Page 70 of The Lyon Whisperer
She thought of how that thick hair tickled her nose last night as he nibbled her earlobe, among other things and her insides went molten.
With nary a clue as to the direction of her thoughts, he turned his attention to her. “The weather appears fine for an early evening drive. We should arrive at the Collier ball in less than two hours’ time. I remind you, I will be quite busy, talking with certain members of the nobility.”
“Yes, I recall.”
“What of your friends? Will any of them be there to help fend off the sharks?”
“Lady Harriet and Margaret will both be there, and Lady Georgina also promised to put in an appearance, though she generally does not go about in society.”At least not where eligible bachelors were likely to be in attendance.
“Good. As I said, my aunt has agreed to look after you, and I believe your father will be there.”
She nibbled her lower lip. She wondered if he would be happy to see her or if she would manage to do something to annoy him. “Yes. I am looking forward to speaking with him.”
He nodded, then gave her a sharp look. “Amelia, I want to make one thing clear. You are not to discuss the particulars of the financial arrangement he and I made concerning our marriage.”
She gave him a bemused smile. “I have no intention of discussing the particulars. I merely wanted to suggest he relinquish some of the funds owed you—”
“Absolutely not,” he clipped out, his expression mulish. “I will have your promise on the matter.”
She sniffed, feeling decidedly deflated. “Very well. I shall not broach the matter of my dowry with my father.”
The fleeting smile he sent her, however dashing, annoyed her. She was not a dog to be issued an order, then patted on the head when she complied. She shifted her attention to the passing scenery, determined to ignore him for the remainder of the journey, since that was, evidently, his preference.
“I don’t wish you to worry over such matters, Amelia. I have everything in hand.”
Unable to resist, her gaze slid back in his direction. “You sound very much like my father.”
“Really? How so?”
“Father has very stringent notions about what constitutes proper conversational topics for young ladies.” She forced a laugh though it held no humor. “In truth, he would not welcome such a discussion.” She sighed. “I would not welcome the lecture that came as a result.”
His dark eyes, so distant a moment ago, softened on her.
She meant to say nothing more. Instead, the words poured out of her. “We have never been close, as much as I would have liked to be. The two of us are more like oil and water. He seems to find my very nature offensive. As it is well-established he adored my mother, I assumed she would have been totally unlike me.
“When I discovered several of her journals several years ago, pilfering a box of her things which had been packed away, I held onto them a long time before I dared open even one. I feared I would discover how different we were in temperament, and it would be like…” She plucked at her skirts, trying to decide how best to word her fears. “Like finding proof I had been born into the wrong family.”
Finally, she stopped the flood of words and folded her gloved hands in her lap. What was she thinking, talking nonsense about her parents? Nerves, no doubt, owing to the fact they would soon make theirentreein society as husband and wife.
He probably thought her ridiculous.
“I often felt the same,” he said, his tone blasé.
She glanced up and found his crooked pirate’s smile aimed in her direction.
Her heart lurched.
“I didn’t mind in the least. Neither of my parents had personalities I aspired to emulate.” Curiosity gleamed in his dark eyes. “Well? What did your mother’s journals reveal, Amelia?”
She sent him a tremulous smile, as inordinately warmed by him not scoffing at her as by his interest. “Apparently my mother and I have the same…” She broke off, clearing her throat. She’d been about to claim the same free spirit ran through both she and her mother. The same outspokenness, the same affinity for art and theatre and less-than-proper literature, the same love for animals. Understanding her husband might not approve of her list of attributes, she summarized. “It turns out I am very much like her.”
He gazed at her, watchful and expectant.
Time to redirect, she decided. “Apparently she loved to dance as much as I do, my lord.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Are you, by any chance, hinting that you’d like to dance with me tonight?”
“I believe I am.”
