Page 30 of The Lyon Whisperer (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #79)

I t was as if he’d conjured her from thin air.

The small whimper of need she made when he reached for her was like throwing dry kindling atop the fire of need raging through him. A need he’d fought with a combination of willpower and brandy for the last hour.

He held her soft, lithe body against him, his nose pressed into her rose-scented hair.

A thump-thump-thump sounded at his feet.

He relaxed his hold long enough to squint at the curly-haired, one-eyed mongrel laying on his back near his feet. The dog’s muscular tail whacked the carpet in a steady beat.

“Roderick, what are you doing here, m’boy?”

Amelia fisted her small hands in his shirt and pressed her face into his chest. “I couldn’t sleep. I went to visit the puppies. He escaped through the open door and ran straight here. Yet another of my foibles to add to tonight’s long list. Are you terribly angry?”

He crooked a finger under her chin to lift her gaze to his. “Angry? Over this?”

“Not only this, as you very well know.” Her voice was thin with emotion. “All you ever asked of me was to behave like a proper lady. I…tried my best not to embarrass you, to behave exactly as you would have me behave. And then, it all fell apart.”

Tears welled in her eyes, compounding his own guilt.

With a grunt, he released her and strode toward the grate, and the sofa he’d vacated when he heard the scratching at the door. He retrieved the half-drunk snifter of brandy he’d left atop the side table and downed the contents before sprawling lengthwise on the sofa, his eyes fixed on the dancing flames.

“Chase?” She’d moved farther into the room.

“You have it all wrong, Amelia. I’m not angry, at least not with you. Go back to bed.”

He could not look at her. If he did, he’d be tempted to reach for her. He waited for the tell-tale click of the door as it opened and closed.

Instead, her soft footfalls told him she moved closer. Soon, she stood before him.

He nearly groaned. The light from the fire burned through the thin lawn of her nightshift and wrapper, outlining the shape of her slender body as if she wore nothing at all.

He dropped his head into his hand. “I said go back to bed,” he growled.

Rather than obey, she lowered to her knees. She brushed his hand aside and cupped his hot cheeks with her blessedly cool, silky-smooth palms. “Please, talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking. I’ve been so worried. So anxious.”

He drank in the sight of her pale, heart-shaped face, her wide, searching eyes. Her siren’s mouth.

“I don’t want to talk,” he said in a gravelly voice.

She blinked in surprise and hurt.

He was fairly sure he slurred his words. He’d drunk more than his share tonight, hoping to blot out the guilt, the need, the insatiable craving for the woman he’d married.

It was useless. She’d crept under his skin, taking up residence as if she belonged there. Losing her now would be like cutting out a part of himself.

“I don’t understand. If you’re not angry with me, then why shun me?”

“Don’t you see? I want you , exactly as you are. You’re sweet, so God damned good and giving and I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve you, but I won’t give you up, Amelia. I can’t.”

He shut his mouth. He was making no damned sense, and he knew it. He turned his head. “Go.”

He heard the whisper of material as she rose. He could just make out the sound of her slippers as she moved toward the door.

With every inch of distance her footsteps put between them the ache in him grew. But it was no good. He’d won her on a bet—a bet he was sure to lose. He could no more demand she change than—

“Chase.”

Startled, he turned to face forward and felt the air freeze in his lungs. The blood singing through his veins burned like liquid fire and his cock went instantly, painfully hard, despite the liquor he’d imbibed.

Amelia had removed her wrapper and nightshift. The stuttering light from the grate danced over her naked body. Her raven tresses flowed down her back and over her shoulders, partially, but not fully, concealing her breasts.

“You want me? Take me. I’m yours, Chase. Always. I love y—”

He was on his feet, dragging her close, covering her mouth with his before she could get out the words.

His hands shook as they roamed over her angel-smooth, flame-warmed flesh. His mouth devoured hers. A whimper sounded—his.

She clung to him just as fiercely, arching into him. When her hands slithered between their bodies to unbutton his fly, freeing his erection, he stopped breathing.

Her cool fingers encircled him, exploring the rigid length of his shaft, tracing over the tip to spread the fluid leaking from him.

His hips, his entire body, shuddered with the force of his abject need. “I…can’t…wait,” he choked.

She said nothing as he lifted her off her feet, and merely wrapped her legs around his hips.

Groaning, he moved sightlessly forward until he had her back pressed to an empty space of wall.

In one sure move, he thrust into her tight, hot channel, sinking himself to the hilt. Again. Again. This. This is what he needed. This woman. She was his. His.

Her fingernails raked his nape, scored his scalp. Her legs tightened, holding him close as he impaled her body, the tiny muscles of her passage squeezing him, tighter, tighter, milking him until he had to clench his teeth against the sheer magnitude of ecstasy threatening to take him down.

“Chase, my darling, Chase, yes.” She clutched at him, her arm muscles trembling with the effort. Then her lips parted in a soundless scream as her release rolled through her, and dragged him right along with her.

He roared his exultation as he thrust once more, and his climax tore through him.

Afterwards, he held her in his arms, gasping in breath.

Her legs remained loosely around him, though her arms hung limp. Her head rested on his shoulder.

The musky scent of their lovemaking enveloped him. It probably permeated the entire room.

“Better now, darling?” she whispered, smoothing a hand down his back.

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

Without turning his head, he backed up and dropped onto the sofa, cradling her in his arms.

He was lost, utterly lost to her. Would that she never learned the extent of her power over him. If she did, could she resist wielding it against him, despite her claim of love?

What did it matter? In the end, there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it.

One week later, Chase and Amelia made the now familiar two-hour journey to London, this time to attend Lady Frommer’s annual Spring ball. Everyone who was anyone would be there, to see and be seen—including, barring a miracle, Lord Selbie.

Trepidation over the prospect of encountering the marquis, specifically over Chase coming face-to-face with the man, had Amelia on tenterhooks all day, not that she voiced her anxiety to her husband.

It was just that he had never revealed what about the evening upset him to the point of retreating to his den to brood and drown himself in strong spirits.

The lovemaking that had followed had left her floating on a cloud of euphoria for most of the following day. But when she finally came down, she wanted answers.

To her consternation, he evaded her every attempt to discuss either Lord Selbie’s caustic remarks or the evening in general.

As for Chase’s refusal to cow to the man regarding his stance on Waverley, she let that lie. She felt certain he had acted out of loyalty to her, and she carried an immense amount of guilt over the knowledge.

Now, as the carriage entered the long queue for the glowing mansion ahead, she tried once more.

“My lord, if you have any concerns over the possibility of crossing paths with Lord Selbie tonight, know that I am here to support you.”

Something inscrutable flashed in his dark eyes even as his mouth twitched. “Thank you. As I’ve told you, repeatedly, the man is of no consequence.”

“Yes, but—”

“Madam wife, hear me,” he said with barely concealed impatience. “You did me a service, inviting the man to our home. I learned pursuing Selbie is a dead end. He is never going to get behind any meaningful legislation in support of Britain’s soldiers, nor any other segment of the population that does not include the aristocracy. Do I make myself clear?”

She nodded, and broached the other, heretofore unresolved topic. “And my father? Will you tell me what you discussed before he left?”

His jaw tensed. “If I wanted you to be part of that discussion, I would not have asked to speak with him alone, now, would I?”

“I suppose not.” She looked out the small window, biting her tongue.

He bent forward and reached across the divide to take her gloved hand. “You look very beautiful tonight, Amelia.”

She struggled to maintain her pique. As always, when he used that velvety rich voice, her insides went hot. “Thank you.”

His eyes searched hers. “Forget Selbie and your father, for that matter, Amelia. I intend to spend the bulk of the evening with you. That should alleviate your worries concerning my welfare.”

She gave an unlady-like snort.

One corner of his broad mouth hiked upward. “It goes without saying, but in case you’ve any doubt, I prefer you not dance with Tully should he put in an appearance, and if you choose to dance more than once with a man, let that man be me.”

She ought to be annoyed by his faintly condescending, definitely high-handed manner. Instead, her heart swelled in her chest, practically choking the breath out of her. She nodded, aware the love she felt was probably written all over her face.

Not for the first time she wondered what Chase felt for her. He had never told her he loved her, though she knew he cared for her. It was there in the way he listened to her, the way he stood up for her, the way he made love to her.

She wanted to ask him, but fear that he would reiterate what he told her in the beginning held her back. Theirs was no love match, he’d said, adding that she pleased him—none of which ruled out the possibility he might fall in love with her.

Eventually he would love her, and he would tell her so. There was time, she told herself. They had the rest of their lives.

Chase smiled and released his wife’s arm as yet another man claimed her for a dance. He watched as the man swept her into the crush of bodies.

“Surprised to see you hanging about all evenin’, m’boy,” his uncle said with a cackle and an elbow to his ribs. “’Spected you to be in the card room talking politics by now. But then, you’ve got it bad, just as I always knew.”

Chase frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

His uncle, who had been more of a father to him than the one who sired him, grinned indulgently, and twisted one corner of his bushy white mustache. “You don’t think I’d push you to marry just to save my hide, do you?”

Chase’s frown deepened and his gaze slid to his aunt, currently deep in conversation with several of his wife’s club friends—Lady Harriet, her friend, Mrs. Sheridan, and Lady Georgina Belfry.

“Not to worry. Lady Culver don’t know about the bet, and I intend to keep it that way.”

Chase relaxed somewhat. “Do you mind explaining what in hell you’re talking about, sir?”

The viscount flashed Chase a smug look. “You thought I would miss how the day after visiting Fallsgate in my stead you developed a one-track mind?”

Chase felt his cheeks growing warm. He would not reach for his handkerchief to mop his brow, he told himself.

“Claimed you wanted the earl’s advice on how best to further your aim.” He chuckled. “But you already had told me about the incident with Fallsgate’s daughter the day of.”

Chase crossed his arms over his chest. “What of it?”

“Had stars in your eyes, you did. Mayhap I wouldn’t have thought twice, but I knew Amelia’s mother, you see. What a looker she was. Not a man alive met her that didn’t want to throw his hat in the ring for her hand. Don’t mind telling you, Fallsgate got a run for his money.”

“You don’t say?” Chase said, striving for an air of bored indifference.

“But that’s not my tale to tell.”

His interest pricked up at that, but the viscount went on.

“I had a suspicion, y’see, that the lass had caught your eye.” He shrugged. “Figured I’d know for certain when I explained how you’d have to marry her for the sake of the family. Had you balked—”

“By God, I did,” Chase interjected.

Uncle Harry waved that off. “You gave in quick enough when I let it be known who you were to marry. That’s the point. Knew right away if it weren’t a love match, it soon would be, and I’m glad to see I was right when I put that rumor about.”

Chase snorted. “You’re mad, sir. Ours is a business arrangement, a pleasant one, mind you—what?” he demanded, his train of thought going sideways as he noted his uncle staring at him like he’d grown antlers.

In answer, the viscount threw his head back and bellowed with laughter.

Chase’s aunt materialized at the viscount’s side. “What has amused you to the point of imitating a jackal on the hunt, my lord?”

With obvious effort, he reined in his amusement. “Private joke, m’dear. ’Fraid you wouldn’t understand.”

“I love a good joke,” came a woman’s authoritative voice.

Chase turned to see Lady Frommer drawing to a halt at his side.

“Lady Frommer, congratulations on hosting the crush of the season,” the viscountess said.

Lady Frommer nodded her silver-haired head regally. “Thank you.” She made a show of glancing around the small group. “Where is Lady Culver, the baroness?”

His uncle answered. “Where she’s been most of the night—dancing.”

Her eyes twinkled. “Thought I spotted her more than a few times. Not that her frequent absences lured you from her corner, Culver.”

His uncle snorted, then covered it with a cough when Chase glared at him.

“Truth be told, I’ve been waiting for you to make the rounds and pay my side of the room a visit,” their hostess told him.

“Apologies, madam. I…” He realized had no notion of what to say to defend himself. He gave up, and redirected the conversation. “May I help you with something?”

The lady sniffed and eyed the dance floor meaningfully.

“Would you do me the honor of a dance, madam?” He extended his hand.

With a beatific smile, she placed her gloved hand in his. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Lady Frommer moved like a lady many years her junior, not that he had any notion of her actual age, but she did have a grown, married daughter, and several grandchildren to boot.

“Tell me, Lord Culver, what was all that business with you and Lord Selbie the other night?”

Chase arched a brow. Her line of questioning caught him off guard. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Her look said she did not buy his act for a moment. Still, she deigned to clarify. “He was in his cups and behaving like an angry bee, then he threw down the gauntlet concerning that silly book, a gauntlet you summarily stepped over. Tell me, did you smooth things over with him after the ladies withdrew?”

He met her eyes. The intelligence in their faded depths told him not to bother hedging. “No.”

A slow smile spread over her aged face. “Good. I do not like bullies, and I do particularly like your wife. I would have been disappointed if you had not been man enough to stand for her.”

He inclined his head.

“I understand you desire to aid the veterans. Those who came home”—she paused thoughtfully—“with problems. Is that true?”

“Yes.”

Her silver brows shot up. “And you hoped to gain Lord Selbie’s assistance?” Her tone said such a notion was laughable.

“My wife understood he leads a faction that, were he amenable, could aid my cause. I had never actually had the opportunity to speak with the man.”

She snorted. “Selbie wouldn’t give you the time of day?”

“Precisely.”

“Man’s always been a prig. My late husband, Glastonbury, God rest his soul, never liked him, never trusted him, either.”

Unsurprised by this, Chase said nothing.

“You might be interested to know I spoke with the Earl of Claybourne and Viscount Randall about your concern for the veterans. I believe you can look forward to an invitation to join the men at their club sometime in the very near future. Mayhap you will find them amenable to assisting you in your endeavor, Lord Culver.”

Somehow, he carried on leading her in the dance. Inside he was awestruck. “I don’t know what to say, Lady Frommer.”

She lifted her chin. “A simple thanks will suffice.”

“You have my thanks, and my assurance I will not forget your efforts on the veterans’ behalf.”

She smiled. “See that you don’t.”

The sedate pace of the music had carried them the length of the dance floor, and back. Chase glanced at the place in which his small group had staked residence for much of the evening. He spotted his aunt and uncle, and Lady Harriet. Amelia had yet to return, or else she had been claimed for another dance.

“It does a heart good to see the way you dote on your wife, sir, and deservedly so.”

Chase’s cheeks thrummed with uncharacteristic heat. Too many damned people crowded into one place could have that effect. “I treat her with the respect she’s due, as any husband ought.”

At that moment, they passed the open doors leading to a small garden terrace.

As he watched, a familiar looking, tawny-haired man wearing a flamboyant waistcoat and ornately tied cravat reentered the dance hall from the terrace. A flushed chestnut-haired lady, barely out of the schoolroom, clung to the man’s arm.

“Ah. The Earl of Tully strikes again,” Lady Frommer said, noting the couple. “Poor Lord Pickston. He’s only just married the chit, twenty-five years his junior, of course. I s’pose it’s only natural the handsome earl would turn her head. Still. He could exercise some discretion.”

Chase kept the man in his sight as the dowager duchess went on. “When his father was alive, he made a pretense of an effort. Since he ascended to the earldom, however, his audacity seemingly knows no bounds. He’ll find himself facing pistols at dawn before long. It’s wonder he hasn’t been called out yet.”

If she only knew… “As it happens, I need to speak with the earl.”

Lady Frommer eyed him. “I wouldn’t have pegged the two of you as friends.”

“We are not.”

She nodded, as if satisfied.

The song began to wind down. “Kindly deliver me to the supper room, then you can be off about your business. I wish to fortify myself with a small bite before I am forced to play the sentinel in order to catch your wife between dance partners.”

“Of course. You have something to discuss with her?”

“As it happens, I wish to take two puppies off of your hands. I have twin grandchildren whom I don’t get to see often enough. I plan to use your wife’s dogs to lure them to my country estate.”

“I see.”

“I was under the impression you wished to rid yourself of the so-called mongrels.”

He maneuvered them toward the side of the dance floor closest to the supper room. “You are quite correct, madam.”

“So why are you scowling?”

He thought he detected amusement in her tone. Then again, he was scowling. “I’m simply concerned on your behalf. Which… er …of the three were you hoping to take?”

She shrugged lightly. “I hadn’t really thought about it. Do you have an opinion?”

“I suggest you leave the one-eyed rascal for another to choose. He did not take to the training as well as the other two.”