Page 143 of The Lyon Whisperer
Husbands and wives slept separately all over England, in different rooms. Nothing out of the ordinary there.
So why did he have the sense something was very wrong between them?
It wasn’t just that she’d chosen to sleep alone. She’d seemed off from the moment he rejoined her in the ballroom.
He replayed the moment in his mind. Saw her face as she exited the carriage. Her perfectly expressionless face.
Hell.He was a fool. He knew by now Amelia went blank when she wanted to disguise her true emotions. But what hadn’t she wanted him to see? Had something or someone upset her during the brief time he’d left her, or was she simply over-tired as she claimed?
Could she be with child?
A fierce wanting ripped through him like a hot knife through butter.
He flung off the bedcovers and stalked to the adjoining door. He gripped the door lever, twisting it slowly, sliding the door open on silent hinges.
He didn’t want to wake her. He simply wanted to look on her sleeping and hear her soft, steady breaths.
He stood motionless in the archway. Having laid awake, his eyes had long since adjusted to the dark, allowing him to make out Amelia’s form, huddled under the bedcovers.
When she did not stir, he padded to her bedside and gazed down on her.
She lay on her side, one fist partially unfurled beneath her chin. Her night cap had come off at some point and rested atop her pillow beside her head. Her long, black hair spilled over one shoulder.
His wife. One day, God willing, the mother of his child.
He would take care of her, and that meant dealing with that damned bet.
He could not,wouldnot, ask her to change to appease her father or society or the bloody Prince Regent himself. He would not alter her sweet, giving nature, her inquisitive mind, her occasional outspokenness for all the money in the world.
But what if, by flouting Fallsgate, he lost everything? Would she still want him, penniless and disgraced? Could he ask that of her?
Better they’d never married in the first place.
Not that he’d give her up, selfish ass that he was.Never.
He couldn’t even curse the fate that had landed him in this position. Had it not been for the bet his uncle had lost, she may very well never have agreed to be his.
It was all a bloody mess.
With one last torturous look, he turned away and started for his own chamber.
Amelia’s sleep scratchy voice stopped him cold. “Chase?”
“Go back to sleep, Amelia. I came to check on you, nothing more.”
“Chase.”
At her choked plea, he swiveled to face her.
She emitted a small sob and sat up.
He vaulted to her bedside, his heart racing. “What is it, sweetheart? Are you all right?”
She reached for him.
He had her in his arms, cradled against his chest before he drew another breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Her body was warm and soft against him. Tiny tremors vibrated through her. “I had the most horrible dream,” she said, her voice tight. “I was in my father’s house, and you were there, somewhere. I searched and searched and couldn’t find you.”
