Page 24 of Pretending to Love a Lyon (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

A melia returned to the ballroom. Their waltz was underway, but she and Graham would not be on the floor. In fact, she would never get so close to him again. Even the carriage would test her limits.

In that alcove, she’d wanted everything. She’d wanted him to touch her bare skin, and she’d wanted to touch him in return. He’d stood there, his manhood stretching his trousers, and he’d let her see it. She’d felt it between her legs, even through layers of fabric, how hard and aroused he was for her. Her body ached now, empty, and her thighs were slick at the apex.

She was still overheated, her skin agitated by her clothing which now felt too tight. And now she had to stand here in discomfort because his honor had reared its cowardly head. Was it the right thing to do? To stop them from making such a mistake? The logical answer was yes, but her body revolted. It wanted all the things his body had promised. Her anger only grew the longer she stood there, ignoring the interested glances of people who wanted to speak with her.

She had to get out of here. Preferably without seeing Graham again. She pivoted and returned to the front hall and asked for her cloak and carriage. The footman held the door for her as she climbed inside, and she shrouded herself in shadows as the door clicked shut. Lost in her thoughts, ruminating on the emotions Graham had spurred inside her, she reached home all too swiftly. But before the door could open, the tiger and coachman were speaking with someone.

Amelia opened the door, expecting to see Graham miraculously there to hand her out, furious she’d left without him, but blue eyes caught hers.

Mr. Tristan Chase.

She steeled herself, not wanting to show her weakness, not wanting to reveal how scared she was to speak with him again, even in the presence of two men she trusted to protect her if necessary. He strolled forward and offered her his hand. She rejected it and stepped out by herself.

Smirking at the slight, he tipped his hat toward her.

“Good evening, Lady Amelia. I expected to wait much longer.”

Amelia folded her arms. “Why are you waiting for me at all?”

The door opened, and the butler and a footman waited for her to enter, watching Mr. Chase warily. She’d never been more appreciative of her household and their loyalty. She nodded at them.

“I have more questions about your brother.”

“He isn’t here to answer them, and the hour is late. Call again in daylight at a more appropriate hour, Mr. Chase.” She moved past him. She really didn’t think he’d do her bodily harm, but she didn’t want to linger and tempt fate.

“I’m a busy man, I’m afraid. Now will have to do, if you can spare me but a moment.”

He hadn’t moved, but something in his face—or was it his stance?—told Amelia he would not be put off by a couple footmen. Her mind whirred, and she turned and instructed her coachman, “Please take the carriage back for Mr. Blakewood.”

He nodded, and she could see understanding in his eyes. She wanted Graham here as soon as possible. The tiger leaped to the back, and the coachman cracked the whip, taking off with a jolt.

Mr. Chase watched and turned back to her. “I’ll wait for him, your fiancé, if you’d like. But I will speak with you both tonight.”

Amelia stood at the top of the steps with the safety of the light of the front hall and the two men at her back and made one more attempt at subterfuge.

“He won’t be returning here. The hour is too late for company.”

Mr. Chase smirked. “Lying is not becoming, my lady.” He peered around the empty street. “I know he stays here with you.”

Amelia stiffened. “What is it you’re after?”

“The truth.”

Amelia’s heart pounded. He was suspicious, but he couldn’t know anything, not really. If he did, he seemed like the kind of forthright man who would call her on her bluff immediately. Maybe it would be better to let this play out. “You may come inside and warm up in the drawing room.”

The butler stiffened. “My lady?”

“We’ll let him ask his fruitless questions, and then he’ll be on his way. I’d rather not have to see him tomorrow.”

Mr. Chase casually climbed the steps as Amelia turned and went inside and directed that tea be prepared. The butler led Mr. Chase to the drawing room while Amelia went upstairs to change out of her rapidly disintegrating dancing slippers and put away her reticule. She would not look into her brother’s room. Somehow she feared Mr. Chase would know. Graham would be here soon, she reminded herself.

After changing slippers and removing some of the more painful pins from her hair, Amelia entered the drawing room. Mr. Chase was seated comfortably next to the tea tray.

“Mr. Blakewood should be here soon,” she reminded him.

“You have a lovely home,” Mr. Chase replied. He spoke with confidence, as if he’d already inspected all of it.

“Thank you, would you like tea?” She poured him a cup and then herself, and they sat in silence studying each other. A footman stood beside the open door, and Amelia knew two more had been roused and stationed in the hall.

“Do you enjoy your work?” Amelia asked.

“It has its moments of excitement. Mostly, I just troll the gambling floor and listen for snippets of useful gossip.”

“Is gossip ever useful?”

“It is to my employer, the Widow.”

“Ah, yes. I hear she is always veiled. Is that true?” Her interest in the mysterious widow was enough of a distraction to calm her nerves. This could be her chance to learn more about the Widow of Whitehall.

“She is, but it only reaches her chin. She isn’t shrouded like a ghost.”

“And she is, in fact, a widow?”

He nodded as he took a sip. “Have you not yet visited the Den? I do think you’d like it.”

“And why is that?”

“You seem like a young woman with an interest in things that are not the typical pursuits of fine ladies. I’ve heard you’re excellent at cards, for instance.”

“I’m not certain whether I should be insulted or not.”

“Don’t be. I think you’d enjoy the chaotic energy of the Den. Many women of your station attend. There is a ladies-only entrance and there are ladies-only tables. Quite safe. But I know your esteemed betrothed would certainly wish to accompany you, as well.”

“Do you gamble, Mr. Chase?”

His face hardened. “No.”

“You dislike gambling.”

He didn’t appear pleased that she’d read him clearly. As if he too had things to hide.

“I’ve watched gambling ruin too many. Why would I give in to such a vice?”

Amelia raised a brow. “Why work at a gambling hall if you find the pursuit so disagreeable?”

“Why indeed. I have my reasons for the things I do that are not important to you.”

She cocked her head. He definitely didn’t want her to know anything personal about him, which made him even more interesting than he had been previously.

The door opened in a flurry of energy as Graham came straight to the drawing room.

“What the devil are you doing here at his hour?” he barked at Mr. Chase. To Amelia he said, “Why would you let him enter the house?”

“I didn’t want him on the front steps talking about you living here for the moment.”

Graham pressed his lips together, and the look he sent Mr. Chase both excited and scared Amelia. She’d seen him spitting mad but never angry enough to commit violence. That might soon change.

Mr. Chase sipped his tea. “You don’t want anything I have to say to be spoken out loud, I suspect.”

Graham pinned him with a glare before he slapped his top hat against his thigh and sat in the chair beside Amelia’s. Her skin pricked in awareness of him, and she was reminded of earlier, when he’d made her into liquid heat and then left her cold and empty. She clenched her teeth and turned her attention to Mr. Chase. She was almost glad he was there to distract them.