Page 34 of An Earl's Christmas Seduction
“It’s all too much,” she had said to Nicholas, but to his credit, the earl had ignored it, and it seemed to Amelia as though the events of the morning had emboldened him to determine for himself where his affections were to lie.
He had kept a familial distance from Amelia, polite, but not overly intrusive, and she had done the same, even as her passions were aroused for something more. She imagined what they might do in the library, or in her bedroom, or even in his bedroom, too.
The thoughts had distracted her, and her mind was filled with possibilities for greater pleasures and delights. No one suspected anything, though her mother had made a comment as to her absence, even as Amelia had dismissed it.
“I’ve just been reading, mother. It’s a house party. I’m allowed to do as I please,” Amelia had replied, and her answer had been enough to satisfy her mother’s curiosity.
But behind the façade she had created, Amelia’s heart was burning with desire. She wanted to feel Nicholas’ arms around her, the taste of his lips against hers, the scent of his cologne. She wanted to be with him, for him to possess her, to do whatever he wanted with her. It was a most extraordinary feeling, for having now gained a taste for pleasure. She wanted more, insatiably.
“Shall we have another game?” Isobel said, and Edmund nodded.
“Yes, let’s. We’ll get some of the others to play, too. Constance, will you play?” he asked.
Amelia smiled. She knew Edmund was baiting Constance, who refused immediately. She was standing with Nicholas by the hearth, and she looked at Edmund angrily.
“You know I won’t. I don’t play parlor games,” she said, folding her arms haughtily.
“And what about our host? You’ll play, won’t you, Nicholas?” Edmund asked.
Amelia glanced at him, hoping he would say yes. He smiled and nodded, much to Constance’s annoyance, coming over to the table and sitting down next to Amelia. His leg brushed against hers, a shiver running through her at the memory of his touch.
Edmund called for more brandy to be brought, and the raisins were gathered up and tossed back into the bowl. Edgar and Hugh joined them, too, and Edmund used a taper to light the bowl, the party letting out an exclamation of delight as the blue flame sprang into the air.
“Quickly, don’t hold back,” Isobel cried, and the players scrambled to pluck the raisins from the burning liquid.
There were shrieks of delight as the raisins were tossed out of the flames. Amelia’s fingers were getting burned, but she diligently continued, scooping out the raisins with Nicholas at her side doing the same. But in the frenzy of the game, and with her fingertips singed by the flames, she felt another sensation at the press of the earl’s leg against hers.
He was sliding his leg up and down her skirts, firmly touching her, the feeling bringing forth fresh arousal. She pressed back against him, her foot against his, her breathing growing faster, even as she tried to concentrate on the game.
“Quickly, the flame’s dying down,” Edmund called out, and there was a scramble to flick out as many raisins as possible before the game came to an end.
But as the flames subsided, Nicholas’ leg was still pressed against Amelia’s, their intimacies hidden beneath the tablecloth. Looking up, Amelia could see Constance watching her from across the table, still standing by the mantelpiece, but there was no indication she had noticed anything of their impropriety hidden as it was beneath the table.
“Count them up, who’s won?” Isobel said, and there was much frantic tallying, before Edmund announced himself the victor once again.
“Sixteen, one better than before, and better than all of you,” he exclaimed, clapping his hands together in delight.
“No. Wait a moment, look, I’ve got eighteen,” Isobel said, and Clara applauded her.
“You’re the winner, Isobel. What about you, Amelia? And you, Nicholas?” she asked.
Amelia had only got eight, distracted by the feel of Nicholas’ leg against hers. She smiled, her heart still beating fast at the thought of what was happening beneath the table.
“Just eight, but it burns my fingers so you and Edmund must’ve put wax over the ends of yours,” she said, and Edmund looked at her indignantly.
“Are you saying we cheated?” he demanded, and Amelia laughed.
“No, not at all. I just don’t think I’m very good at this game,” she replied, glancing at Nicholas, who had also only managed to scoop eight raisins from the bowl.
“Well, that’s me out,” he said, pushing his chair back.
But his leg still lingered against Amelia’s, their feet entwined, and if anyone had lifted the tablecloth, they would have been scandalized by what they had seen.
“Shall we have another game?” Edmund asked, but the enthusiasm for snapdragon had waned, and there were calls for another song.
The viscount was only too happy to oblige, and soon the company was enjoying a rousing chorus of carols. It was the day before Christmas Eve, and despite their being snowed in and forced to inhabit one another’s company, it seemed the party was getting on well.
Apart from Constance, there was no animosity between them, and while Amelia still did not understand the mystery surrounding her mother and the talk of the secret child, she was content to enjoy herself. Shewasenjoying herself.
