Page 29 of The Lyon Whisperer (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #79)

H e led the ensemble of men toward the drawing room with an internal sigh of relief. Soon he and Amelia could bid farewell to their guests. Between Selbie’s priggish attitude and Fallsgate’s eagle eye, the night had more in common with scaling the trenches while ducking enemy fire than a restful evening of entertainment.

Nearing the drawing room, feminine voices resonated—but the echoes did not seem to emanate from within the chamber. The sound more cascaded through the corridor from the back of the house.

Chase turned his head in the direction of the kitchens and saw the four smiling and chattering women, his wife at the lead, moving briskly in his direction.

Spotting him, Amelia came to an abrupt halt. The three following her stumbled into first her, then each other. Much giggling ensued.

Amazing how light the atmosphere around the ladies seemed absent the men’s company.

Chase stepped aside, urging the men to bypass him into the drawing room.

Selbie and his uncle meandered through the doorway.

Fallsgate gave him a hard look and remained rooted beside him.

Amelia resumed walking, albeit at a more sedate pace. As she neared them, she shot a brief, anxious gaze toward her father. “My lord, we did not expect the gentlemen to join us so soon.”

“That much is clear. May I ask”—he resisted the urge to stretch his neck ’til it cracked—“where you and the ladies ventured?”

Again, her gaze slid to her father. “As to that… er …”

Chase had an all-too-clear notion of where she’d taken them, and he feared Fallsgate had worked it out as well.

She lifted her chin. “I took them to meet Rose, Fergus and Roddy.”

“In the kitchens,” Chase announced softly.

His wife had dragged three high-ranking noblewomen, dressed in all their finery, through hot kitchens, no doubt past scullery maids engaged elbow-deep in sudsy water scrubbing pots, pans, and dirty dishes, to the drying room to which the dogs had been relegated.

“Bloody hell,” Fallsgate muttered under his breath.

“You can say that again,” Chase seconded.

Lady Frommer moved forward to stand beside Amelia. She wrapped one arm around Amelia’s shoulders in a clear show of support. “You mustn’t blame your wife, Lord Culver. I’m afraid I insisted. She tried her best to dissuade me, but I would not be put off. Naturally, once she agreed, Lady Selbie and Lady Culver refused to stay behind.”

“Naturally.” He sent his wife and the dowager duchess a polite smile and gestured for the ladies to enter the drawing room.

He started to follow.

Fallsgate stayed him with a hand to his shoulder. He sent him a grim smile. “Tick-tock, Culver.”

The party disbanded very quickly after Lord and Lady Selbie announced they would take their leave.

Lord Selbie issued a curt goodbye to everyone present, saving Amelia for last. With his carriage waiting, his wife already on board, he stood before her, holding her hand in his. It seemed to Chase the marquis spent an inordinate amount of time gazing upon her face—enough so Amelia’s cheeks flushed, though, of course, her demeanor never faltered.

Chase felt his temper going from simmer to boil. He’d had enough of the marquis. First he’d insulted her with his words, now this bold appraisal.

He opened his mouth to tell Lord Selbie to move along, but Selbie’s words stayed him. “Forgive me for staring. You are the mirror image of your mother, Lady Culver. Did you know the two of us were once friends?”

His question forged an instant crack in her placid veneer, as nothing else could have. “I…no.”

Chase flicked a glance at Fallsgate. The man’s hands fisted at his sides as if he wanted nothing more than to wrap them around Selbie’s neck.

“It was a long time ago, before you were born. I’ve often wondered how her one and only daughter turned out.” His mouth curved in a thin smile. “I thank you for assuaging my curiosity. Goodnight, Lady Culver.”

With that he turned and climbed the step to disappear into his carriage. A moment later it began its slow roll down the drive.

Lady Frommer said her goodbyes next. She thanked the two of them for a thoroughly diverting evening and extracted Amelia’s promise to call on her the next time she came to town.

Chase’s aunt and uncle departed immediately after Lady Frommer.

That left a grim-looking Fallsgate. The earl stepped forward as his carriage lumbered into position.

“My lord, it was good of you to come to my first soiree .” Amelia sent her father a brilliant smile, but Chase was not fooled by the show of cheerful bravado. Her beautiful eyes seemed to carry the weight of the world.

“I would not have missed this evening for anything,” he said. “How do you think it went, as dinner parties go?”

“I think…” she broke off, her gaze shifting toward Chase. Her delicate chin wobbled.

Enough.

“Amelia, I would like a word with your father. Say your goodnights and give us a moment of privacy, hm ?”

She nodded. “Goodnight Father. Safe journey.” She turned and mounted the steps.

Fallsgate watched her go, a troubled expression tightening his features.

Chase waited until the front door closed behind her before rounding on Fallsgate. “How could you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“How could you not give her this one thing?”

“You mean lie? Tell her the evening was an unmitigated success?”

“Yes. Because it was.”

Fallsgate shook his head, the move communicating both irritation and bemusement. “How can you say that? Are you daft?”

“Be careful, sir.”

The earl arched a brow. “I’m merely calling to light the obvious. The conversation managed to highlight not her hostess skills, but her eccentricities. Puppies and the plight of the mad, and controversial reading—and then a tour of the kitchens, by God. Must I remind you, you were tasked with getting Amelia in line? She’s to speak and act and dress as behooves a proper lady per the terms of the bet your uncle lost. At this rate your uncle—and, ultimately you—will end up bankrupt.

“And let’s not forget the aim of this night—to help you forge an alliance with Selbie. How do you think that went, Lord Culver?”

Chase’s eyes narrowed. “Funny you should ask.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” the earl hissed.

“Selbie was never going to back legislation seeking to aid common soldiers, and I think you knew that. A—He doesn’t give a bloody damn about their plight, and B—Because of you.”

The earl went utterly still.

“What is between the two of you and how is my wife involved?”

His mouth worked, but no words came for several seconds. Finally he choked out, “I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.”

Chase made a concerted effort to rein in his temper.

“I give you credit for discernment. Lord Selbie will never support social reform, and it’s best you know that going in. What’s more, I suggest you refrain from throwing down the gauntlet like you did tonight when, instead accepting the route of diplomacy I paved for you, you chose to antagonize the marquis by flouting his stated opinion regarding a damned book.”

Chase glared at Fallsgate. “I chose to defend my wife , something you have neglected in favor of tearing her down at every opportunity.”

He reacted as if Chase had backhanded him. “How dare you? I have devoted my entire life to keeping her safe. I thought you, of all people, could take care of her, keep her in line, protect her from her own wild tendencies—”

Chase threw up his hands. “Wild? You call reading romantic fiction, rescuing puppies and kittens, and learning the names of each and every member of her household staff wild? I call it something else entirely. Sir, thanks to you she has no sense of how utterly rare and precious she is. She longs for your approval, but you won’t give it. She craves the least scrap of information about her mother, but you refuse to—”

“Enough,” he shouted, anger mottling his face. “Do not dare broach her mother with me. You have no idea what I’d do for the sake of my daughter, and, I might add, you have no room to talk. It’s all well and good to judge me for my treatment of my daughter, my flesh and blood who you now blithely claim as your wife.

“But what of your treatment of her? You think indulging her will do her any good when, by doing so, you risk her entire future, as well as that of any child you may be blessed to have together? Must I remind you if you fail at your end of the bargain—six months, you had, if you recall—Culver’s estate is likely never to recover from the financial strain?”

Chase glowered. “You bastard. You’re lucky I don’t tell her about the bet you made, leveraging her into a marriage not of her choosing, then holding financial ruin over her head if she doesn’t meet your exacting standards.”

Abruptly the fight seemed to go out of the earl. “You could tell her. I can’t stop you, can I?

“Oh, but you do not understand, Culver. One day, if you’re lucky, you will have a daughter of your own. A precious raven-haired, blue-eyed daughter straight from heaven. You’ll see then that there’s nothing you wouldn’t do to guarantee her safety.”

Chase shook his head, frustrated beyond measure. “Is that what you call how you’ve raised her? Keeping her safe?”

The earl’s shoulders slumped. “I’m going home.” He turned for his carriage without another word.

Chase watched the carriage until it disappeared from sight. Finally, he trudged up the broad front steps. He pushed open the door which stood ajar and glared at the waiting footman.

James was his name. Thanks to his wife, he’d taken to learning the names of every member of his household staff.

Never had he felt like more of a phony.

“What are you doing here, James?” he growled.

The man flinched at Chase’s brusque tone, but answered with simple dignity nonetheless. “Lady Culver instructed me to wait here in case you needed anything, milord.”

Of course, she had. He glanced up the stairs, toward her bedchamber, where he imagined she awaited him, anxious to discuss the evening. He wanted nothing more than to go to her, wrap her in his arms and confess all, about the bet, about the earl’s ludicrous demands, about how perfect she was, and how she did not need to change one bloody thing.

But he couldn’t do any of that. Not because she would hate him, although she likely would, but because it would hurt her too badly. It would be the final proof she needed that her father found her lacking.

Scrubbing a hand over his jaw, he started for his den. For the first time in his life he understood what it was to need a drink. Probably several.

Practically the moment after Sally helped her out of her evening gown, Amelia hastened her maid off to bed as she kept one ear pricked for the sound of Chase’s footfalls in the corridor.

She wanted to talk with him in the worst way—to gauge his reaction to the dinner party she had thrown for him.

In other words, how badly had it gone, by his estimation?

She washed her face. Cleaned her teeth. Brushed her hair ’til it gleamed in the candlelight. Surely he and her father had concluded their conversation by now?

When an hour passed with no sign of him, her heart sank. Her father had implied the evening was a disaster. Chase’s silent treatment confirmed he felt the same.

She snuffed the candles and crawled into bed. She punched the pillows on her cavernously empty bed and pinched her eyes closed.

Sleep evaded her. Hurt and anger over his cowardly method of communicating his displeasure warred with soul-wrenching remorse for how she’d so mismanaged the flow of conversation. She tried to quiet her thoughts, but scenes from the evening kept unfolding before her mind’s eye.

She had no idea how long she lay there, awake and miserable.

Finally, she tossed back the covers, grabbed up her wrapper, slid her feet into her night slippers and tromped to the door, not bothering to soften her steps. If she woke him from a sound sleep, more was the pity.

She tripped lightly down the stairs and navigated the dark passageway to the kitchens by memory.

Her murmured hello woke the puppies from a sound sleep. Yawning and stretching their gangly, growing limbs, they rolled off of each other, then stood, their tales wagging with joy at the sight of her.

She removed the barrier and freed them from the drying room. “Shall we have a wander by moonlight?”

Fergus and Rose raced each other to the back door.

Amelia opened it for them before noticing Roddy had charged in the opposite direction.

“Bloody hell,” she murmured under her breath. She’d grown careless about closing the door to the manse as the three dogs had shown no interest in exploring inside.

With a sigh, she retrieved Fergus and Rose and shut them back into their designated space, then went in search of Roddy. She found him whining and pawing at the closed door to Chase’s den. A thin beam of golden light shone beneath the door.

She glared at the beam. So he’d opted to work, had he, not even bothering to say goodnight? She sniffed and bent to scoop up the wriggling dog.

As she rose, the door swung open.

Chase, looking as disheveled as she’d ever seen him, filled the doorway. Limned by the firelight glowing in the grate, she could not make out his expression clearly, but she could not miss that his usually neat hair looked as if he’d raked his hands through it several times.

He still wore his shirt sleeves, arms rolled up to his elbows, though he’d removed his jacket, waistcoat, and cravat.

A strong scent emanated from him. She sniffed. Spirits, she realized.

“Amelia,” he murmured gruffly. Then he reached for her, heedless of the dog in her arms, and dragged her across the threshold.