Page 54 of The Lyon Whisperer
She rose without a moment’s hesitation, and felt her cheeks heat. He might perceive her swift agreement as an overeagerness to be near him—on the bed.
“Iwouldhate to wake anyone,” she said in a prim tone. She made for the corner post near the foot of the bed, inwardly congratulating herself on keeping a good bit of distance between them. “Well? What happened when you saw him? Did you notice anything that might indicate his guilt?”
“Yes and no. I said I was seeking any and all information related to the recent fires that might lead to the apprehension of the one responsible. He claimed no knowledge, of course. Then I showed him the cloths coated with oil.”
He rose, snifter in hand, and paced.
When he opened the door to his lair, she had chosen to ignore the fact he wore nothing but a silk robe. Now she could notnot notice.
His well-shaped bare feet moved over the carpets making nary a sound. His muscular calves winked in and out of view. The lapels of the heavy silk parted a fraction with each step to reveal more of his upper chest and a fine dusting of dark hair.
“His demeanor changed. He still claimed no knowledge of how the fires began, but I saw something in his eyes. A flash of recognition—and fear. That’s when it came to me, what I should do next.”
“What was that?”
He reached the window, two fingers parting the drapes. Silvery moonlight bathed his face as he gazed outside. “Aside from assuring Dodd I would return should anotheraccidentalfire take place in Copsham Wood, I rode directly to the town seamstress’s shop. I felt sure I would find the bolts of fabric matching those with we’d found.”
“That was quite brilliant, Chase. Did you locate the matching fabric?”
With a shake of his head, he turned from the window and started toward her. “I did not. It turns out, your observation was correct. The fabric is very high-end. She had nothing so fine on premises.”
“Mm.” She took another sip of brandy. Oddly, the burn did not feel nearly so strong as it had.
“I decided to ride for London immediately, and made for my solicitor’s office.”
She gasped. “Today? But you must be exhausted.”
“I am not tired in the least.” He halted before her, his free hand circling the post to half bracket her in. His clean, masculine scent, combined with the heat from his body, wafted over her, teasing her senses into fiery life. To avoid staring at the vee where his parted robe bared his chest, she tilted her head back and found herself captured by his unblinking stare, nearly black in the dimly lit chamber.
A dark dusting of stubble covered his square jaw, giving him a rakish look reminiscent of the pirate in the gothic romance she and her friends of the Ladies’ Literary Society had recently read.
It was all she could do not to reach up and trace her fingertips over his cheek.
He downed the remainder of his brandy and tossed the empty glass onto the armchair at the hearth without a glance in its direction. The glass landed with a soft thud.
“No, I’m not tired, madame though I do suffer an affliction—of sorts.” He reached down and removed her lacy cap.
Her hair tumbled from its loose bun, unfurling down her back.
A low growl sounded in his throat. One hand fitted to her waist, the other wove into the length of her hair, sifting it. “So soft,” he whispered.
She shivered, her eyelids growing heavy. “An affliction?” She struggled to maintain the thread of conversation.
“Maddening hunger. Thirst—for you.”
“For…me?”
He twisted the length of her hair around his hand to gently tug her head back, then brought his mouth to hover over hers. “For you,” he repeated, hoarsely. “I want you. But I swore to you I would not touch you unless you wanted me to. Unless you invited me to.”
His warm breath fanned over her lips, and she parted them. Anticipation for his mind-drugging kiss pulsed through her. She swayed toward him, eyes closing, yet his mouth did not claim hers.
A fine tremor started low in her belly. “Chase?” She did not know exactly what she asked, only that he had the answer she sought.
His lips nibbled one corner of her mouth, then the other.
As if they had a will of their own, her hands fisted in the lapels of his robe, tugging him toward her.
The man did not budge.
