Page 24 of The Lyon Whisperer (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #79)

W hite hot anger sizzled through Chase. But, then, he’d had some time to let it fester.

He’d left his business meeting earlier than planned, explaining to his uncle and Mr. Bender he did not wish for Amelia to wait on him.

The truth was, the irrational need to keep her in his sight, which had begun plaguing him before she stepped foot from the carriage had not abated, despite his best efforts.

Instead, a resounding sense of urgency to get back to her grabbed him by the throat and refused to let go, not that he could explain the compulsion to anyone, including himself.

Bender had been nonplussed by Chase’s abrupt departure. Uncle Harry had looked decidedly pleased.

Given the time, Chase would have set his uncle straight. He wasn’t some love-sick fool, unable to part from his wife for an afternoon. But he hadn’t had the time.

Then he’d arrived at the dress shop to find her gone.

According to the seamstress working the storefront, she had left almost immediately upon her arrival.

It was clear the young woman hadn’t wanted to reveal even that much, but as usual, his hard stare had a way of making people talk.

Madame Eloise was not so easily intimidated. If anything, she seemed amused by his ire.

According to her, Amelia was on a surprise errand for him, which made absolutely no sense. Regardless, she would say no more on the matter, leaving him frustrated beyond measure as he watched her storm around her workshop like an admiral, barking orders at her seamstresses while seeming to have forgotten his presence.

He finally opted to venture outside, where he could contemplate his next move and pace without fear of knocking into a mannequin, gawking customer, or ream of frothy material.

He spotted Amelia on Tully’s arm immediately. Icy anger froze him in place, ’til he saw fear blossom on her face.

He had no recollection of bounding the short distance from the modiste’s shop to the next block where the two conversed, nor any notion of what he meant to say.

The challenge simply spewed from his mouth, and he meant every bloody word.

“See here, Culver, there’s no call for threats.” The earl reached into his waistcoat and withdrew a handkerchief with visibly shaking fingers. He mopped his brow.

“I assure you, my lord,” Amelia hastened to tell Chase, “Lord Tully meant no harm, and he was just leaving.” She shot Tully a glare.

That was something.

Tully sniffed and tugged the frilly white cuffs of his shirtsleeves. “Yes. The conversation here grows tiresome.”

Chase spoke to Amelia, never taking his gaze off his longstanding foe. “Amelia, kindly see yourself to the carriage and wait for me there.”

“But—”

Whatever argument she meant to give died on her lips at his sharp glance.

“Very well, my lord. Lord Tully,” she said, years of good breeding evidently not allowing her to depart without a polite farewell.

“Lady Culver,” he said stiffly, folding his handkerchief and re-inserting it into the pocket of his waistcoat.

Rather than turn toward the carriage, Amelia appeared frozen. She frowned at Tully—his waistcoat, in particular, an odd, considering look on her face.

Chase was close to issuing his directive again more forcefully when she finally obeyed. He waited until he heard her greet the groom by name before saying what he did not wish Amelia to overhear.

“Do not doubt for a moment I meant what I said, and I’ll add this. Do not approach my wife again. Do not speak with her, do not speak about her, do not breathe in her direction.”

“Why? Are you so afraid she’ll succumb the same way the last woman of yours I set my sights on did?”

“No. I trust my wife.” Odd as it was, he did, regardless of the fact she’d clearly been up to something without his knowledge—again.

“I do not, however, put it past you to use her to get to me, and I will not allow you to hurt her, not by word or deed, nor will I allow you to drag her name though the mud. Should I get wind of any misstep on your part as pertains to my wife, you should know—I’ll kill you.”

Tully’s eyes widened with a combination of outrage and fear. “How dare you?”

“Oh, I dare,” Chase said with promise. He turned his back on the earl and stalked toward the carriage.

Tully was probably somewhat taken aback, Chase reflected. After all, he’d hated Chase for years, an animosity which seemed to have grown ten-fold since his marriage to Millicent.

During those years he’d gone out of his way to insult Chase, besmirch his reputation, and take any potshot he could, with Chase not so much as blinking an eye for one simple reason. He did not care what Tully or the gossip mill thought of him.

In truth, he also harbored a small amount of gratitude for the lifetime of misery Tully had saved him by seducing Millicent, and subsequently revealing her ambitious and calculating nature before Chase married her himself.

But when it came to Amelia, all bets were off. He would not tolerate Tully’s modus operandi .

He opened the carriage door and vaulted inside, not bothering with the step. He sprawled on the bench opposite his wife and fixed her with a malevolent stare.

She perched on the cushion, back ramrod straight. Several tendrils of her inky black hair had come loose from her once-pristine chignon and clung to glistening, flushed cheeks, proclaiming to all and sundry how she had spent the last hour—racing about in the heat.

Chase rapped two knuckles on the trap.

The carriage lurched into motion.

“How did you leave things with Lord Tully? You assured me, not a week ago, you did not entertain such foolish notions as duels. I cannot fathom what inspired you to say such a thing. Do you realize what could have happened if he had called your bluff? Sir, I demand you never—”

“You demand,” he interrupted softly.

Her tirade came to an instant halt. Wariness filled her eyes.

“I have some demands of my own, Amelia.”

“Such as?” she asked.

“Such as you tell me where the hell you were this afternoon when you were supposed to be at your modiste’s.” He realized he spoke through clenched teeth, and made a marked effort to loosen his jaw.

“Do you know how foolish I looked showing up at that damned dressmaker’s shop only to find you gone and everyone— save me—seemingly aware of your whereabouts?”

He refrained from mentioning the gnawing sense of worry eating at his insides which had led him there in the first place.

Her expression softened. “Sir,” she began in a comforting tone, “there is no need for embarrassment. Neither Eloise nor her staff knew my whereabouts, per se .” She stopped speaking abruptly when he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“So much better knowing no one alive had a clue of your whereabouts. ” There went his jaw again.

“There is no call for sarcasm.”

“Speak for yourself,” he muttered.

She lifted her chin in a show of defiance, but the uncertainty in her eyes told a different story. “I was trying to do something helpful. I did not tell you because”—a red stain stole up her neck—“because I feared you would pooh-pooh my efforts, and as it turns out, you would have been justified in doing so.”

He would not allow her tender feelings to sway him, he vowed. Not this time. “Explain.”

“When you told me your solicitor could not help you locate the source of the fabric used as a wick for the accelerant, it occurred to me I might be able to succeed where he failed.”

“Go on.” He was aware of an unwitting curiosity to hear his wife’s tale—even as the urge to take her over his knee for her daring flared through him.

Any lingering chagrin she seemed to have faded as she warmed to her tale. “No modiste, or tailor, for that matter, is going to offer up information that may indicate one of their clients. There’s no faster way to lose standing with the upper crust of society than to gain a reputation for being indiscreet.”

He nodded, reluctantly impressed. “I see your point. What does this have to do with you?”

“I brought some of the fabric scraps we discovered at the site of the fire to Eloise. I have given her much business over the years, and we have developed a rapport. She trusts me, you see.”

“Did you learn anything useful?”

She smiled with triumph despite her earlier statement attesting to her failure. “She recognized neither the print nor the white linen. However, the jacquard pattern and tight weaves, in her expert opinion, indicated the fabric is likely imported, possibly illegally so, and”—she sent him a jaunty smile—“would be used to create a gentleman’s garment, not a lady’s gown.”

He refused to return her smile. “I see.”

“My next move was to visit a haberdashery…”

He half groaned, half growled.

“…armed with the tale I wished to purchase a new suit as a gift for my recently wed groom.” Her smile turned to an impish grin.

He frowned—pointedly.

Her grin faltered. She cleared her throat and went on. “I first had to convince Mr. Smith—he’s the proprietor of Smith’s Haberdashery,” she explained.

He waved his hand in an impatient gesture for her to continue.

“Right, well, your reputation preceded you, sir, and Mr. Smith expressed concern over my choice of pattern for you.” Her eyes skimmed over him, taking in his clothing.

He wore his usual black suit, a charcoal-colored waistcoat, and white shirtsleeves. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Nonetheless, her slow perusal was having an unfortunate, if all too familiar effect on him. With an effort of will, he forced his mind back on track.

“He had somehow acquired the opinion you would prefer something in black to a colorful print.”

An indeterminate grunt sufficed for a reply.

She went on. “Despite his astute observation, I insisted. A patterned waistcoat, or pocket hanky, at the very least. Sadly, he could not help me locate such a fabric. However, he gave me the name of a tailor who he believed could.”

“I suppose you visited him next?”

She nodded. “Hoby and Shepperd’s, on Bond Street. I popped by… em …last week.”

“Last. Week,” he bit out.

She smoothed her skirts unnecessarily. “At which time I made an appointment for today, in hopes Mr. Hoby would have located a jacquard print.”

He was torn between fascination and fulminating anger.

Her shoulders slumped slightly. “All my plotting, and to no avail. When I entered the tailor’s establishment today, Mr. Hoby made it clear he did not welcome my business.”

Chase sat bolt upright. “The hell you say.”

“After a time, he expressed a measure of contrition about his decision, though he remained firm.”

“After a time?” he prodded.

She slanted him a wary glance. “Lord Peppersham entered his shop as I was leaving.”

“Lord Peppersham?”

“An old friend of my father’s.”

He resisted the urge to groan again. “He recognized you? Alone, in the shop?”

She bit her lower lip and nodded. “I do not think he realized I was on my own. He likely assumed my maid awaited me outside.”

He took a deep, calming breath. It did not help.

“After I left, Mr. Hoby followed me out. He said…” She scrunched her brow in concentration and the pink tip of her tongue darted out to dab at the corner of her mouth. “He apologized and claimed he had no choice in the matter.”

“No choice? What the devil does that mean?”

She parted her hands. “I considered going back inside to ask him, but…”

He heaved a sigh. “Peppersham.”

She sent him an approving smile. “Precisely.” She flicked a glance at the passing scenery, then her head snapped to stare out the small, open window. “My lord, Geoffrey seems to have gotten turned around. We’re heading away from Mayfair, not toward it.”

“No, madam. He’s heading in the right direction. We are going home.”

“What? But, my friends—”

“I took care of sending word to Lady Harriet informing her you would not be participating in today’s meeting.”

Her mouth gaped open. His wife was, for once, shocked speechless, and not bothering to hide it.

The momentary lapse was short-lived. “Of all the unscrupulous, underhanded undertakings. We had an agreement, sir. I’m to be permitted to continue my club meetings without censure.”

“Mayhap, next time you set out to lie to me, you’ll think twice. As it happens, I’m missing the bulk of my meeting, too busy dealing with your shenanigans to see to my responsibilities.”

Unless one counted his responsibility to take care of his wife. He’d very nearly botched that, and he hadn’t been married a month.

He’d known she was in danger—or edging toward it. Somehow, he’d known.

Her expression turned doleful. “It wasn’t a lie. I would never lie to you.”

He gazed at her in amazement.

“I wanted to help. I thought…” She shook her head. “Never mind.”

“Help? Hell and damnation, woman. I do not know where to begin. I suppose, for starters, I must apparently procure your solemn promise never to put yourself—and your reputation—at such a risk again. Why on earth you went off half-cocked on your own to investigate matters that do not pertain to you baffles me.”

She blinked at him and spoke in a small voice. “As the arson pertains to you, I felt it pertained to me. I wanted to help,” she repeated.

With ruthless determination, he quashed the guilt trying to emerge thanks to her obviously crushed feelings. “As you can see, your help proved more of a hindrance. I had important work to attend, and instead, find myself tasked with escorting my wife home.”

She stared at him a long moment. A wealth of emotion swirled in her pale eyes, tempting him to regret his harsh tone with her.

Then he considered what could happen to a naive lady of the ton, who thought to meddle in a criminal affair like it was some sort of game. He relived the moment he spotted her talking with Tully, and the fear he read on her face.

He did not like the fact his old nemesis had taken an interest in his wife. His warning should suffice to keep the man at bay, but on the off chance the earl chose to ignore Chase’s threat, he would deal with the man, by God.

“Your promise,” he repeated.

“I promise,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “And I apologize for any inconvenience I’ve caused you. I assure you, that was not my intent.” With that, she turned to gaze out the small window.

For some reason, her capitulation offered no comfort, and instead, made him feel like an ogre. “It’s a small inconvenience, easily overcome,” he said in a gruff tone. “As I shall have to return to London on Monday to question Hoby, I can finish my business with my Uncle Harry and Bender then.”

She looked aghast. “No, you mustn’t say anything to poor Mr. Hoby. The man was clearly operating under duress.”

His wife was too tenderhearted by half. “Don’t you think it pertinent to learn the identity of the person who pressured him not to accept your business?”

“That much is obvious.”

He arched a single brow.

“Lord Tully must have witnessed me entering the establishment last week. He probably threatened to take his business elsewhere, or worse, should Hoby take you on as a client.”

He barked out a laugh. “By God, that’s a stretch.”

“Come now. You don’t find it a bit coincidental, he and I, crossing paths on Bond Street at precisely the same time?”

He grunted, not liking the reminder of witnessing Tully looming over his wife. “What was he saying to you, by the way, when I interrupted?”

“Oh, that. He all but admitted to having lied when last we spoke when he attempted to convince me it was you, and not he, who had seduced Lady Tully, then Lady Millicent.” She wrinkled her nose. “He also said something to the effect that if he had not been forced to marry her, he might have courted me.” She waved that away as if fanning a gnat.

For some perverse reason, he found himself playing devil’s advocate. “Tully is known to have a way with the ladies, unmarried or otherwise. Perhaps if you had not seen the dark side of him firsthand—”

“No.” She sounded very sure of herself.

Still, he pressed. “No? He’s handsome, wealthy, an earl, like your father. Why would you not find him attractive?”

She did not hesitate. “If you must know, there’s something unhinged about the man. It’s there in his eyes even when he’s trying to be charming. Too, he’s arrogant in that way some men of the ton are that I find off-putting in the extreme.”

He wanted to ask if she found him arrogant. In light of the fact he’d revoked her right to attend her club meeting today, he decided not to put the question to her.

“May I ask what did the two of you discussed after I left? You did not reiterate your silly threat, I hope? He has no way of knowing you were merely bluffing.”

He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “No, I don’t suppose he does.”

“Well? How did you leave things?”

“I simply told him to stay away from you and all would be well.” He sent her a bland smile and left out the part about killing him, otherwise.

She gave him a long, considering look. “He agreed?”

“More or less.”

She nodded. “There is one more thing I wanted to tell you,” she said, in an offhand manner.

“What is that?”

“It may not bear repeating, and I hesitate because of the fake challenge that you issued to warn off Lord Tully.”

“ Mm ,” Chase uttered, noncommittal.

She worried her lower lip between her straight white teeth. “When Lord Tully withdrew his hanky…”

“Yes?”

“I noted the silk lining of his coat.”

The small hairs dusting the back of his neck stood on end. “And?”

“It was a distinct jacquard print.”