Page 32 of The Lyon Whisperer (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #79)
W here the devil was she?
Chase had returned from speaking to Tully to find Lady Harriet and Mrs. Sheridan on the verge of leaving, and his aunt, uncle, and wife nowhere in sight.
Lady Harriet explained the missing trio had gone to the supper room.
He decided to join them there. He found his aunt and uncle in an overly heated, crowded room, seated at a long, shared table with plates piled with finger sandwiches, pickled fish, and boiled potatoes in front of them.
Amelia was not with them.
Eyes a-twinkle, Uncle Harry told him they had invited her to join them, but she declined, stating she preferred to wait to sup with him.
“Most likely, she took another turn on the dance floor,” Aunt Francine suggested. “You probably just missed her after your dance.”
Chase did not waste time explaining he had been delayed rejoining her having opted to pay a brief, not exactly fruitless, visit to Tully to tie up loose ends.
Either the man had developed acting skills, or he had not conspired with Dodd to commit the arsons.
As for the business with the tailor shunning his and Amelia’s patronage, he concluded there was nothing more sinister than Tully’s pettiness at play.
With Dodd in custody, and no further arson incidents, that would seem to close the book on the fires in Copsham.
“Enjoy your supper. I intend to collect my wife and go home. If we do not see you again tonight, good evening to you both.”
He plucked a sandwich off the buffet table, popped it in his mouth, and set off for where last he’d seen his wife.
The ballroom had emptied of many guests, making the perimeter much less of a crush even if the dance floor still teemed with twirling couples.
He searched the faces as they spun past. No sign of Amelia among them.
Even as he chided himself for the undue urgency hounding him, he lengthened his stride. He needed to find her and allay the gnawing sense of wrongness in his gut.
Consumed with reaching his destination, he did not see Millicent until she stepped into his path, and he nearly ran the petite woman down.
“Culver,” she cried, breathless.
He slammed to a halt.
“Did you not see me? I called to you several times.”
“Good evening, Lady Tully. In answer to your question, no, I did not.”
She gave him an indulgent smile.
“ Ah. Yes. No.” He did look past her, then. A little farther down and around and he’d have a clear view.
“Listen, Culver, we are friends, are we not?”
Her oddly phrased question cut through his Amelia-muddled thinking, earning her a moment of his undivided attention. She did not have her usual aplomb about her. If anything, she seemed anxious.
Perhaps she had spotted Tully with Pickston’s young bride. For the first time, he felt a modicum of pity for her. He couldn’t imagine the living hell of witnessing Amelia throwing herself at innumerable men.
Then again, his wife would never lower herself to that.
“What’s this about, Millicent?”
The tension in her eased visibly at his use of her first name. “Bygones of the past and all that. If I can ever help you with anything, put in a good word with my father for instance, you need only ask.”
“I see. Very kind of you.”
She nodded. “Think nothing of it.”
Impatience with the lengthening delay burned through him. “Have you… er …”
She arched her brows in silent query.
He’d been about to ask after his wife. He gave himself a mental shake. “Have you seen your husband about? He was looking for you.”
Her face positively glowed. “Oh? You spoke with him about me? Where is he now?” She glanced about in a furtive manner.
“I last saw him in the supper room.” He assumed she would not cross paths with him and his paramour there.
Off she went without another word.
Chase charged ahead, not slowing ’til he spotted Amelia, standing alone where he’d left her what felt like an eternity ago, staring into the dance floor. Probably looking for him, he thought.
Because she loved him.
Him. Lord knew why. He’d done nothing to earn it, whereas she…she had given him everything he asked and more. She gave of herself even when he asked the impossible.
He was through with all that, he vowed silently.
As if drawn by his stare, her face shifted in his direction.
Their eyes met.
Only then did he notice her pallor. Her complexion, always pale as moonlight, lacked her usual vitality. Something was wrong. He reached her in seconds that felt like an eternity.
“What is it, Amelia?”
She gave him her signature, polite smile. “My lord?”
He frowned. He wanted to pat her down, like one of his soldiers whom he feared suffered from shock. Wanted to shake her and tell her not to play games with him.
He wanted to scoop her in his arms and carry her out of the damned ballroom.
“Have you eaten?”
She shook her head.
“Did you exert yourself overly?”
“Perhaps.”
A sudden blinding thought threatened to bring him to his knees. Could she be with child?
The thought of Amelia carrying his babe left him as lightheaded as she appeared to be. “Can you make the journey home, or should we stay the night in town? I have only a skeleton staff at my townhouse, but my aunt and uncle would happily put us up for the night.”
“No,” she said with absolute conviction. “I am fine. However, I would like to go home now, if that is agreeable to you.”
He took her hand in his and squeezed. “More than agreeable. I have much to tell you.”
“Oh?”
“May I assume you have not visited with Lady Frommer this evening?”
“Lady Frommer? No.”
“Well then, allow me to inform you that you charmed one of the most powerful matriarchs in London. Come, let’s make our way outside. We’ll speak in the carriage.”