Read Online A Taste of Desire by Beverley Kendall - Free Book Online

would dare cross her father. He’d done so—albeit without success—but the attempt certainly spoke of a strength of character. Certainly more character than the likes of Lord Armstrong, no matter how society appeared to esteem the man.
    So at half past ten the following morning, Amelia, accompanied by Hélène and Charles, the first footman, awaited Lord Clayborough’s arrival on the southwest side of Hyde Park.
    His reply to her note requesting they meet, which she’dreceived an hour later, suggested the location of the park by the large elm situated between Rotten Row and the river. Well, she had been waiting at the tree thirty minutes gone with nary a sighting of him or his landau.
    Using her hand to shade her eyes from the glare of the August sun, Amelia scanned the vicinity again. She certainly could not have missed his tall, lanky frame. By this time of the year, the enormous crowds, which normally converged on the hundreds of acres of lush greenery and stately trees, had retreated to their homes in the country. At present, only a smattering of ladies and gentlemen were taking their constitutional on Hyde Park’s well-kept foot paths. The baron unfortunately not being one of them.
    Another glance down at the timepiece clutched in her hand told her it was only half a minute later than when last she’d checked. Snapping it closed, her mouth stretched into a grimmer line.
    “Come along, Hélène,” she said, motioning the woman back into the carriage with a gloved hand. She refused to wait a minute more in this heat. Just as they started toward the door of the brougham, the canter of horses alerted her to an approaching vehicle. Amelia turned to spot Lord Clayborough’s blue and gray carriage cresting the hill up ahead.
    The landau had barely come to a stop behind hers before the baron leapt out. Her very own knight, his armor pumice and brown wool instead of tempered iron plate and his equipage in dire need of paint and new springs. Well, better a poor knight than a wealthy, dissolute rake.
    He reached her side within seconds, covering the distance separating them with loping strides. Amelia attributed his choppy breaths and flushed visage to anxiety rather than exertion. It wasn’t as if he’d had to make the journey from his residence on foot.
    “Good morning, Lady Amelia. Please excuse my tardiness, but a horse lost his shoe in the middle of Piccadilly. Caused quite a bit of confusion. I pray you haven’t beenwaiting long?” His mouth curved up at the corners, softening the sharp contours of his face, making him appear younger than his twenty-nine years.
    At his chagrined smile, Amelia put aside her pique. He could hardly control the vagaries of London traffic. “Good day, Lord Clayborough. That is quite all right,” she said graciously. “Come, let us walk toward the bridge.” Turning to address Charles, who was acting as her groom for the morning, she said, “We shall return shortly.”
    From the driver’s seat, the ever-loyal Charles bobbed his head in acknowledgement. Having befriended the fair-haired, ruddy-faced young man when he was just a boy working in the stables, Amelia had received his eternal gratitude when she’d rallied her father on his behalf. Charles had promptly ascended to the rank of a footman. Her father’s paltry effort to appease her after her birthday had come and gone without him offering even a token acknowledgement of the special day.
    With Hélène trailing behind just out of earshot, Amelia and Lord Clayborough started down the walking path leading to the river.
    They walked in silence for several seconds before she peered up at him from beneath the shallow brim of her bonnet. “My father is sending me to Devon.” She made the announcement abrupt and dramatic in an effort to jolt him from his seemingly perpetual state of bonhomie.
    His brows shot up as his brown eyes grew round with surprise. “To Devon? Pray tell, what business have you there?”
    Well, it was