Page 94 of The Lyon Whisperer
“For pity’s sake,” he muttered. He scooped Roddy onto the crook of one arm and absently scratched him behind his ears.
Amelia could swear the dog’s muzzle curved into a grin. She pressed her lips together to avoid smiling.
“As for what’s to be done with them now…”
She straightened, wiping damp palms on her apron. “Yes?”
He cursed softly. “I can’t have my wife wandering the grounds at all hours. I’ll inform Cook they’re to be housed in the storage room attached to the kitchens. It’s sunny and warm and, more to the point, will contain them—indoors.”
“If you think it best.” She refrained from mentioning the debacle involving a litter of kittens she thought to keep in her father’s kitchen. They’d all escaped and hidden throughout the manse. She and the servants had had a devil of a time locating them.
Father had not been pleased.
“As for your numerous daily walks, which I can now attribute to your caring for your miscreants, you’ll take someone with you from now on.”
“That’s hardly necessary,” she objected. “The staff is overly taxed as is.”
“Nevertheless, I insist. If one of them dashes for the wood, or”—he shook his head, running his free hand through his thick mane of hair—“any number of disasters occur, I want someone available to offer assistance.” He looked into Roddy’s one eye. “I will accompany you on occasion.”
“I see. If you’re quite sure. I hate to add to your workload.”
He shot her a sidelong look as if gauging if she teased him.
Of course she did.
She gestured toward Roddy. “Looks like you have an admirer. Careful, you might find yourself too attached to let him go.”
He snorted. “Not a chance.”
She decided now was not a good time to mention her fears concerning his adoptability.
“By the by, my solicitor arrives later today to discuss his findings concerning the scraps of fabric we discovered in Copsham.”
“Really? I can hardly wait to hear what he has to report. When shall we expect him?”
“I will meet with him. You will keep your strays out of sight during the length of his visit.”
A week later,housed in her husband’s coach with her lady’s maid, Sally, Amelia spent a relaxing several hours traveling into town for her LLS meeting.
It certainly gave her peace of mind knowing the puppies were safe, and no longer in danger of discovery and disposal by her husband or anyone else during her absence.
She placed a satin ribbon between the pages of the romantic novel she’d purchased in Copsham and gave up her attempt to read for the moment.
Her mind kept straying to Chase. Everything about the man fascinated her, from his deep sense of integrity and responsibility, to his brooding good looks, to the way he brought her body to life by nothing more than entering her vicinity.
Since the first time she stayed the entire night in his bed, they’d spent every subsequent night together, making love until exhaustion took them. She especially loved being held in his arms after he made love to her.
Or maybe she loved being made love to best.
Or perhaps she most enjoyed his kisses and the sweet nothings he whispered when he was as caught up in the magic unfolding between them as she was.
Amelia closed her eyes and leaned her head back into cushions that could do with replacing.
She wished Chase would allow her to speak with her father about her dowry. Oh, not for silly things like cushions and frippery, but for funds that would enable Chase to tackle the costly undertakings his and his uncle’s titles demanded.
The coach slowed and executed a lumbering, sharp turn. Amelia peered out the small, paned window. Soon they would reach the turnoff for Mayfair, the fashionable neighborhood where Lady Harriet lived, and where the club’s meetings were held.
She reached up and tapped the trap. When it slid open, she gave Geoffrey an alternate direction, on Bond Street.
