Page 38 of The Lyon Whisperer
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 thesky 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, notjusthis kisses.
His night-dark eyes gliding over herbeforehe 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.”
