Page 18 of The Lyon Whisperer (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #79)

C hase lay in bed, arms folded beneath his head, staring up at the ceiling tiles. Sleepless and frustrated, again.

The practice was all too familiar of late. He’d been so sure bedding his wife would take care of the Amelia problem, whereby he couldn’t get the blasted woman out of his head.

Unfortunately, her predilection to sneak from his bed after their lovemaking to return to hers had a deeply unsettling effect on him. Every night he woke to find her gone, and then proceeded to lie awake, stewing, for hours.

Making love was not enough to satisfy him, evidently. He wanted…he wasn’t sure what he wanted, precisely, except that he wanted her to want to spend the entire night in his bed.

He’d already found the entire situation vexing.

Then, tonight had happened.

The evening had started off so promisingly. They’d enjoyed a pleasant exchange en route to the ball. Once there, aside from crossing paths with Millicent upon entering, his night had unfolded with surprising ease. Men whom he’d wished to speak with for months regarding certain political issues were all too happy to enter into meaningful conversation with him.

Fallsgate had played no small role, of course. He and his uncle had joined Chase in the card room, by design, he suspected. Fallsgate had clout and commanded the utmost respect. Having his weight clearly behind Chase meant men who previously deigned him too politically insignificant to hear out stood up and took notice.

Chase was also of the opinion that curiosity over his union with the beautiful, enigmatic, and heretofore impossible-to-pin-down Lady Amelia Duval lent him a certain cachet.

Whatever the men’s motives, once they listened to the succinct yet shocking accounts of many a returned veteran’s existence, they seemed to finally comprehend the very real need these men had for help.

It was an auspicious start to the season.

Then he’d gone in search of Amelia.

Something about the sight of his raven-haired wife, gazing up at the handsome earl with her gemstone eyes filled him with…He could not exactly name the emotion, only that it inspired an almost irresistible urge to rip her out of the man’s grasp and slam a fist into his smug face.

He closed his eyes and groaned. Who was he kidding? He could name what he’d felt. Jealousy. He’d been horribly, unreasonably jealous.

In fairness to himself, he wasn’t familiar with the emotion. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d experienced it.

He supposed he could count the moment he learned Tully—then merely Lord Huxley as he had not yet acceded to the earldom—had wooed Millicent’s affections away from him. But he’d soon recognized that had not really signified.

After the initial sting of betrayal, he’d quickly come to the mindset any woman who would prefer Gavin Huxley was not a woman well-suited for him. He viewed losing Millicent to Huxley as a near miss.

This situation was entirely different. Amelia was his wife. His vivacious, somewhat naive, undoubtedly gullible bride. She was also an innately passionate, damned delectable creature. Why wouldn’t Tully set out to seduce her?

He could see now the idea she might succumb to Tully’s renowned charm, and not the fact she danced a waltz with man, had caused him to lash out at her—unfairly.

He turned his head on his pillow and gazed unseeing in the direction of their dividing door.

She’d gone quiet on him after his stern admonition on the dance floor. Once they’d arrived home, she’d bid him goodnight and marched directly upstairs without another word.

Message received. She did not want him in her bed tonight.

He folded the bedcovers back and approached the door. He lay his hand on the cold door lever. Everything in him wanted to twist the latch and go to her.

But damn it, she had defied him, outright refusing to share what she and Tully had discussed.

He would not reward that behavior by crawling to her like a damned beaten puppy. They would discuss what happened at the breakfast table like two adults.

He stomped to his closet and snatched his robe off the hook.

A thump sounded, almost like the closing of a door, only it didn’t sound as if it had come from Amelia’s bedchamber. He held himself perfectly still and listened for several seconds. He heard nothing.

He cinched the tie around his waist and let himself out into the dim corridor. He kept brandy in his den. He’d have a medicinal glass, something he rarely did, and hopefully get some real sleep tonight.

He trotted down the stairs in bare feet.

No candles or oil lamps burned in the corridors, but moonlight poured in from the large window at the top of the stairs to partially illuminate his way.

He entered the den into pitch blackness. He’d need some light to unearth the brandy decanter.

He moved on sure feet to the large oriel window behind his desk and parted the curtains.

A golden flicker of light in the distance caught his eye.

He stared at the light as it moved in a linear direction away from the manse. A candle? A lamp? Squinting, he made out a figure in ghostly white who evidently held the implement to light her way.

Amelia.

Gauging from her trajectory, she’d departed via the back doors near the kitchen and was heading toward the coach house.

By God, she was leaving him? Over a simple misunderstanding? Not bloody likely. Not like this.

Grinding his teeth, he stalked through the house, and crossed the dark kitchens which, even at this hour, smelled faintly of fresh baked bread. Odd what details he noticed at a time like this.

He’d lived through just such a scenario nearly thirteen years before when he witnessed his own mother walk out of his life. Unspeakable fury and yet, a deep sense of icy calm filled him then, and now.

He let himself out into the night. The cold gravel drive stabbed at the soles of his feet as he strode toward the coach house. The smallest arched window above the rear wing, if it could even be called that, emitted a slight glow.

She must be sorting through her things. Probably realized she couldn’t hope to ready a coach herself and was having second thoughts about eliciting help from the household staff at this hour. Not that the grooms would likely deny her. As far as he could tell, every servant in his employ ate out of their new mistress’s hand.

Let them help her. That didn’t alter the fact that if Amelia wanted to leave him, she would have to look him in the eye and tell him to his face.

His gut clenched at the thought. What would he do after that? Try and stop her? Beg her not to leave?

No. He wouldn’t beg a woman. Not ever.

Still, he would never have expected this of her. For some reason, he took her to be a much more direct person, an honest one, and definitely not one prone to skulking about. It just went to show, you could never really know a person, much less trust her.

He reached the main door and found she had not closed it behind her but had left it cracked. He swung it open on well-oiled hinges that made nary a sound and eased into the shadowed space.

The combined scents of metal, leather, and dust filled his nostrils, and the sweet voice of his wife murmuring softly reached his ears. As always, his body reacted as if she had caressed him with silken fingertips. He went hard.

He bit back an oath. Not now, dressed in his damned robe. He gritted his teeth and forced back the inconvenient desire for the woman.

“Oh, yes, I missed you, too, Roddy. Not so fast, Fergus, you’re going to give yourself a tummy ache. Let Rose have some. Who wants to go out first?”

Roddy? Dear God. She’d brought those damned puppies. Snuck them in, right under his nose.

“Roddy, stop.”

Of course the one-eyed pup ran straight for Chase, and Amelia, also true to form, dashed after him. “Where are you— eek.” Her words cut off on a shriek.

Both the dog and his wife slammed to a halt before Chase. Amelia held a hand to her heart and gasped for breath.

His eyes had long since adjusted. The dim light from an oil lamp she’d hung in the alcove housing her contraband litter of puppies limned her body and shone through the loose folds of her nightshift to outline her lithe body.

“Good evening, Amelia. Allow me.” He bent and scooped the puppy at his feet—Roddy—into his arms.

The puppy, much larger than the last time they met, wriggled with delight in his arms. His body was warm and pliant, his brown fur soft. His nose was cool and wet, Chase discovered when the little mutt did everything in his slight power to plant puppy kisses on Chase’s cheek.

“Be still,” he commanded.

Abruptly Roddy ceased his wriggling. Instead, he nestled into Chase’s chest and stared at Amelia with his one good eye.

“M-my lord, what are you doing here? You gave me quite a fright.”

The audacious wench had nerve. “What am I doing here, you ask? I think a more appropriate question is what are you doing here?” He craned his head to look behind her into the alcove where it appeared two other puppies cowered in a corner. “Or do I need to ask?”

She clasped her hands behind her back and had the grace to duck her head. “I’m checking on the dogs, my lord. They needed to be fed and taken out. They’ve learned manners since arriving here, you might be interested to know, and usually hold their business until I or…” She cleared her throat, evidently thinking twice about implicating anyone else. “Until I come to take them out for a bit of exercise and to empty their bladders.”

Chase said nothing for a long moment. “You come down in the middle of the night to feed them, regularly?”

She inclined her head. “Normally I feed them earlier, but yes, I do routinely make my way out here late at night and early morning.”

“I see.” Tonight, she had been too busy preparing and departing for the ball to see to their dinners.

He shook his head and eyed the rafters as if he might find divine guidance there. None was found. “Well. Shall we?” He started toward the alcove and remaining puppies.

She hastened after him. “My lord?”

He stopped in the opening and counted two besides Roddy. “I thought there were five.”

The air shifted behind him as she halted inches from his back. Her sweet perfume wafted over him. “There were. I found homes for two of them before our wedding.” She sounded very pleased with herself.

“My lord…” She shimmied around him, her soft curves brushing over his arm as she squeezed past. “My lord, what do you mean to do?”

He arched a brow. “I thought you said they need to go out.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You intend to help me?”

“I suppose I must. I can’t have my wife traipsing around half naked, chasing after puppies in the middle of the night.”

A smile tugged at her lips. She bent to scoop one puppy into her arms and reached for the second.

“Allow me.” He crouched and tucked the second puppy under his arm.

Without another word, they exited the building.

“Where is it you generally take them?” he asked.

“There’s a large, grassy area behind the coach house.”

They walked around the building and set the dogs down.

He eyed his wife. Her frequent walks. The sound of her door opening and closing in the night. Her refusal to spend the entire night in his bed coupled with her insistence she visit his room and never the reverse.

It all made perfect sense.

Now that he was no longer fuming, he grew aware of the cold, dew-dampened gravel biting into his feet. Next time he would have to wear slippers.

The dogs seemed oblivious to the fact it was the dead of night. In addition to seeing to their needs, they frolicked, rolling one another, nipping each other’s tails, one chasing the others in a never-ending round of tag.

At one point when it appeared they might go on a long tear, Chase snapped his fingers and the three dutifully returned to the immediate area.

“How long did you expect this to go on without me knowing, Amelia?” he asked, keeping his voice low so as not to wake the household.

The household. God’s teeth, how many of the servants knew she kept secrets from him?

“You make it sound as if I were hiding them from you.”

He stared at her, the meaning behind his silence clear. She was hiding them from him, or had been.

“I wasn’t hiding them, per se. I simply did not mention them.”

“And I told you not to bring them.”

She did not so much as flinch at the steel in his voice. She drew herself upright and lifted her chin.

Her skin was luminescent in the silvery moonlight. Somewhere along the way, she had lost the lacy cap she used to restrain her hair. The loose knot at her nape hung askew and tendrils of inky black hair framed her delicate face.

Bloody beautiful, as always. He wanted to take her. Right here, right now.

“You said they could not be in the manse. No puppies running around, and I quote, the manse,” she repeated for emphasis.

“I see.”

Roddy, the one-eyed, smallest pup in the litter pawed at his foot.

“Yes?” Chase asked him.

He drew himself up on his two back feet, raising his front paws as if demanding to be picked up. Chase snorted and hoisted first Roddy, then a second pup, tucking one under each arm. “Come along, then.”

Amelia obediently retrieved the third pup and followed Chase back to the coach house.

They shut the pups into their small, enclosed space without speaking.

Amelia, of course, cooed and praised the puppies when they nestled into one another, evidently exhausted from their recent feeding and play time.

They proceeded in lengthening silence to the house, retracing their steps across courtyard, into the kitchens, through the manse, and up the grand staircase.

When they neared Amelia’s door, she reached for the door lever, issuing a breathless, “Goodnight, my lord.”

Chase placed a hand on her shoulder. “We need to talk. My chamber or yours?”