Page 68 of The Lyon Whisperer
Something inside him shifted, like a bone, long out of socket, slipping into place. It felt good. Right. Too good, and too right.
He’d learned long ago not to put his trust in feelings—especially those that required another person’s cooperation. But he was too tired and sated to resist the draw. Tomorrow, he promised himself, and slept.
Chapter Fifteen
Chase came awakefor no discernible reason. Without even opening his eyes, he knew Amelia was gone.
Testing his theory, he patted the cold and empty bedsheets beside him in confirmation.
Slitting his eyelids open, he turned his head on the pillow toward the vacant spot where Amelia had been. Enough hazy morning light seeped in from behind his drapery to reveal the rumpled bedcovers, and no wife.
Despite his irritation—he had told her she need not depart his bed when they had occasion to share it—he smiled.
For Chase, marriage had been nothing but a distant thought for another time. For one thing, restoring the viscountcy and the barony required both focus and a staggering amount of money—most of which he had to generate before allocating to repairs and infrastructure. In short, he had not much to entice a new bride, aside from the assurance of bearing a title.
For many a highborn lady, the promise of a title would suffice to lure her into marriage, and the more prestigious the title the better. Lady Millicent Huxley, his one-time sweetheart, now the Countess of Tully, could attest to that.
Thank God he hadn’t been heir to the viscountcy at that juncture of his life, or he might have ended up bound to the woman.
He had long known he would eventually have to do his duty and sire a legitimate heir, which would require him to take a wife. He simply saw no benefit in doing so before that time. In the meanwhile, taking on the occasional mistress saw to his physical needs, enabling him to avoid the risks of tying himself to a lifelong partner.
He’d had no desire to wind up like his parents, ensnared in a living hell of a dismal, toxic union. It had taken his uncle’s outlandish behavior, and the possible threat of bankruptcy to push him into marriage with Amelia.
That and his unwitting fascination with the chit.
He was beginning to think he and Amelia would get on quite well together. Certainly they dealt well with one another in the bedchamber.
He rolled onto his side, eyeing the connecting door between his and his wife’s bedchamber, and contemplated her suppositions concerning his reasons for marrying her.
She had been off the mark—but not wildly so. He hoped their discussion put an end to her curiosity on the matter.
The muted sound of a door closing within his wife’s chamber reverberated through the wall.Odd.Remarkably similar to the last time she disappeared from his bed.
Suspicion and curiosity had him flinging off the bedsheets, and stalking to the adjoining door. He grasped the lever and swung the door open wide.
Amelia stood poised, bedsheets grasped in one hand, in preparation for crawling into bed.
She flicked a brief glance toward the open door, then chirped in alarm, jerking upright. She stared at him. “My lord, what on earth are you doing?”
“I could ask you the same. Where have you been?”
“Been?” she aped. Her violet eyes drifted over his naked body in a slow, yet thorough, sweep.
Just like that, he grew hard.
Her thick fringe of lashes fluttered, but she did not peel her gaze off his manhood, and that did not help matters.
For pity’s sake.He crossed toward her.
At his approach, she tore her gaze off of his erection and met his eyes.
He grasped her shoulders. She was cold as ice.What the devil?“Where have you been, Amelia?”
Her small icy hands fisted between them and the cold tip of her nose grazed his shoulder.
“I was hungry,” she mumbled into his chest. “I went down for a glass of milk. Why did you burst into my chamber?”
“I’d hardly call it that. I awoke and heard you moving about. I grew curious.”
