Page 12 of The Lyon Whisperer (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #79)

C hase made it home much later than he’d intended when he sent Amelia ahead via the coach.

He had imagined arriving in time to wash and dress for dinner. Instead, it was nearly midnight when he crossed the threshold into a dark Warren House, silent save for the snoring butler in the entryway.

He peeled out of his greatcoat and eyed the man dozing on the wooden bench near the coatrack. On the journey home, he had weighed the possibility of finding Amelia awaiting him in the foyer, or at the base of the grand staircase.

As much as he knew the idea to be ridiculous, he could admit to a fleeting sense of disappointment upon discovering Mr. Oliver dozing on the wooden bench near the coatrack rather than his wife.

The older man came to with a start, heaving himself to his feet. He took Chase’s coat and waited as he stripped off his gloves. “Welcome home, milord.”

“You needn’t have waited up, Mr. Oliver. I’m quite capable of seeing myself up to my chamber.”

“No bother, sir. Shall I have a light meal prepared for you?”

“No. Take yourself off to bed.” He started toward the broad steps, then paused, hand on the newel post. “All is well with Lady Culver? Her short journey did not tire her overly?”

Mr. Oliver surprised him with a rare grin. “Indeed no, milord. Lady Culver spent much of the day exploring—the manse and the outdoors. Your lady enjoys her walks, it seems.”

Chase frowned at his butler. “Outdoors? Not alone, I hope?”

“No, sir. Her young lady’s maid accompanied her.”

“I see. Goodnight, then.”

He continued up the stairs.

He strode down the shadowed corridor, pausing outside his wife’s door in search of a tell-tale seam of light to indicate she might be awake. All was dark and quiet.

Feeling unreasonably sullen, he continued on to his bedchamber.

Once inside, he stoked the dying embers in the hearth, reigniting the fire. In minutes, warmth radiated from the grate, banishing the worst of the night chill.

He dropped onto the armchair facing the fire, removing his boots and stockings. A bone-deep weariness settled over him. No surprise there. He had slept a mere two hours that morning after Amelia departed—just enough time to take the edge off his fatigue.

As planned, he made his way to Dodd’s residence, where he’d questioned the man. He denied any involvement, of course, and insisted he had never seen the tallow-coated rags.

But Chase saw something in the man’s expression that said he lied.

Where had he got his hands on the fabric? And what had motivated him to act at all? Chase could not see him putting himself at risk for mere revenge. There had to be something in it for him.

The whole ride home he’d stewed over the pieces of this puzzle that did not fit. Oddly, he looked forward to sharing what he had learned—and what he hadn’t—with Amelia.

His sleep-deprived mind also returned again and again to the interlude between him and Amelia before the fire called him away.

He recalled in vivid detail her passionate response to him, her enraptured expression when he brought her to climax, the silken feel of her on his fingers, and musky scent of her sex.

He spent much of the two-hour ride home hard as rock, despite his fatigue.

He needed sleep, but his body hungered—for Amelia.

Soon. She’d come to him soon and put an end to this nonsense.

That would put a stop to his infernal obsessing over the woman. He was like a greenhorn lad with his first crush—not that he’d ever experienced anything like this constant craving, even as a youth. Not even when he’d courted Millicent.

With a frustrated growl, he rose to peel out of his garments then moved to the basin to scrub off the worst of the day’s grime. He’d prefer a hot soak in a steaming bath, but couldn’t see waking the staff for such a luxury. He was toweling off when a soft scratch sounded from his bedchamber. His head jerked in that direction. His bedchamber which adjoined Amelia’s. Had she knocked?

He snorted, and finished drying. Probably more wishful thinking. He slipped into his robe and padded from the antechamber to the grate in his bedchamber to reignite the flames in anticipation of climbing into bed.

A soft knock sounded on the adjoining door. This time there was no doubt. Blood pounding in his ears, he strode for the door and swung it open.

Amelia stood, wraithlike, on the other side.

Her bedchamber was pitch black, but the golden light from his grate reached her.

She had tucked the bulk of her hair into a small, white lace cap, and wore a demure white lawn robe, belted at the waist, which covered her from her neck to her toe.

The scent of her perfume, something floral and fresh, wafted into his chamber. His free hand clenched at his side. It was all he could do not to scoop his arm around her waist and carry her to the bed.

She sent him an impish smile. “I thought I heard you moving about.”

“Would you like to come in?” Chase gestured in a sweeping motion toward his bedchamber.

She hesitated, though she had been the one to knock. The space seemed so very masculine. So very Chase. Bold and intimidating, lush and inviting.

He’d parted his drapes in lieu of lighting a candle or oil lamp. Silvery moonlight combined with the golden glow of the grate to bathe the rich dark colors of the carpets and papered walls, and the massive four-poster bed with its ruby-brocade covering in a shimmering luminescence.

As for the man himself, dark hair slicked back from a recent dousing, wearing his thick silk robe—and likely nothing underneath—she could almost wish the chamber doused. The sight of him, so vital, the tantalizing glimpses of his tanned throat and upper chest, was playing havoc on her senses.

He arched a querulous brow, and she took the plunge, striding into the chamber like she did so every day.

Still. Nerves had her talking in a brisk manner that she feared belied her confidence. “I waited up as long as I could, hoping to talk with you. I finally fell asleep several hours ago, but something woke me.”

She turned when she reached the bed to face him.

“I apologize. I shall have to be more careful in future.” He’d closed the adjoining door and stood with his back to it like a gatekeeper barring exit.

In fairness to him, she had knocked.

He, on the other hand, had paused at her door without knocking while she hovered on the other side, heart racing, palms sweating. She told herself she’d leapt out of bed at the least little noise in hopes he’d returned and might share details of how his investigation proceeded.

It had nothing to do with the way her mind kept straying to the magical way he’d made her feel on that bed in the inn. Nothing whatsoever.

She moistened her lips. “You did not wake me. I…sometimes do not sleep soundly.”

He started toward her, his gait relaxed yet somehow reminiscent of the lion whose moniker he bore.

She swallowed. “You must be tired. I should have considered. You did not sleep a wink last night—”

“On the contrary, I feel surprisingly alert, and I wanted to speak with you.”

“Oh?” She chided herself for the hopeful note in her voice and cleared her throat.

He nodded and indicated the armchair near the grate. “Sit. I’ll fill you in on the day’s events. Would you care for a nightcap? I could do with one.”

She wrinkled her nose recalling the amber liquid which had burned its way down to her stomach. “Perhaps a small one.”

His teeth flashed white in a brief, dazzling smile. He disappeared into his antechamber and returned moments later with two snifters in hand, one with a mere splash of liquid in it which he handed to her. He edged onto the side of his mattress, long legs extended and crossed at the ankles.

It occurred to her that either one of them could have suggested they move into the antechamber where, likely, they could both avail themselves of an armchair.

She took a tiny sip of the heady liquor and remained silent.

“I visited Dodd at his residence. Through the closed door, he informed me he was ill and wasn’t receiving callers. I insisted he would see me. He complied.” He paused to sip his brandy.

She couldn’t be sure in the dim light, but she thought his eyes did a slow sweep over her. Gooseflesh sprouted over her limbs.

“Mayhap you should come sit beside me, Amelia,” he said in a low voice. “I’d hate our conversation to wake the rest of the household.”

She rose without a moment’s hesitation, and felt her cheeks heat. He might perceive her swift agreement as an overeagerness to be near him—on the bed.

“I would hate to wake anyone,” she said in a prim tone. She made for the corner post near the foot of the bed, inwardly congratulating herself on keeping a good bit of distance between them. “Well? What happened when you saw him? Did you notice anything that might indicate his guilt?”

“Yes and no. I said I was seeking any and all information related to the recent fires that might lead to the apprehension of the one responsible. He claimed no knowledge, of course. Then I showed him the cloths coated with oil.”

He rose, snifter in hand, and paced.

When he opened the door to his lair, she had chosen to ignore the fact he wore nothing but a silk robe. Now she could not not notice.

His well-shaped bare feet moved over the carpets making nary a sound. His muscular calves winked in and out of view. The lapels of the heavy silk parted a fraction with each step to reveal more of his upper chest and a fine dusting of dark hair.

“His demeanor changed. He still claimed no knowledge of how the fires began, but I saw something in his eyes. A flash of recognition—and fear. That’s when it came to me, what I should do next.”

“What was that?”

He reached the window, two fingers parting the drapes. Silvery moonlight bathed his face as he gazed outside. “Aside from assuring Dodd I would return should another accidental fire take place in Copsham Wood, I rode directly to the town seamstress’s shop. I felt sure I would find the bolts of fabric matching those with we’d found.”

“That was quite brilliant, Chase. Did you locate the matching fabric?”

With a shake of his head, he turned from the window and started toward her. “I did not. It turns out, your observation was correct. The fabric is very high-end. She had nothing so fine on premises.”

“ Mm .” She took another sip of brandy. Oddly, the burn did not feel nearly so strong as it had.

“I decided to ride for London immediately, and made for my solicitor’s office.”

She gasped. “Today? But you must be exhausted.”

“I am not tired in the least.” He halted before her, his free hand circling the post to half bracket her in. His clean, masculine scent, combined with the heat from his body, wafted over her, teasing her senses into fiery life. To avoid staring at the vee where his parted robe bared his chest, she tilted her head back and found herself captured by his unblinking stare, nearly black in the dimly lit chamber.

A dark dusting of stubble covered his square jaw, giving him a rakish look reminiscent of the pirate in the gothic romance she and her friends of the Ladies’ Literary Society had recently read.

It was all she could do not to reach up and trace her fingertips over his cheek.

He downed the remainder of his brandy and tossed the empty glass onto the armchair at the hearth without a glance in its direction. The glass landed with a soft thud.

“No, I’m not tired, madame though I do suffer an affliction—of sorts.” He reached down and removed her lacy cap.

Her hair tumbled from its loose bun, unfurling down her back.

A low growl sounded in his throat. One hand fitted to her waist, the other wove into the length of her hair, sifting it. “So soft,” he whispered.

She shivered, her eyelids growing heavy. “An affliction?” She struggled to maintain the thread of conversation.

“Maddening hunger. Thirst—for you.”

“For…me?”

He twisted the length of her hair around his hand to gently tug her head back, then brought his mouth to hover over hers. “ For you, ” he repeated, hoarsely. “I want you. But I swore to you I would not touch you unless you wanted me to. Unless you invited me to.”

His warm breath fanned over her lips, and she parted them. Anticipation for his mind-drugging kiss pulsed through her. She swayed toward him, eyes closing, yet his mouth did not claim hers.

A fine tremor started low in her belly. “Chase?” She did not know exactly what she asked, only that he had the answer she sought.

His lips nibbled one corner of her mouth, then the other.

As if they had a will of their own, her hands fisted in the lapels of his robe, tugging him toward her.

The man did not budge.

His lips feathered over hers.

She rose up in tiptoes, seeking his kiss.

He remained just out of reach.

“ Please, Chase .”

“You want me to make you feel good, like before?”

The rough sound of his voice curled into her, twisting her insides. Eyes pinched closed, she nodded, her breaths choppy.

“Shall I make love to you?”

“Yes. Yes ,” she said again, surprised at her own vehemence.

He loosened the tie of her robe, parting the folds, then grasped fistfuls of her night rail, bunching the material higher and higher. Cold night air whispered over her exposed thighs.

He reached between them, his fingers gently cruising over her curls.

She sucked in a breath as the area between her legs thrummed with need.

He parted her, one finger delving into her most secret place. Slowly. So slowly.

Intense pleasure shafted through her at the gentle exploration. She shuddered against his hand and, with a helpless cry, fell into his hard chest.

Uttering a low growl, he caught her in his arms. He grasped the bedcover and swiped it off in one move.

In the next moment, he lay her atop cool bedsheets, the night-chilled linen like a balm to her heated flesh as Chase’s mouth finally, finally claimed hers.

His hands roamed over her body, hot and insistent, alternately squeezing and caressing with a mounting urgency that heightened her own ’til her insides quivered with longing. Unlike yesterday, she knew what awaited her at his magical touch—a glorious release the likes of which she had never dreamt existed.

His mouth left hers to trail kisses over her cheek, down the column of her neck, along her collar bone, while his hands roamed. He grazed the flat of his palms over her ribs, her breasts.

“Sweetheart, you feel so good,” he murmured against her breastbone, his thick hair tickling her nose. He nuzzled her breasts, dampening the thin lawn gown with his kisses.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him to her, weaving her fingers into his hair as everything in her turned molten with desire.

When his lips circled one nipple, tugging it gently into his mouth through the linen, she arched upward like a perfect hoyden, urging him to take more. Nothing in her life had prepared her for the exquisite torment.

He lifted his head and blew on the damp fabric. Gooseflesh erupted over her skin.

She reached for him, as the need to feel his mouth on hers, to lose herself in his mind-drugging kisses as his weight pressed her into the mattress blotted out all else. “Chase, you make me feel such wonderful things.”

He tugged up the hem of her nightshift and gave a wicked-sounding chuckle. “Do I? Do you like this, sweetheart?” He touched her at her apex, and she whimpered, unable to give voice to the delicious sensations he elicited in her.

Gently, so gently, his fingers played over her. He brought his mouth to her ear. “So warm and wet,” he purred, his whiskers abrading her skin.

She was beyond speech. Her hips undulated at his touch. She dimly understood she should be mortified at her own brazenness, the moisture she could feel trickling from inside her surely glossing his hand. She could not bring herself to care, not with the glorious crescendo so close. So very close…

She gasped when he withdrew his fingers, straightening away from her. She grabbed at his wrist, lifting her gaze to his, inwardly pleading with him not to stop whatever it was he was doing to her.

His eyes, heavy lidded with promise, met hers. A slow, knowing smile curved his lips as he peeled out of the heavy robe he wore.

In the next moment, he speared her legs apart with his knee, then covered her body with his. The weight and heat of him, pressing her into the mattress felt so right, more right than anything she’d ever known.

He slid his hand between them, guiding his erection to her core. Anticipation roiled through her. But he did not enter her as she expected. He merely nudged her with his own slick member, teasing her with the promise of what was to come.

She sucked her lower lip between her teeth and whimpered.

Chase’s breath came in harsh gasps. “Part your legs for me, sweetheart. Let me touch you.”

She obeyed without hesitation, wanting what only he could give. A moment later, he pressed one deliciously cool finger into her channel, stretching her as his thumb found that cresting nub and circled it, gently, slowly, so slowly.

Her insides turned liquid, like hot, melted wax. Tremors vibrated through her. She arched up, pressing herself into his intoxicating touch and parting her legs in wanton invitation.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Open for me.” His words came out a harsh whisper that reached inside her, tightening her like a spring. “Come for me, darling. Let yourself go.”

In the next instant, pleasure exploded through her, powerful as lightning, bright as a morning sunrise. A low moan poured from deep inside her, and his mouth claimed hers, swallowing her cries.

She wrapped her arms around his muscular neck and held on for dear life.

When she was spent and utterly boneless, she collapsed onto the mattress.

Chase cupped her face between damp palms and took her mouth in a kiss both tender and claiming as he eased his manhood into her. An inch. Two. “God. So tight,” he said in a husky growl.

He was right. He was far too large, she realized. It would never work. Surely he should know.

He pressed in a little further.

Her eyes snapped open and her legs tried to squeeze shut as if of their own accord. “Chase?”

His face was a rigid mask, as if he carried a heavy load. “Yes?” he gritted out.

“I think this may not work.” She knew it would not.

He issued a harsh bark of laughter. “Trust me, it will work, and it will improve over time.”

She pressed her lips together, unconvinced, but disinclined to argue after the incredible intimacy they’d shared.

He pushed further into her.

She shifted, trying to accommodate herself to his size.

“No, don’t …” He sucked in a breath as his body shuddered convulsively atop hers and his hips surged forward, sheathing his pulsing erection inside her in one swift move.

She yelped in alarm—and pain.

He lay still, his body melded to hers, his face pressed into the mattress, his breaths coming in harsh rasps.

Amelia refrained from stating the obvious. She’d been quite correct. He was clearly far too large for her. “Are we finished now?”

He groaned and began to ease himself out of her.

Then, just as slowly, sank himself inside her again.

A tear squeezed out of her eye.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you.”

She nodded. It all made sense now. The whispers about a woman’s duty. No one had ever told her lovemaking hurt. To be fair, no one had told her the wonder of it, either. She patted his sweat dampened back and did her best to reassure him. “It’s all right.”

He grunted and continued his slow and steady rhythm, sinking into her, easing out.

Through the slits of her clenched eyelids, she could see how the effort cost him all over his tortured face.

Actually, it did not hurt anymore. It felt—not exactly good, but there was something nice about the friction of their joining. A sense of connection to Chase, unlike any she’d ever known, welled up within her, filling her heart to an almost unbearable degree. Needing to be closer, she twined her arms around his neck, her legs around his hips, and arched up to kiss him.

Another convulsion gripped him as he pistoned into her in one powerful thrust and his body went taut. A moment later, he collapsed atop her, breathing hard.

Warmth and contentment, affection and belonging swirled within her.

She was his wife now in every way.