Page 8 of The Lyon Whisperer (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #79)

A melia congratulated herself on maintaining a veneer of sublime confidence after blithely asking Chase if he wanted to kiss her again. Inside she was a mass of quaking nerves.

But she had the distinct impression he meant to escort her to her chamber and say goodnight.

Meanwhile, he’d laughed with her, and not at her, when she’d all but shot brandy out her nose. He’d revealed painful truths about his childhood, his parents, she’d bet her mother’s pearls he’d never broached with anyone.

He’d brought her here, to this chamber, the library, because he thought it would please her. Although, she suspected he could’ve brought her anywhere in the manse and she’d probably be in the same lamentable position of wanting him to kiss her with a ferocity that had her insides trembling.

A full five seconds had passed. Humiliation hollowed out her belly. She’d made a serious mis—

“Yes.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and she bit back a grin.

Had she flummoxed the Iron Lion of Barrosa with her audacious—

His mouth covered hers. He didn’t touch her with any other part of his body, not even his hands, just his warm, searching mouth, slanting over hers.

Pleasure unfurled inside her, hot and swift, like sitting beside a roaring fire after coming in from the freezing rain. The tremors in her belly increased tenfold.

She wanted him to pull her into his arms. She wanted to hold on to him. She… wanted .

His mouth left hers, his lips trailing over her cheek. When his rasping breath curled into her ear a shiver coursed down her spine. His teeth nipped at her earlobe, and she could only bite her own lip in response.

“Do you want me to touch you, Amelia?” he asked, his voice low and gruff.

Eyes closed, she nodded.

One strong arm encircled her waist, lifting and turning her like she weighed nothing, then planted her across his lap. A heartbeat later, his mouth once again covered hers.

One hand cupped her head as he deepened the kiss and pressed her back into the sofa cushions.

Her arms twined around his neck, holding him close.

His thighs were hard bands of muscle, rippling beneath her lower body as he shifted positions to lean over her. An unyielding ridge pressed into her hip.

Dear Heaven. His erection. It had to be. She’d seen pictures in books in the Ladies’ Literary Society.

His hand left her nape to trace over her cheek, her jaw, down her neck, softly, so very softly. Then lower. His fingertips caressed the exposed skin above her low bodice. Her nipples tightened as if he’d touched her breasts.

She squirmed as the area between her legs grew tingly and hot.

Abruptly his mouth left hers and he sat back.

Amelia opened her eyes.

Chase gazed down at her, his dark eyes hooded and glittering in the stuttering candlelight. A fine sheen of moisture dampened his forehead. He traced his fingertips over her jaw. “Is that what you had in mind, madam?”

Unable to speak, she nodded. In truth, she wanted him to keep kissing her but could not bring herself to ask it of him again.

He heaved a sigh that was half-groan, wrapped his hands around either side of her waist, and slid her off his lap. Afterward he rose and extended a hand to her, helping her to her feet.

She had needed his help to stand, she realized. Even now, her legs wobbled. Her insides shivered. She had no notion before marrying this man these heady sensations existed.

When we make love, it will be at your behest.

“Is it always like this?” she asked.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

She licked her lips and experienced a flash of satisfaction when his gaze tracked the movement.

A muscle in his jaw ticked.

She held a hand to her belly. “Inside, I feel warm and rather melty. Like—”

He groaned, eyes closed, and jammed one hand through his thick, black hair. “Only when it’s being done right,” he all but growled. He cracked his eyes open and slanted her a glance. “Is there anything else you wish to ask me, madame?”

When we make love, it will be at your behest.

He expected her to ask him, now? She arched a brow, feigning ignorance, though her pulse raced, and a part of her, a very tiny part, considered do just that. “Such as?”

He shook his head as if to clear it. “Never mind. I’ll escort you to your chambers.”

“Thank you,” she said, sounding chipper—or she meant to.

The flicker of amusement in his dark eyes told her she may have missed the mark.

She might, might, prefer more kissing to retiring to her chambers, but that was a far cry from making love.

This was better. She had tasks to see to tonight, and, as he’d noted, the night grew late.

A long while later, Chase lay in bed in his pitch-dark chamber, head propped on one forearm, staring up at the white plaster ceiling.

He’d turned in an hour ago, at least. Normally, he fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. Not tonight.

Tonight he could not relax his brain—nor other parts of his body—thanks to one slip of a woman separated from him by a few feet and an unlocked door.

Not that he’d enter her chamber uninvited.

But he wanted her. Badly. She’d seen to that, and he’d bet his last farthing she hadn’t a bloody clue. She seemed, for lack of a better word, curious. What’s more, pleasantly surprised to find her husband’s kisses sexually aroused her.

Warm and melty, indeed.

He snorted. For a heartbeat, standing at her door he’d thought she might invite him into her chamber. But, of course, she hadn’t.

He’d told her they would make love at her urging. He meant that. He simply had not anticipated how desperately a few kisses and conversation would make him.

Conversation .

He ran a hand through his hair. Why had he told her all he had about his childhood, his parents? He’d spent what amounted to a lifetime distancing himself from their madness, and in a matter of days, he spilled all—or almost all—to his wife.

So she’d had a lonely upbringing. So her father, who clearly spoiled her despite her claims of paternal neglect, had not had a care for her feelings. So she’d gown up motherless. She still had wealth, prestige, beauty. In short, privilege.

But there was something so very guileless about her asking to know him. Asking for his kisses.

Hell’s teeth, his cock still pulsed.

A thump sounded from Amelia’s chamber, and he sat bolt upright. Had she knocked?

He threw his covers off and stalked, naked, to the adjoining door. He pressed his ear against the night-chilled wood panel and strained to listen. He heard nothing.

He swallowed. Dare he call her name?

No. Hell no. He would not fawn after the woman, regardless of the fact his manhood ached for release.

His father had made that mistake, and it had ended in disaster for all of them.

He stomped back to bed and threw himself onto the mattress, heedless of the bunched-up bedding beneath him.

He would stick to his plan. Amelia would have to come to him, the first time at least.

With ruthless will, he turned his thoughts to his meeting today, something he really ought to spend time contemplating. Bender, his uncle’s man-of-affairs, seemed certain the fires in the area had been premeditated. Someone had to have seen something, but thus far, no one had come forward.

Chase would have to question the villagers himself. They tended to be a tight-lipped bunch to outsiders. When their lord came to visit, however, they bent over backwards in their quest to be helpful.

An idea came to him. How much more helpful might they be for their lady? He smiled in the darkness.

“You’re aware parliament is back in session as of Monday?” Chase asked, his gaze moving briefly from the newspaper before him to the raven-haired woman seated beside him at the breakfast table.

Her head came up, and she paused in the act of forking up her eggs. “Yes, I suppose it is.” She resumed eating.

Thus far this morning she’d displayed a disinclination to converse.

He’d caught her stifling a yawn several times. He’d heard her moving about her chamber last night. The first time, he’d headed to her door. The second, he’d merely lifted his head from the pillow before dropping back into a fitful slumber. Evidently she, like he, had not slept well.

“I suppose parliament will keep you busy during the coming weeks. Do you intend to reside part of the week in your London townhome?”

He frowned and set his paper aside. “No, I do not. Why do you ask?”

She lowered her eyes. “I thought perhaps the reason you brought up the business was because…”

“Because I wanted to explain my coming absences?”

She smoothed her rosy lips over one another and shrugged. “It’s just that my father…” She shook her head. “I should not assume, my lord.”

“No, you should not.” He retrieved his paper and snapped it open. A stab of annoyance for her father pricked him. “As it happens, I did have a point to make. Along with the season comes the social whirl. You had a come out, did you not?”

“Of course,” she said, her tone announcing her instant umbrage.

Why would such a question bother her? Likely she had made yet another assumption about why he asked. She was ever thinking, his wife. Mayhap, overthinking.

He propped his elbow on the table and dropped his chin in his hand, studying her. “I’d like you to accept several invitations on our behalf. I’ll let you know which.”

Her violet eyes went wide. “I see.” She took a moment to consider. “I shall manage the household.”

He wondered where she was taking the conversation now. “Of course.”

“Father always said a proper wife must manage the household.” She mimicked her father, pitching her voice low. “As he never remarried, and based upon the households of many of my friends, I thought I should step up and, at the very least, help Father. Throw dinner parties, see to the upkeep, etc. But…” Abruptly she broke off, her pale cheeks growing pink. “Never mind.” She folded her hands in her lap and sent him a placid smile. “You will let me know which soirees would you like me to accept?”

He frowned. “ But , what, Amelia?”

She shook her head and gave a self-conscious laugh.

“I insist.”

She swallowed. “I don’t want to alarm you, but father didn’t seem to think I could manage. Not properly, ” she added, stressing the last word. “He said I was too outspoken for a female, and he feared I’d be too”—she glanced around—“soft on the staff.”

He had a lot of respect for Fallsgate. The earl took his responsibility to the country, to his tenants, seriously. He displayed wisdom in his political decisions. However, Chase was swiftly coming to the conclusion the man had as much clue about raising children as his own parents had. “I am not alarmed.”

Dear God, were tears welling in her eyes?

He picked up The Times again and buried his head in the pages, while reading nothing.

“I shall make a list for you of the parties I would like us to attend. Keep in mind, I hope to make political allies at these events. I’m not keen on socializing for the mere sake of it.”

She nodded with vigor but said nothing. Chase took that as a sign she had not yet reined in her tears.

She sniffled.

He bit back a curse and kept his gaze averted. “Amelia?”

“Yes?”

He folded the paper and slanted her a careful glance. “I have some work to do this morning, but I should free up by the afternoon. Would you care to take a short ride along the river?”

“I would like that very much.”

“Excellent.” He had not intended to invite her out to ride with him a moment ago. Something about Amelia had him making snap decisions. Those based upon instinct were one thing. Those based on emotion were quite another.

Of late, instinct and emotion seemed to intertwine on a far too frequent basis so he could not tell one from the other. It wouldn’t do. He needed to get himself in hand.

He knew where the problem lay. It was the only thing that made sense.

The sooner she invited him to her bed, the sooner his legendary control would reassert itself.

Clouds blanketed the sky in a dome of fog gray, frigid wind whipped at her damp cheeks, and occasional darts of icy rain stabbed her face, but Amelia couldn’t care less. Riding along the riverbank with Chase, she’d never felt more alive.

If this was marriage, she rather thought she liked it, just as Nancy had suggested she would.

She couldn’t precisely pinpoint why, however.

Merely catching sight of him caused her pulse to leap. Spending time in his company did funny things to her insides.

And then there were his kisses that left her flushed with fever. Only, not just his kisses.

His night-dark eyes gliding over her before he kissed her, his warm breath in her ear, his rumbling voice when he spoke her name. Those things and more filled her with the most intoxicating sensations.

She’d never experienced anything like this internal fire.

Certainly she could not imagine the dandified Lord Taylor or peacockish Lord Harrison, the two men her father had approved to court her, inspiring anything of the sort within her.

Riding beside her, Chase slowed his mount and signaled for her to do the same. “We’re a half hour out. Probably a good place to turn around.”

“Oh. All right.” She sounded disappointed to her own ears, and immediately regretted her tone. She sent him a brilliant smile and started to turn her mount.

He reached for her reins. “We have time enough to dismount, and allow the horses a moment to graze.”

Despite the inclement weather, he’d chosen a picturesque spot. The river below foamed and rushed. “If you’re sure.”

He dismounted, hobbled his horse, then wrapped his strong hands around her waist to help her down.

He released her the moment her feet touched the ground and made for the pack tied to his saddle. He withdrew a small blanket and laid it on the ground where a slight incline provided for a fine view.

She smiled as he helped her onto the blanket. “One would think you’ve been here a time or two, sir,” she said, bending her knees and hugging her arms around her shins.

He joined her, propping back on one elbow and stretching out his long legs before him. His black hessians gleamed as if they’d been recently polished.

“I lived at Warren House as a boy. A young man, really. My aunt and uncle took up residence here after my father’s death thinking it would be a good place for a lad coming to terms with the loss of his parents. Although I attended Eton and lived there most of the year, I stayed here during my breaks, before Oxford.”

“Boarding school. I would’ve liked to attend one.”

His brows furrowed in disbelief. “Why do you say that?”

“The camaraderie, taking meals together, the library.”

He snorted. “I think you have a fallacious view of life at boarding schools.”

“Really? Set me straight then, sir.”

His mouth twitched. “Imagine waking at half past four in the morning to attend chapel before tackling rigorous classes in mathematics, Latin, and classical literature—where an average mark, as opposed to above-average, might incur discipline with a cane. Imagine flavorless meals, crowded dormitories, and spending years on end with people you’d rather never have met in your lifetime.”

She tapped a finger on her chin, certain he’d left out all the good bits. “That does sound terrible. I imagine there were no sporting activities, no libraries filled with books on subjects of all sorts, no close friendships.”

He shook his head, but one corner of his mouth hitched upward. “You’re romanticizing.”

“What of…let me see…what is the word?” She cocked her head and squinted her eyes trying to conjure it. “Establishing your place in the pecking order. Fagging? I imagine that would be uncomfortable.”

His brows arched. “Where on earth did you pick up that word?”

She’d read about it, of course, in a tract on systematic harassment in educational settings which Lady Harriet, the matriarch of the Ladies’ Literary Society, had unearthed for them. “I can’t recall.”

“ Hmm .”

“Well? How about it?”

He plucked at the grass with his strong, yet elegant fingers and turned his gaze to the rushing river below. “Early on…It doesn’t signify.”

“You can’t leave me burning with curiosity, Chase.”

He shrugged. “Mostly no one tangled with me, to be honest. There was one among the crowd who generally ruled the rest—though he only attempted his nonsense with me once—during Eton days, at any rate.”

She wanted to ask for details, but he executed a swift change of subject.

“I left the list of party invitations I want you to accept with Mr. Oliver. There’s one as early as next week.” He paused as if considering his next words. “There’s something else I wished to mention.”

“Yes?”

“I need to pay a visit to Copsham. I thought you might like to join me. It always pleases the villagers to meet their lord and lady, and perhaps we can make a short holiday of it. There’s a rather fine inn where we can stay.”

“I’d like that very much. When shall we leave?”

“Tomorrow.”