Page 25 of The Lyon Whisperer (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #79)

C hase absorbed Amelia’s observation about Tully’s waistcoat lining. “Was the print an exact match?”

She shook her head.

He shrugged. “I will bear the man’s fashion preferences in mind. Now if you don’t mind, I shall attempt to see to more pressing matters.”

“By all means.”

With a huff of irritation, he riffled through his satchel to pull out the account ledger for Everston Manor his uncle’s man-of-affairs had furnished him earlier. He made a valiant effort to study it, to no avail. A question had surged to the forefront of his mind.

With an inward curse, he slid the paper back into the bag, tied it shut, and set it aside.

He regarded Amelia, seated across from him, studiously ignoring him. “Amelia.”

She turned her gaze from the window, to face him, utterly expressionless. “My lord?”

“Why did you withhold your plans from me, really?” he asked.

She gave him a blank stare. “I told you; I didn’t want to hear you say my idea was nonsense.”

He resolved not to lose his patience again. “As it was far from that, I’m having a hard time believing that’s why you kept silent.”

When she lowered her gaze to her hands, folded in her lap, he knew he was onto something. “Your notions were sound. I think you know that. Indeed, I should have come to the same conclusion.” He leaned back, spreading his arms over the cushion top. “My only excuse is that I don’t concern myself overly with the ways of society; lucky for me, that’s your forte.”

A small grin flickered, then disappeared.

“The problem was not your reasoning, but your decision to act on your own without consulting me. I must know what motivated you to do such a rash thing.”

Whether due to his gentler tone, or something else, when she lifted her eyes to meet his, he read resignation in their violet-blue depths. “You are correct, of course. I made an error in judgement. The ladies in my club all said I should not act without sharing my ideas with you.”

He shook his head, tamping down the burst of anger. “Everyone in town, it seems, knew what my wife was about, except her poor husband.”

“Ha.”

“We’ll be lucky, you realize, if your father doesn’t learn of your antics.”

She frowned. “My father? What has he to do with any of this?”

He slid her a glance. “Never mind. Your answer, madam. Why?”

Her chin trembled and alarm shafted though him. Everything in him clenched. He had an aversion for feminine tears, especially when used as a means of manipulation.

“I wanted to surprise you by doing something that would please you, something that would cause you to look favorably on me as your wife.”

Instead of tearing up as he feared, she sent him a brave little smile.

“You’ve done so many things for me, shown me kindnesses I never expected. You moved us to the countryside for my benefit, indulged me with my plans for a dinner party though in all likelihood we can’t afford to host one, furnished me with the carriage, twice now, as promised so that I could attend my meetings…” She paused to give him a meaningful look which he pretended not to notice.

“…and then, there’s the puppies.”

“The puppies?”

“You made it clear you did not want them underfoot, yet you have taken on much of the responsibility for caring for them, for me.”

“Temporarily,” he reminded her gruffly. For some reason, instead of feeling good about his treatment of her to date, her recitation of his so-called good deeds left him feeling vastly incompetent. The things she’d listed didn’t add up to a brass farthing.

She loosed a small, self-conscious laugh, and her cheeks flushed a violent pink, but she did not look away. “What I’m trying to say is, I think I’ve fallen in love with you.”

Chase stared at her. Warmth flooded his insides, blood rushed in his ears, and an undeniable sense of deep satisfaction filled him. She had fallen in love with him.

“Have you nothing to say, my lord?”

He reached one arm toward her. “Come here, madam wife.”

With no hesitation, she crossed the narrow divide.

Before she could drop onto the bench beside him, he scooped an arm around her waist and pulled her onto his lap.

“Oh, Chase,” she breathed and twined her arms around his neck. She pressed kisses to his neck. “Can you ever forgive me?”

He closed his eyes, savoring her soft, pliant form, her scent, her feathery kisses.

“Yes, sweetheart, I forgive you. Tell me again.”

She tilted her head back and gazed up at him with adoring eyes. “I love you.”

He crushed her mouth with his, his arms tightening around her. An overwhelming need to claim her pounded through him, despite the fact they traversed the oft-traveled road between London and Wimbledon.

Anchoring her in place with one arm, his free hand fisted in her skirts, bunching them ever upward.

She shivered against him. “What are you…”

“ Shhh ,” he whispered against her lips. He slid a hand beneath the heavy fabrics, smoothed his palm up her silk-stocking-clad thigh, her hip, the full curve of her bottom. His fingertips traced the cleft of her buttocks, continuing on until he found the entrance to her core.

He hissed in a breath. She was hot and wet.

“My God, sweetheart,” he choked, his fingers sliding between her silken folds.

She whimpered and arched her back, granting him easier access.

“Amelia, take me in your hands,” he urged, his voice hoarse with need.

“Yes, darling,” she whispered, her small hands already working at the buttons of his trousers. Every brush of her hands sent a shock wave of heady lust through him. Then she was pushing at his drawers. Finally, one soft, cool hand wrapped around him and squeezed gently. He swallowed a groan, on the edge of losing control.

“I can’t wait,” he half whimpered.

“I know. It’s all right.”

He needed no further encouragement. He lifted her lithe body, shoved her skirts aside, and positioned her over him.

She parted her legs, her bent knees on either side of his hips.

He brought her down and thrust into her.

“ Chase, oh my God, Chase. ”

Her tight channel squeezed him, emitting tiny pulses of arousal as he lifted her hips, easing his manhood out of her, before thrusting back up, into her heat.

He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, beyond the intoxicating feel of Amelia riding him, squeezing him, milking him.

Shudders began to wrack her body, and her fingers grappled in his hair, tugging like a kneading kitten as her release crashed through her.

He covered her mouth with his, swallowing her cries, and the dam within him broke. He pumped himself into her, hot seed pouring from him in a rolling wave of ecstasy.

Afterward, she sprawled heavily atop him, her face pressed to his neck, his cock still nestled in her heat, their combined juices dripping over his groin and filling the coach interior with the pungent scent of their lovemaking.

Dear God. What this woman did to him. He’d never experienced anything like it.

And she loved him.

Why? What did she see in him?

He had given her nothing of substance to date, had taken her from her fine home, issued orders regarding her behavior, hell, he hadn’t even given her a wedding ring, yet she held him in such high regard, going so far as to claim she loved him.

What would she say if she knew the truth, that he married her to satisfy his uncle’s debt? She deserved so much better from both him and Fallsgate.

Nevertheless, she was his now, to have and to hold, not ’til death would they part.

He himself could not give in to the weakness known as love. Not after what he’d seen his father go through once his mother realized her power over him. But he would treat her love like the precious gift it was, he vowed silently. He would make certain she never regretted giving him her heart.

The following day, Chase informed Amelia over breakfast of his intention to ride to Copsham later that morning.

“Though there have been no more fires since our visit to Copsham, our discussion yesterday spurred me to rethink things. I still believe Dodd was the arsonist. I also believe he had a partner. A wealthy partner.” He folded his serviette and lay it beside his empty plate.

The waiting footman, one of the newly hired men, approached to scoop the dirty dishes off the table.

“Thank you, Andrew,” Chase said, before Amelia could get the words out.

Inwardly, she smiled. Her husband had taken to calling the staff by name. She could see it meant the world to them to have the Iron Lion address them personally, and she heartily approved.

“You think Lord Tully put Mr. Dodd up to setting the fires, don’t you?”

Chase slanted her a glance. “He does seem a likely candidate. Except…” He broke off, his brow furrowing.

Amelia sipped her tea and eyed her husband over the rim of her china cup. “Except?”

“Tully has never made a secret of the fact he despises me, so he’d have ample motive, and he’s certainly cagey enough to plan and execute such a crime, however, the idea of him risking his social standing is hard for me to swallow.”

“If he didn’t get his own hands dirty, he’d risk nothing,” Amelia pointed out.

“There’s another problem with casting Tully as the primary offender.”

“Go on.”

“The man is, and has always been, lazy, even in his villainy.”

“What do you mean?”

“As a boy, when he’d act out, bullying other children, including the stint with the headmaster’s daughter all those years ago, or cheating off of others’ exams, or taking items that did not belong to him, his infractions had an opportunistic quality.”

“ Hm ,” Amelia uttered, considering.

Chase’s gaze sharpened on her. “You have something to say?”

Warmth unfurled inside her. She loved when her husband listened to her and gave credence to her thoughts. “It occurs to me he had to plan somewhat when he decided to go after your Millicent.”

“Not my Millicent,” Chase corrected. “Thank Heaven. The girl I thought I knew never existed.”

She cocked her head. “What do you mean?”

“She and I were friends precisely because she seemed to have a good head on her shoulders—that, and the fact she turned up wherever I happened to be. Though she had more-than-passable looks, to my mind far surpassing the rest of the women hitting the marriage mart that season, she carried herself in a reserved, pragmatic, no-drama manner I quite preferred. I thought she’d do nicely as a wife.”

Amelia sniffed. “I see.”

“It turned out, I only had the pragmatic side of her pegged. The reserved, demure qualities she displayed, I’ve become convinced, were an act for my benefit. It is quite well known she makes Tully’s life miserable, especially when she learns of one of his paramours. Plenty of drama in that household.”

“ Hm ,” she said for the second time that morning, now thoroughly vexed. More-than-passable looks, indeed.

Eyes dancing with devilry, Chase reached under the table to take her hand. He ran a thumb over her knuckles. “Something bothering you, Amelia?”

“Do you still find her looks—how did you phrase it?” she asked, feigning ignorance. “Passable?” Really. What kind of a thing was that for a man to say to his wife?

“I believe I said ‘more than passable.’”

She gasped in outrage and flung her serviette at him.

His teeth flashed white, and a dimple she’d never noticed before winked in and out of sight, before he had the grace to fix a sober expression on his face. “There’s not a woman alive who holds a candle to you, Amelia.”

She tried and failed to staunch a small, answering grin.

Abruptly he released her hand to push away from the table.

Amelia moved to do the same. “When do we leave?”

Chase frowned at her. “We? You are not going anywhere.”

“But, you said yourself, our conversation spurred your thoughts.”

“My decision is final. You will stay home. I’m sure you have reading to do for your next club meeting.”

“Well, that’s true but—”

He glanced over his shoulder at the footman and lowered his voice for her ears only. “I have documents that need my attention, and, to be frank, I find it hard to concentrate on work with you in the immediate vicinity.” Resuming a normal octave, he added, “You do recall the heated”—he paused, and his eyelids went to half-mast—“conversation we had when last we shared a long carriage ride?”

Her cheeks pulsed. “I do, yes, and I do have some reading to catch up on, but I really must insist you allow me to join you.”

“Amelia—”

“I hate to point out I was the one who recognized the quality of the fabrics you discovered when we ventured into the wood looking for clues.”

“True.”

She put a finger to her chin. “And, correct me if I’m wrong, but my understanding that no shopkeeper worth his or her salt would divest information on a client is what led to our learning that the fabric in question is not only very expensive, but quite rare here in Great Britain—all points key to your theory that Mr. Dodd had a partner, as he would never have had access to such costly materials otherwise.”

He gave her an annoyed look.

She did her best not to look smug. “You had decided looking into the fabric constituted a waste of time.”

He arched a brow.

“I don’t mean to insult you, sir—”

“Thank you,” he put in dryly.

“But, given the importance of seeing an end to this arson business, should we not work together, for prudence’s sake? I’d hate for you to miss something vital simply because you chose not to allow me to join you.”

He scrubbed a hand over his jaw.

Sensing victory, she added, “I shall bring my reading material and keep as quiet as a church mouse all the way to Copsham.”

Before setting out with Amelia for Copsham village, Chase silently vowed he would focus on his work and not the sweet-smelling woman seated across from him.

He’d been so sure his fascination for her would fade after lying with her the first or second or even third time.

He’d been wrong.

He glanced up from the notes he jotted concerning some crop changes he’d like to implement in one of the villages.

Amelia appeared immersed in her novel, a green leather-bound tome titled—he squinted trying to read the gold filigree reflected in the sunlight shafting in from outside. Adeline Mowbray, or Mother and Daughter.

He returned his attention to his work, stretching his legs out before him, as far as the bench would allow.

Amelia emitted a half-strangled moan.

His gaze shot toward her. She held her book before her and read in silence.

Perhaps he’d imagined the—

She drew in a shuddering breath and pressed her fist to her mouth briefly.

As he watched, she made a valiant effort to clear her troubled expression and read on. A single, fat tear coursed down her porcelain cheek.

He gritted his teeth and turned his attention back to the papers in his hand. He might as well have been reading Greek, upside down. Bloody hell. He set the pages aside and shifted his attention to his wife. “Amelia?”

After a brief hesitation, she sent him a questioning look, her mouth curving in her attempt at a smile. “Yes?” Her voice was chipper, but he saw her chin wobble.

He jammed a hand through his hair. He hated women’s tears. Hated the way they used them to manipulate and coerce. Except Amelia wasn’t trying to do anything of the sort. If anything, she wanted Chase not to notice her distress.

“Have I said something to offend you?”

“N-no. Why do you ask?” She sniffled.

He heaved a sigh. “Because you’re crying.”

She drew herself upright. “I most certainly am not crying. Please, do not concern yourself. Carry on with your…” She fluttered her fingers in the direction of his satchel and the stacked sheets of foolscap and resumed reading.

He’d thought tears were irritating before.

This sort was downright terrifying. “Amelia,” he said softly. “Something is obviously bothering you.”

She sent him a look of utter misery. “But I promised. No talking. Church mouse.”

“Come here.” He extended one arm to her.

She shook her head.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to interrupt your important work.”

“Come here. I need a break.”

She slanted him a hopeful look. “If you’re sure?”

“I am.” He wanted her near him with an odd ferocity. Odd, because it wasn’t lust, he realized. It was something else, something equally—no, more, compelling. “Please.”

Her chin wobbled again as she nodded, placed her velvet-trimmed marker in her book to keep her place, and set the novel aside.

He expected her to perch on the bench beside him. To his surprise, she dropped onto his lap and flung her arms around his neck.

His arms went around her in an instant, pulling her close. He breathed in her sweet scent, freshly washed hair, and a faint floral essence. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“It’s the book.”

“The…book?”

She nodded, her smooth, cool cheek snugged into his neck.

“Is this one of your Ladies’ Literary Society books?” He stroked one hand down her back.

She sniffled. “Yes.”

He said nothing because he hadn’t a clue what to say.

She tilted her head back and gazed up at him. “You see, in volume one, which I finished last week, the heroine, Adeline, makes a bold decision, socially speaking.”

“Such as?”

She bit her lower lip. “You won’t like it.”

He said nothing. Instead, he waited, bracing himself for whatever it was.

“Believing marriage to be a social construct, designed by men to control women, she flouts the institution altogether, opting instead to cohabitate with the man she loves outside of marriage.”