy,” Amelia corrected upon receiving a look of mock reproach from the countess.

The earl seemed to quickly collect himself, clearly seeing the error of his ways. “And you must address me as James or Rutherford if you prefer, as it is obvious we will become well acquainted.” He brought his cup of coffee to his lips, peering over the rim at Thomas, who in turn continued to watch her intently.

“I told you we are an informal lot,” Missy chimed in.

Amelia rounded the table to the sideboard, feeling all three pair of eyes boring into her. More than anything, she could feel the heat of Thomas’s stare.

When she’d finished serving herself and came to the table, Thomas bounded to his feet, took her plate, placed it at the setting beside his, and seated her himself. Her heart
leapt at the combination of his solicitousness and proximity. She inhaled his scent and wondered how she could ever have been adverse to it—adverse to him. It would be a miracle if she survived the day without pouncing upon him like some sexually deprived widow.

To hide her embarrassment, Amelia concentrated intently on her food, never daring to meet Thomas’s sidelong glances. If breathing was difficult, eating required Herculean efforts. Thomas had done this to her. Love had done this to her.

“Have you any plans for today, Amelia?” Again, Missy spoke to her as one would an intimate, very familiar and warm. To Amelia, even after such a short acquaintance, something in Missy’s manner felt right.

“I—”

“Yes, I plan to take Amelia into town. I thought she would enjoy Windsor’s shops, especially during the height of the season,” Thomas cut in.

Now she did look at him. He intended they spend the entire day together. Joy gripped her and refused to let go. She grew dizzy with it.

Thomas offered her a half smile. His gaze became hooded when it drifted to her mouth. Her breasts peaked and her skin tingled, her body responding as if it had been a physical touch.

“Yes, I would enjoy that tremendously.” She tried to sound not quite so much like an adoring simpleton.

James cleared his throat while Missy unsuccessfully attempted to hide a smile behind her serviette.

“I believe Catherine and Charlotte would enjoy a trip into town. Catherine in particular, for she adores the stores.” Missy directed her statement to her brother, a dark eyebrow arched. Amelia understood the look immediately. The countess didn’t trust him—them. While at her home they may enjoy their privacy; in public they would be circumspect, adhering to
some form of propriety even if it was the chaperone of two sixteen-year-old girls.

A momentary tightening of Thomas’s features indicated his chagrin, but he conceded with a curt nod. Obviously they would have to curtail any physical intimacies. Amelia couldn’t help a stab of disappointment, her body already impatient for his next caress, his next touch, his next scorching kiss. Today would indeed be a very long day, her mind already on the homecoming. Her only solace was that she’d be spending it in Thomas’s company.

An hour and a half later, Amelia, Thomas, and Catherine boarded the black-lacquered brougham. The weather was ideal for their trip. Snow, fluffy and light, lazily circled the air before settling on graveled roads and dormant foliage in a white blanket. Catherine fairly bounced onto the seat, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement. Peering out the window, she exclaimed, “The snow is so pretty.”

Thomas took the seat across from them, his gaze flitting to Catherine’s pink-cheeked face before returning a steady regard to her. Amelia had to look away. It was all too much. The wanting, the yearning, and not being able to have him at that very moment.

She needed a distraction. “Did your sister not want to come as well?” She thought all girls their age lived for things like shopping, baubles, and whatnot.

Catherine shoved her hands deeper into the muffs, yanking her gaze from a terrain of naked trees with snow-laden branches. Her mouth formed a pout. “She said she’d rather finish her book. But I know it’s because Alex is here. Everyone knows it. She does it every time.”

Thomas smiled dryly. “And you find this vexing?”

“I think it’s terribly silly is all. Alex will never pay her any mind. Anyway, he’s much too old for her.” With her brows
furrowed and her mouth set in a pink line, she resembled a displeased golden-haired Dresden doll.

Amelia could easily see how a young girl like Charlotte could fall for the raven-haired lord. He was dangerous enough to the women of London as the second son, Lord help them all if he had been born heir to the dukedom.

“Not that I am encouraging her, but I once thought the same about Missy and Rutherford. Now look at them. She set her sights on him when she was but ten years of age.” Thomas reposed back in the velvet-cushioned seat, his legs splayed negligently, amusement lighting his eyes.

Was that what explained their easy familiarity, the connection between the two a stranger could pick up within seconds of observing them together? A pang of envy shot through her. She couldn’t tear her gaze from Thomas, or he from her.

“I just think it’s silly,” Catherine mumbled, turning back to the window. “Oh!” she cried after a minute pause. “Notice how pretty the street looks.”

Amelia reluctantly directed her attention to the scene beyond the window. The carriage was rumbling down a paved road leading to the main street. Not far in the distance, storefronts lined the street, the lampposts gaily decorated with miniature wreaths and shiny red bows, making for the quintessential Christmas tableau.

They spent the next several hours traipsing through almost every shop on Peascod Street. Thomas was solicitous in his attendance, escorting her about like a suitor on his best behavior. That is, save a smoldering glance and the lingering touch here and there that had her already-heightened senses in constant flux. Catherine appeared quite oblivious to it all, chattering on and exclaiming over every pretty trinket and ribbon she saw.

Amelia rarely purchased—or had need to purchase—presents for Christmas. Her father was generous with the servants, ensuring they were amply rewarded in their Christmas boxes. One year, when she was fourteen, she’d
taken her allowance and bought a present for Mrs. Smith, their housekeeper, and Reese, their butler, because they had always been so kind to her. They’d both since retired. In respect to her, the marquess treated the day like any other. There were, of course, the token gifts for her bought by whichever governess was currently employed.

This would be the first Christmas since her mother’s death that she’d spend with a family. A real family. The thought warmed her insides, flooding her with a sense of joy. Today she would purchase gifts for everyone.

A quiet word to Thomas and he was quickly whisking Catherine off to the nearest pastry shop. She’d told him she needed privacy to select Catherine’s gift, which she did. But she also took that time to find something for him.

Amelia soon discovered finding something fitting for her lover was much more difficult than shopping for the others, as she desperately wanted him to like it. Then she spotted a miniature of a ship. Carved from a rich mahogany wood, it was intricately detailed and polished to a low shine. Given his involvement in manufacturing the real ones, this seemed exactly the sort of thing Thomas would like.

After she paid for her purchases, the accompanying footman took them to the carriage while she joined Thomas and Catherine next door.

They wandered the shops for another hour, sending the footman back several times to store their packages in the boot of the carriage. By this time, Amelia’s feet began to ache and she was tired and hungry.

As if sensing her growing discomfort and fatigue, Thomas cupped her elbow and asked, “Shall we return home?”

At his touch, the layers of wool and varying weights of cotton could not prevent the spark of desire that shot through her. It was as if she’d spent her entire life unaware, then suddenly to be catapulted head first into stark, teeth clenching awareness.

Amelia turned to Catherine, but mostly to collect herself. “Shall we?”

The young girl nodded. “I can’t wait to show Charlotte the hair ribbons I purchased.”

“Then we can be off.” She dared a glance up at Thomas. His eyes told her what he wanted; he wanted her. It was at that moment something inside her emerged. The reckless, abandoned side that understood the power of her charms. But not only understood it—reveled in it and wanted to flaunt it.

The trip home was silent, save for Catherine recounting their visit to every shop and detailing all the delightful things she saw but didn’t have the money to buy, which proved to be quite a list.

Amelia listened to her with one ear, speaking when a response was called for. The rest of her attention focused helplessly on Thomas, meeting his gaze with equal intent, equal desire. If his emerald-green eyes consumed, hers devoured. With Catherine duly occupied and apparently oblivious to what sizzled between her and Thomas, what was the point of hiding it or shying away from it? She’d experienced the power of his passion and returned it in spades. Whatever was happening between them, she never wanted it to stop. This journey was hers for the taking, and she fully intended to take it to wherever it would lead.

Thomas entered Amelia’s bedchamber that evening as if he did so every night. As if it were his right. The entire day he’d spent leashed, exhibiting the control of a saint. He was no damn saint, so that control was all but taxed out.

The fire blazing in the fireplace helped to ward off the cold. Amelia, who sat upright on the canopied bed wearing a pale pink nightdress, her nipples prominent against the silky fabric, made him hot. His cock, which had been in a state of semi-arousal the whole day, roared to life like a steam engine picking up speed.

No longer reticent, she fairly oozed this potent sexuality, her blue eyes half-mast, her desire laid bare for him to see. He couldn’t get to her quick enough.

“I never thought tonight would come.” If he sounded tortured, it was because he was and had been the entire day. He quickly dispensed with her nightdress to urgently cup her breasts in his hands, squeezing, kneading, and luxuriating in their softness and firmness. He slowly rimmed the nipples with his thumbs.

Amelia’s laugh came out sultry and low. “I want you naked.” She let out a moan before launching herself into the task of helping him remove his garments. While he hurriedly
worked on his shirt buttons, she tackled his trousers, her hands constantly brushing against his rampant erection.

Between urgent caresses and kisses so scorchingly hot he was amazed the mattress hadn’t caught afire, they managed to divest him of every single piece of clothing. Only then could he have her underneath him, whimpering and gasping in rapturous delight. Her delectable breasts, her splendid thighs, and the notch there that promised endless gut-wrenching ecstasy, drove him ever onward, reaching for the satisfaction only the summit could bring.

Amelia was lost to everything but the man between her thighs, her body ready, wet, and awaiting the feel of him, hard and hot inside of her. She clutched his sweat-dampened back with both hands, urging him closer. But he pulled back and levered himself up, while keeping his hands bracketing her hips. Strands of blond hair lay plastered against his forehead, his shoulders and chest heaving from passionate exertion.

Widening her thighs for the coming pleasure, Amelia blinked in surprise when his hands, which had been on her hips, moved to her bottom, kneading the giving flesh briefly before carefully flipping her onto her stomach.