Page 6 of The Lyon Whisperer (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #79)

A melia stood in the center of her bedchamber, gaping at him like she’d never seen a man before. It was the first time since he’d encountered her that she looked the least bit disconcerted.

He’d seen her contrite, audacious, wary, brazen, lighthearted, vexed, cool, and always, always stunning. But never disconcerted.

As he had done many times before for young, inexperienced soldiers preparing to join the fight, he set about putting her at ease.

He sent her a placid smile and crossed the threshold taking slow, measured steps.

“Lord Culver…Chase,” she said, her violet eyes wide as saucers. “I hadn’t realized our bedchambers would be so near one another.”

He halted an arm’s length from her and cocked his head. “Hadn’t you? I assumed you knew how these things worked. Shall I explain?”

She swallowed hard, but his condescension did the trick, snapping her out of her doe-in-the-line-of-fire stupor. Her delicate chin rose a fraction. “You refer to the common practice of a husband and wife having adjoining bedchambers.”

He inclined his head in acknowledgment.

She surprised him with a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “I am aware. For some reason, I had not considered we might have adjoining rooms.”

Funny. That fact had been on the forefront of his mind for the last week. He refrained from saying so.

She gave him a frank look.

He rather liked that quality about her. Her lack of coyness. He detested coyness in a woman.

“Perhaps if the door did not look as if it were part of the paneled wall, and if my side of it had a lever, the thought may have occurred to me sooner. Tell me, sir, is it usual for a husband to have the only means of accessing both chambers?”

“Many older homes have only one-way doors.”

She licked her lush, pink lips. He tried not to notice. He’d been trying not to notice.

“Do you intend to allow yourself into my chambers unannounced, then?”

He considered her question, moving to gaze out the open window of her bedchamber toward the manicured flower gardens below. “As a practice, no. However, I make no promise never to do so.” He turned to gauge her reaction.

Her face revealed nothing. Interesting.

“I see. But…you will abide by the promise you made me?”

Her constant questioning of his integrity was starting to irritate him. “I will. I can also promise to always open my door to you, should you knock.”

She licked her lips again and his loins stirred. He gritted his teeth. He’d dealt with a simmering arousal all bloody morning. Not for the first time he wished she hadn’t made that request to delay the marital bed.

Had she simply allowed the normal course of things, not only would his hunger be blessedly assuaged this very day, but she would know the merit in allowing her husband his rights.

He read an unmistakable well-spring of passion in her flashing eyes and bold stare. She had fire in her, had it in droves. She would take to his lovemaking like a cat took to cream.

But.

She had asked for a delay of indeterminate length, and he had promised to abide by her wishes.

“Thank you,” she said coolly.

He crossed his arms over his chest and glanced around the feminine bedchamber. “Is there anything you lack, or wish for me to change?”

Something in her expression altered. Softened, for lack of a better word.

“No, I have all I need, aside from my things.”

“Which will arrive soon, you said? Along with your personal maid?”

She nodded.

There it was again—the odd sense she kept something from him. When she’d mentioned her plan to send for her possessions at a later date this morning, he got the same flicker of awareness.

Not that he could fathom any possible misadventure in her decision to get settled before sending for the bulk of her belongings. Certainly he did not get the impression she intended to run back home to her father at her earliest opportunity.

She apparently had as close a relationship with her father as he had once had with his.

Which was to say, not close at all.

Still. He had learned not to discount his intuition. It had kept him from harm’s way on more occasions than he could count. He would have to keep his eye on her.

In Sally’s absence, Amelia dressed for dinner with the assistance of one of the chambermaids, Mary, who proudly explained she had some skill as a lady’s maid, having trained under her mother.

Wanting to encourage the girl, and not wishing to embarrass her should she not have the skill to dress her hair, Amelia let her choose the style.

Mary took to the task, fashioning a series of soft curls into a loose chignon at the back of her head that allowed the length of it to fall over one shoulder in the so-called Grecian style. She finished off the look by tucking a fragrant blossom from the garden behind Amelia’s ear.

She chose one of her new gowns, purchased as part of her wedding trousseau. The gown, fashioned of mint-green silk, had a snug bodice, much lower cut than any she had ever owned. Indeed, she had never dressed in such an alluring fashion.

Exiting her chambers, she couldn’t help wondering if her handsome husband would approve of her appearance and issue another hushed compliment like the one he had bestowed this morning at the wedding breakfast. She would never admit to anyone, not even her friends in the Ladies’ Literary Society, how many times she had recalled the simply spoken praise that had sent a thrill of pleasure through her.

She reached the parlor, and hesitated at the open doorway for a moment, gathering her nerve.

Chase stood at the oriel window, facing out. Her husband—a man she barely knew.

Straightening her shoulders, she strode into the room.

He turned, taking his time. “Good evening, Amelia. I trust you had a restful afternoon?”

She had spent some time reading Georgina’s latest romantic novel, and writing in her journal, before Mary came to help her dress for dinner. “I did some writing, and a good deal of thinking. And you?”

“Writing and thinking,” he repeated as if the concepts were alien to him. He sauntered toward her, hands linked behind him. “I went over some damage reports regarding recent fires suffered by one of the villages located on the viscount’s estates.”

“Dear Heaven. Fires, as in multiple? I hope no one was hurt. What caused them?”

“That is still to be determined. The first incident, we attributed to some older children who may have inadvertently started a fire which they could then not contain. Then a second occurred.” As he spoke his dark eyes traveled over the length of her, from her head to her slippers and back again.

A spray of gooseflesh covered her arms and legs.

“You look very nice, Amelia.”

It wasn’t what he said, but how—his hushed tone, his suddenly, heavy-lidded eyes—that had pleasure coursing through her.

“Thank you.”

“Would you care for a glass of sherry?”

“I would.”

He went to the credenza, unearthing a decanter of golden wine from an upper cabinet and splashing the contents into two crystal glasses. A moment later he returned and handed one of the glasses to her.

Amelia sipped the sweet wine and gathered her courage to broach the question that had coalesced in her mind this afternoon as she penned the events of the last few weeks.

“My lord, Chase?”

“Yes?”

“How is it we became engaged?”

“I don’t take your meaning.”

She began to wander the room, her footfalls silent over the thick, Aubusson carpet. “No? We had barely been introduced when my father informed me we would wed—in a fortnight, no less. I wondered how the betrothal came about.”

He moved to one of the seating areas comprised of a blue velvet sofa, two armchairs, and the accompanying tables. He lowered onto the sofa and spread his arms over the back.

She got the distinct impression he stalled.

“I believe your father and my uncle had a discussion about it.”

She joined him, perching on one of the armchairs. “You believe,” she repeated.

“Yes.”

“Were you looking to get married?”

He slanted her a long, inscrutable look. “Not particularly. But, when the idea was presented to me, I decided it had merit.”

“Oh, merit,” she aped. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected or hoped to hear. Maybe a small part of her wanted her new husband to declare her he’d taken one look at her and fallen madly in love.

That’s what would have happened in one of Georgina’s novels.

“May I ask how old you are, Chase?”

His brows puckered slightly. “I’m nine and twenty. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious about who I married.”

“A natural enough condition, I suppose. Anything else you wish to know?”

She smiled. “Quite a lot actually.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled in a very becoming fashion. “Very well. What else can I tell you?”

“I understand you were once engaged, a long while ago, to the Countess of Tully.”

He set his barely touched wine on the table beside him with a soft click. “You got your gossip wrong there, I’m afraid. We were never engaged.”

She flushed, embarrassed by his label. His accurate label. She had acquired the information through gossip. She knew she ought not to press further. But that stubborn streak of curiosity urged her on. “But you courted her with the intent of marriage?”

“Briefly. I was under the mistaken assumption the desire was reciprocal. It turned out she wanted to be a countess more than she wanted to be a mere Mrs . At the time, though my father had passed, everyone assumed my uncle and aunt, the viscount and viscountess, would have offspring.

“Alas, their union produced no children. Even had she known at the time I would inherit, I’m sure she would still have preferred marrying an earl. All’s well, and all that.”

She wondered if he was truly as unmoved as he claimed. A perverse need to know the extent of his feelings for the woman compelled her on. “Did you love her very much?” An odd tightness invaded her chest.

His mouth twisted in a semblance of a smile. “I more thought she and I suited. I later decided I had it dead wrong. But then, I was quite young.” He shook his head. “Truly, I now believe Lord Tully did me a favor by marrying her.”

The tightness within her seemed to dissipate. “Do you think we shall suit?”

A slow smile curved his mouth. “Let us hope so.”

Not exactly the profession she hoped for.

He withdrew his pocket watch and checked the time. “Five minutes to eight. Shall we go into dinner, my dear?”

Amelia decided against asking any further questions regarding the basis for their marriage during dinner. She was satisfied that he had answered her truthfully, if vaguely.

Not that she gained an understanding of why he had agreed to marry her. If he had not been the one to suggest their union, and as he was, by his own admission, not in search of a wife, then why marry her?

Furthermore, what had convinced a man so scandal averse to marry her in less than two weeks’ time?

For convinced , he had been—by her father, she was sure. The earl’s adamance that she and the Iron Lion wed immediately no doubt owed to her two previous almost-engagements—as she had managed to slip the noose on both occasions. Yes, her father’s desire to see her wed came as no surprise.

But what motivated Culver’s decision? Maybe it was as simple as her being the only daughter of a wealthy earl.

A footman cleared their plates. Another came behind, offering brandy and coffee.

Neither of them were accepted.

An awkward moment passed, on Amelia’s part, at any rate. She wasn’t certain what came next.

She finally made the decision to return to her chambers and prepare for bed. She could read before falling asleep. She had Georgina’s latest novel to look forward to. The thought cheered her.

“My lord—”

“Amelia—”

They broke off simultaneously.

Chase pursed his lips. “We’re back to my lord, are we?”

She licked her lips and opened her mouth to apologize, and promptly lost her focus when Chase jammed a hand through his thick black mane of hair.

It was the first time she’d seen a sign of inner strife in the man.

Perhaps the fires he’d mentioned earlier weighed on him.

“Do go on, Chase .” She made sure to stress his given name.

He had his mask of calm assurance affixed once more. “You must be tired, following the day’s events. You probably wish to retire for the evening.”

She nodded, making a valiant effort not to scowl. No matter that she had intended to voice her desire to retire for the evening only moments ago. The fact he suggested she go to bed, on their wedding night, struck her as…familiar.

Suddenly her pretty dress, her fashionable hair, the thrilling compliments he’d given her, even his small acts of thoughtfulness today, added up to precisely nothing of import.

She had been grasping at straws, striving to remain positive by ignoring the obvious. This man, for all his mystery and undeniable physical appeal, was every bit as stoic and distant as her father.

“I am rather tired.” She cringed inwardly at the sullenness in her tone, not that he would likely notice, or care.

He rose, fluid and graceful. A hint of his aftershave teased her nostrils.

He pulled back her chair with seemingly no effort, and extended his hand to her. His fingers were long and unfashionably tanned, as if he had been using them to do actual work out-of-doors.

With no real choice, she slid her hand into his.

His grip was warm and firm as he helped her to her feet.

He must have misjudged the space, because they stood entirely too close to one another. Mere inches separated her nose from his hard-looking chest. She breathed in the tantalizing scent of his cologne with every inhalation.

With no warning, he crooked a finger under her chin, tilting her head back ’til their eyes met.

She had not noticed his lashes before this moment. Perhaps due to the glowing candlelit chandelier above them, perhaps due to his nearness, she couldn’t help but do so now. Soot-black, curled, and so thick they practically tangled. She had the oddest urge to run a fingertip over them to see if they were as soft and springy as they appeared.

She ought not stare—even if he seemed to be staring at her with equal boldness.

With an effort of will, she dropped her gaze and got as far as his mouth. Broad, reddish lips, not too full, yet not thin by any means. Indeed, just the right shape. Her belly trembled and an unfamiliar warmth coiled through her.

Dear Heaven.

“If you’re sure, I’ll escort you to your chambers.” His knuckles traced the line of her jaw. “If you have a mind to, however, I thought you might like to see the gardens below your window up close—at night.”

She did enjoy gardens, and she couldn’t say she’d ever experienced one at night under the light of a full moon like the one she thought she’d glimpsed in the dusk sky. “Very well, if it pleases you.”

The slow smile curving his mouth upward said it did.

He tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and led her at a leisurely pace through the manse toward his office, and the doors which opened to the garden therein. There were more expeditious routes, and he wasn’t sure why he’d chosen to take her this way.

Then again, there was nothing wrong with familiarizing her with the lay of the house.

Nor with familiarizing her with his touch.

He opened the French doors adjacent to his desk and escorted her out onto the graveled path.

“It might be uneven. You should stay close,” he murmured.

“Yes, of course,” she replied, inching nearer to his side.

Her perfume wafted up at him, fresh and feminine, as their feet crunched over the rocks. A full moon sat low in a cloudless sky and bathed the path, and the woman beside him, in silvery light.

A soft breeze whispered through the surrounding foliage, and he felt a small shiver go through her.

Chase untucked her hand from his elbow and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, offering his warmth, and bringing more of her in contact with more of him.

Her body was lithe and supple and too damned inviting. Everything in him wanted to run his hands over every part of her. Every part.

“Not far off now,” he assured her. He had a destination in mind he thought she would like.

She glanced up at him, smiling shyly, and her pale blue-violet eyes shimmered like polished glass in the moonlight.

“I must remember to give my compliments to the gardener. The flower beds are stunning from my chambers. But, seeing the myriad blossoms up close, breathing in the mélange of their fragrances, is another experience entirely.”

Satisfaction and simmering frustration clashed within him. It had been the right decision, bringing her to visit the gardens tonight even if the sight and smell—and now feel—of her threatened to drive him mad.

He wanted her. She was his wife, damn it. He couldn’t decide if that made his thwarted desire better or worse—better, because he knew eventually he’d have her, or worse, because he could have her tonight if not for her conditions.

Everything about Amelia, her searching gemstone eyes, her throaty voice, the sight of her wearing that low cut, figure-hugging gown had him in a fevered state.

He had always had a healthy appetite for the female sex. But never had a woman affected him this way.

It had to be the enforced wait to bed her. Had to be. He would survive, no matter how long it took for his wife to come to him. He would not be led about by his libido as his father had been.

But perhaps he could help speed the process.

They reached the secluded section of the garden he intended. It boasted a vine-covered trellis, beneath which sat a slatted bench, a small fountain, and copious blossoms.

She made a small sound of delight.

“Would you care to sit?”

She nodded and sat, arranging her skirts as he lowered onto the bench beside her.

If his thigh brushed hers, if his arm went around her shoulders, well, she had not garnered any promise from him to the contrary, and she was his wedded wife.

“Thank you for bringing me here, Chase. It’s lovely.”

“You’re welcome. But, in truth, I had escorted you here with a very specific purpose in mind.”

“Oh?”

She angled her face to gaze on him directly, then parted her lips and dabbed the corner of her mouth with the tip of her tongue—again.

His hard-won control snapped. He took her face in his hands. “I decided it was past time to claim a first kiss from my wife.”

He lowered his head and covered her mouth with his.