So did the blow Smith landed next, straight to Thomas’s chest. It bit at his senses in an energizing way that had him punching back. Head lowered, he beat his way forward, demolishing every damn problem that clung to his brain; his sister’s unnecessary death, Jeremy’s questionable future, Lord Liverpool’s unwillingness to help and every temptation Lady Amelia offered.
His mind lingered on that last issue while he delivered another blow to Smith’s face and then yet another. Rage burned his eyes, but Thomas didn’t care. He just had to expel his baser instincts—the unforgiving urge he had to capture her lips with his own, to pull her into his arms and this mad desire he had to undress her. A fist slammed into his shoulder, sending him back, but not for long. If he could only stop picturing her naked. Perhaps then he would be able to go on with his life in a reasonable way. He staggered for a moment but regained his balance just in time to avoid getting punched in the face.
Shifting sideways, he stared at Smith. Both were panting now from exertion, and he saw when he raised his fists once more that they were raw and bloody. The pain didn’t bother him though, quite the contrary. He welcomed it in an almost perverse way, hoping it would bring some satisfaction—that it would erase the frustrated state he was in by replacing it with a different kind of ache.
It did no such thing, he realized later when he made his way back home. His body still responded to every thought he had of her. And there were many since they included the products of his own erotic imaginings. Even now, beaten as he was, he felt himself stir at the thought of just seeing her again, of how her mouth would curve with pleasure when he offered a compliment or how her eyes might blaze with anger if he displeased her. Both affected him equally. It no longer mattered what mood she was in or whether she was happy to see him or not. He just wanted her, plain and simple, and he didn’t know what the bloody hell he was going to do about that.
As it happened, there was one thing that would serve to dampen his ardor, though he did not realize this until he returned home and found a note waiting for him on the silver salver in the foyer. Unfolding it, he read the few lines and felt his heart lurch.
Holy hell!
He raced upstairs to his room while doing his best not to wake those who slept. Pulling out dry clothes from his dresser, he exchanged them for the wet and filthy ones he wore. He then grabbed a piece of paper and penned a hasty note to his mother, which he slipped beneath her bedroom door. Nerves tight and heart pounding, he headed back out. All in all, he’d spent no more than ten minutes at most inside his house before hurrying toward St. Giles. There, surrounded by a firefighting unit and with smoke billowing out of every available opening, stood the house Lady Amelia had bought, like an eerie lantern glowing in the dark.
He hadn’t seen it when he’d gone to the Black Swan earlier, nor when he’d returned. The quickest route for him had not required the use of Oxford Street. Now, he sorely wished it had done. Perhaps then he might have discovered this sooner.
“What happened?” he asked a heavyset man who was busy directing a hose from the fire engine while two other men worked the pump.
“Not sure. Perhaps someone tossed a cigar into the weeds, but it’s tough to say. I believe we should have it contained soon. We managed to catch it before it got too big inside—would have had to tear down the building then.”
“You don’t think that will be necessary now?” Thomas asked as he watched the smoke rise to the sky. “Looks pretty bad in there.”
“I suppose that depends on one’s perspective,” he said. “I’ve seen worse.”
Thomas didn’t doubt it, given the man’s profession, but it still didn’t change the fact that Lady Amelia would be devastated by this news. How the hell was he going to tell her? “I would like to help,” he said, not only because saving the building would be in his own best interest, considering the money he’d already spent on it, but because he needed to know he’d done something.
“You can help man the other fire engine over there,” the man said. “I believe one of those fellows could do with a break.”
Thanking him, Thomas hurried over to where the other men were pumping and offered to take one of their places. It was tough work, especially after the fight, but he found a rhythm soon enough and put all his strength into pushing as much water as possible through the hose. If the house was unsalvageable, they could try to find another—he could certainly afford the expense—except Lady Amelia had been so set on this one he suspected no other place would do in her mind. So there was really nothing for it. They would simply have to muddle through as best as they could and make the most of whatever remained in the morning.
Chapter 13
Amelia was halfway through her breakfast when Pierson came to announce that the Duke of Coventry had come to call.
“That is rather early,” Lady Everly said. She returned her teacup to its saucer. “We are not expecting him to arrive for another three hours.”
“He is asking for a private word with Lady Amelia.” Pierson’s expression conveyed no hint of his opinion on such an unusual occurrence. “Shall I show him to the parlor?”
“Please do.” Lady Everly pushed herself out of her chair as soon as Pierson had exited the room. She looked at Amelia. “Stay here until I return.”
Nodding, Amelia watched her leave the room.
“What do you suppose all of this is about?” Juliette asked.
Amelia met her inquisitive gaze. “I’ve no idea.”
“But you do know why Lady Everly has gone to speak with him first.”
The way in which her sister said it suggested that Amelia should have some idea, except she didn’t. “Not the faintest.”
Juliette rolled her eyes. “Think about, Amelia. He arrives unexpectedly and asks to meet with you in private? Lady Everly obviously went to inquire about his intentions.”
“Which would be what, exactly?” A distinct tone of annoyance had slipped into her voice because she now sensed where this conversation was going. “He hasn’t come to propose, if that is what you are thinking.”
“He might have,” Juliette said with a hopeful smile.
Pushing her plate aside, Amelia leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms with a huff. “No, he might not. And please stop insisting that he feels enough for me to ever do so.”
“I think you’re wrong about that.”
