Page 14 of The Lyon Whisperer (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #79)

C hase had chosen the wrong moment to sip his wine.

At hearing his wife’s blithe announcement she somehow knew about the bet between his uncle and her father, he inhaled sharply—and drew the liquid down the wrong pipe.

He lurched forward, coughing, and somehow managed not to snort wine out his nose. Not much, at any rate. Bloody hell .

Amelia reacted at once, rapping him vigorously between his shoulder blades. “My lord, Chase, are you quite all right?”

He raised a hand, staying her attempts to pound the breath back into him. He choked out a hoarse, “Fine.”

He withdrew a handkerchief from his waistcoat, mopping his face and buying time to think.

His wife perched on the sofa beside him, studying him. Clear concern—for him—puckered her fine brows. She seemed remarkably unperturbed, otherwise. He’d have staked his life that would not be the case should she learn what precipitated their engagement.

He replayed her exact words in his head. I think I know why you married me.

I think, not I know.

He sent her a bland smile. “I’m afraid I do not understand. Why I married you…Can you elaborate?”

She licked her lips. “Yes. Yes, I think that would be best.” She folded her elegant hands in her lap and gave him a frank stare. “This morning, when you shared your heart’s desire with me…”

Heart’s desire? He’d hardly call his aim to help the country’s veterans that.

“I was deeply moved. I find…” She broke off. A fine pink stain rose up her cheeks.

In the span of their short acquaintance, he had rarely seen her discomfited. His interest sharpened.

She lowered her gaze to study her fingernails. “I find I quite admire you, sir. I wanted to do something to express my esteem—and perhaps set your mind at ease concerning my hostess skills.”

He’d been so caught up studying her, it took a moment for her words to penetrate. “Your—I beg your pardon?”

“The night we spoke prior to you and father signing the nuptial contract—”

“When you snuck out of your father’s home in Marlborough to pay me a midnight call, you mean?” he inquired in an arch tone.

She lifted her chin. “Yes, that evening. You seemed rather concerned about my actions embarrassing you, in point of fact.”

He sent her a warning scowl, displeased by her attempt to twist his words. “I am not worried you might embarrass me. I am concerned with you observing the proprieties as befits your station as my wife.”

Her violet eyes flashed with irritation. “I do hope I have managed the business well enough, to date?”

He tried to hold onto his affront to no avail, barely managing to bite back a smile. “So far, so good.”

A quiver of amusement played at her lush mouth.

He studied her rosy lips. God, but he wanted to kiss her just now. All day, he’d nursed a feeling of having been sent off like an urchin at the kitchen doors, only to come home and hear that she quite admired him.

He wished to God he hadn’t said a damned word about this morning. Why had he?

The truth came to him in a flash of insight. Because, contrary to the notion bedding his wife would lessen his fixation upon her, having her once had only whetted his appetite for more.

He didn’t want to want her. Didn’t want to wind up wrapped around her little pinkie and ordered about like so much chattel. That , he would not allow.

He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “We seem to have strayed from the point.”

She flashed him an imp’s grin. “Where was I?”

“You were about to tell me what it is you had planned to do to express your esteem.”

She nodded, her expression once more serene, though she swallowed audibly.

Reading his wife was exceedingly difficult, but he was making progress.

“I decided to plan a dinner party.”

“I…see?” He finished on a questioning note, thoroughly bemused.

“I started by compiling a list of noblemen who I believe could aid your cause.” A self-conscious laugh escaped her. “I had to hide the thing when you visited my chambers this morning before leaving.”

“ Ah ,” he murmured. So that was what she hadn’t wanted him to see . A strange feeling of warmth suffused his chest—along with a sense of how foolish and baseless his suspicions had been.

He glanced at the open door of the parlor and rose.

“Where are you going, sir?”

“Nowhere. I’m assuring our privacy.” He closed the parlor doors and made his way back to her. He sat much closer to her than before.

If she noticed, she did not let on.

He angled his body towards hers and propped his weight on one forearm, resting on the back cushion. She smelled like freshly cut flowers. “Go on.”

Her pink-tipped tongue darted out to dampen the corner of her mouth. “I wanted to plan everything and then surprise you—after working out all the details.” She met his eyes with a frank stare. “I visited Cook and Mr. Oliver, each separately. I wanted them to procure certain foods, delicacies, wine, and spirits.”

He said nothing. His first inkling of where she was heading with this conversation dawned.

“My lord, may I ask…that is…are we penniless?”

His eyes narrowed. “No.” Not yet.

She did not appear convinced. “Are you quite certain? Both Cook and Mr. Oliver balked quite strongly over the notion of ordering the items on my list. It occurred to me to wonder if”—she lifted her chin—“that is why you asked to marry me.”

Profound relief poured through him. She had not learned of the bet his uncle had lost, landing her with him.

“Amelia, are you asking if I married you for your dowry?”

She lowered her gaze to her hands, now clenched in her lap. “It would explain much.”

“Such as?”

“Such as why the house is short staffed. Why the stables are not stocked despite their grandeur. And…” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Why we married in a fortnight.”

Without making a conscious decision to do so, he grazed his fingertips over her cheek. Her skin felt cool and smooth as satin.

“I think I mentioned my uncle’s predilection for mismanaging his affairs?”

She nodded.

“When I returned from the peninsula, I discovered he’d also lost a fortune at the tables and races. Meanwhile, neither he nor my aunt had curtailed their spending.”

She gazed at him, her violet eyes glowing with an awe his actions did not merit. “So you took over managing their estates to save them—and their tenants—from financial ruin,” she summarized.

“Yes, if he agreed to…” stop his excessive spending and gambling. He ran a finger under his cravat. Any reference to his uncle’s gambling losses was too closely linked to their engagement.

He amended his words. “To be put on a budget. Further investigations showed me the lands were in desperate need of updated infrastructure. I had to get creative with the resources to fund the necessary repairs and upgrades.

“It turns out the barony to which I acceded, courtesy of the Crown, is in much the same state. Mismanaged, funds drained, in need of repairs.” In truth, it was less of a reward than a burden. But, as the job now fell to him, he was determined to bring it to good.

She angled her torso toward him, leaning with cat-like grace into the cushions. She folded her arms over the sofa back and rested her cheek on her hands as she listened to him with an intent expression. “If anyone can bring the estates back from the brink, it’s you.”

He smiled briefly, charmed and a little embarrassed by her faith in him. “Both estates will be profitable again. To that end, I recently procured a lucrative contract with Liverpool boat builders for a large shipment of lumber. The proceeds would have done much to bring both estates into the black. Unfortunately, that entire shipment recently burned.”

She sat up, her eyes wide as saucers. “Dear Heaven. Will we meet the demands of the contract in time?”

We. Rather than expressing repulsion, or even contempt, over the state of affairs she’d married into, Amelia had joined forces with him in less time than it took to blink.

“We will certainly try. In the meantime, I congratulate you on your powers of deduction, madam. As you discerned, the bulk of the viscountcy’s and barony’s liquid funds are allocated to repairs. You could say we are cash poor.”

She nodded, though her brows puckered with concern. “The estates must be very badly off, indeed, if my dowry did not suffice to bring them up to scratch.”

“As to that…” He blew air out his cheeks. “It’s quite complicated. The contract stipulates…”

She gazed at him expectantly.

“The funds be allocated over time.”

“That seems odd. I had the impression the money exchanged hands almost immediately.”

Chase said nothing.

She frowned. “I will postpone my dinner party.”

“I think we can afford to host a dinner,” he said dryly. “I shall instruct Cook and Mr. Oliver to carry out your instructions.”

She eyed him doubtfully. “If you’re sure.”

“Quite sure.”

Her expression turned considering, then resolute. “So now I know. You did marry me for my dowry.” She nodded as if to herself.

He could simply leave it. No harm for her to believe her misapprehension. Instead he heard himself say, “Yes and no. Marriage amongst the ton is always, in essence, a business transaction involving some sort of asset exchange—money, rank, power.”

“What a perfectly horrid way of looking at the institution of marriage. Its most important exchange is that of sacred vows.” She lifted her chin.

“Certainly, you are not so naive you imagined our union a love match?”

“Of course not.”

He reached out, curving his fingers around her delicate nape.

Her flesh vibrated with the rapid patter of her heartbeat, revealing without words her intense feelings on the matter, despite her calm demeanor.

He scooped his other arm around her waist and drew her onto his lap.

She went easily, her torso melting onto his, her arms twining around his neck as if they belonged there. When a mere inch separated her mouth from his, a satisfying quiver went through her.

God, he wanted her. He was as hard as a rock.

“I will tell you this, Amelia. I had no intention of wedding when first we met, and every belief I could amass the money necessary to see to both estates’ needs by harvesting the resources of same. While I won’t deny your dowry will be quite welcome, all the money in the world would not convince me to marry a woman I did not find pleasing. I find you very pleasing, indeed.”

She swallowed. Her lips parted and her gemstone eyes gleamed. “I also find you very pleasing,” she admitted.

He brought his lips to her ear.

She closed her eyes and arched her neck, inviting him closer still.

“Did you think about me today, Amelia? About what we did last night?”

After a brief hesitation she issued a fervent nod.

“Do you want me to touch you like that again?” He brushed a kiss over one corner of her mouth, then the other.

She drew in a shuddering breath and a fine tremor resonated through her.

He understood. His body was tight with his own pent-up need to have her, to feel her beneath him, again.

“Do you want to? You weren’t just…Never mind.” She shook her head.

He nearly groaned. Did he want to? Hell, he wanted to take her here and now and to hell with the evening meal.

“I wasn’t just what?” His free hand explored her cheek, the curve of her neck and shoulder. His fingers traced the edge of her cap sleeves and bodice. He smiled when he saw gooseflesh sprout over her exposed skin.

“You weren’t just claiming your marital rights in order to legitimize our marriage to get your hands on my dowry?”

He couldn’t help himself. He laughed.

The dreamy haze clouding her eyes disappeared in a blink. She glared at him.

“God’s teeth, woman. I want you. Truth be told I wanted you from the moment I heard your voice.” Though he hadn’t meant to admit as much.

She frowned in confusion. “My voice?”

With no intention of answering her question, he pressed on. “I want to make love to you, Amelia, to touch and taste you, everywhere. Shall I come to your chamber tonight?”

“My…” She broke off, stiffening in his arms. “No.”

Everything in him went cold. He felt vaguely tricked. Manipulated into confessing his desire for her, thinking she needed reassurance, while she—

“I shall knock on your door.” She toyed with the buttons on his waistcoat. “I should like to come to your chamber again, if it please you. Yours is a much bigger bed.”

Dinner was a short-lived affair, with neither one of them suggesting an after-dinner drink, walk, or visit to the library. They both chose to retire almost immediately.

Chase was ready when she knocked, minutes later, having undressed and doused the candles.

He opened the door, naked but for his heavy silk robe, and found her wearing her thin night rail, no dressing gown, no demure cap.

Without a word, he lifted her in his arms and carried her, trembling, toward the bed.

Once there, he set her on her feet. He undid the tiny row of buttons at her neckline then stripped her of her gown in one fluid move.

He gazed at her, naked, black hair streaming over her shoulders, flesh glowing in the golden firelight.

This time, he vowed, he would make it good for her, but it would cost him. The need to take her again, to sink himself in her softness, raged through him.

He flung the covers off the bed and dropped onto the mattress on his back, scooping her along with him.

She made a soft sound of wonder and melted onto him.

His mouth sealed over hers, and his hands roamed as if memorizing her body.

She responded with a sweet ardor, her fingers weaving into his hair, her nails, scoring his scalp like a lusty kitten.

“So soft,” he whispered against her lips. “Like satin.”

Her arms tightened around his neck, and she tugged herself closer, higher.

He closed his eyes, reveling in the pressure of her ripe breasts pressing into his chest, her low belly sliding over his engorged cock, then hissed in a breath when her knees splayed over his hips, opening her apex to him.

He sank his teeth gently into her lower lip, then soothed the abraded skin with tender kisses as his hand cruised over the twin mounds of her bottom, and lower, to explore her deepest feminine secrets.

She shuddered when he parted her.

A low whimper sounded. He dimly realized the sound came from his own throat. But Holy Christ, she was feverishly hot, soaking wet, and all his.

He played at her opening, torturing himself with the silken feel of her. Her low moan only added fodder to the fire burning within him.

“Do you like this?” He whispered against her lips, circling the entrance to her channel with his fingertip.

“Yes,” she breathed. She parted her slender legs, inviting his touch with no hesitation, no guile.

He caressed her, luxuriating in the lush flesh, half out of his mind with wanting. But he wanted, needed to bring her pleasure.

All at once she came apart, body shuddering, lips parted on a cry, head thrown back in ecstasy.

God’s teeth. He’d never known a more bewitching, more tantalizing, more sensual creature. When she went liquid in his arms, her face nuzzling into his neck, he could wait no longer.

He flipped their positions on the mattress and plunged into her, again, and again, and again. She was tight, so tight, her channel pulsing around him and fitting to him like a glove. He gritted his teeth against the all-consuming pleasure.

When she began to lift her hips to meet his thrusts he nearly stopped breathing.

When her second release tore through her, he did. The dam inside him broke. With a hoarse, exultant shout, he exploded into her in the most powerful climax of his entire life.

When he was spent, he eased off of her and wrapped in his arms, pulling her back into his chest. He ran his fingers over her belly, her hip, through the thick mane of her hair. He could not seem to stop touching her.

“Better this time?” he could not resist asking.

“Beyond anything,” she whispered. She rolled to face him and snuggled closer.

Something inside him shifted, like a bone, long out of socket, slipping into place. It felt good. Right. Too good, and too right.

He’d learned long ago not to put his trust in feelings—especially those that required another person’s cooperation. But he was too tired and sated to resist the draw. Tomorrow, he promised himself, and slept.