Page 113 of The Lyon Whisperer
“Mm,” Chase uttered, noncommittal.
She worried her lower lip between her straight white teeth. “When Lord Tully withdrew his hanky…”
“Yes?”
“I noted the silk lining of his coat.”
The small hairs dusting the back of his neck stood on end. “And?”
“It was a distinct jacquard print.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chase absorbed Amelia’sobservation about Tully’s waistcoat lining. “Was the print an exact match?”
She shook her head.
He shrugged. “I will bear the man’s fashion preferences in mind. Now if you don’t mind, I shall attempt to see to more pressing matters.”
“By all means.”
With a huff of irritation, he riffled through his satchel to pull out the account ledger for Everston Manor his uncle’s man-of-affairs had furnished him earlier. He made a valiant effort to study it, to no avail. A question had surged to the forefront of his mind.
With an inward curse, he slid the paper back into the bag, tied it shut, and set it aside.
He regarded Amelia, seated across from him, studiously ignoring him. “Amelia.”
She turned her gaze from the window, to face him, utterly expressionless. “My lord?”
“Why did you withhold your plans from me, really?” he asked.
She gave him a blank stare. “I told you; I didn’t want to hear you say my idea was nonsense.”
He resolved not to lose his patience again. “As it was far from that, I’m having a hard time believing that’s why you kept silent.”
When she lowered her gaze to her hands, folded in her lap, he knew he was onto something. “Your notions were sound. I think you know that. Indeed, I should have come to the same conclusion.” He leaned back, spreading his arms over the cushion top. “My only excuse is that I don’t concern myself overly with the ways of society; lucky for me, that’s your forte.”
A small grin flickered, then disappeared.
“The problem was not your reasoning, but your decision to act on your own without consulting me. I must know what motivated you to do such a rash thing.”
Whether due to his gentler tone, or something else, when she lifted her eyes to meet his, he read resignation in their violet-blue depths. “You are correct, of course. I made an error in judgement. The ladies in my club all said I should not act without sharing my ideas with you.”
He shook his head, tamping down the burst of anger. “Everyone in town, it seems, knew what my wife was about, except her poor husband.”
“Ha.”
“We’ll be lucky, you realize, if your father doesn’t learn of your antics.”
She frowned. “My father? What has he to do with any of this?”
He slid her a glance. “Never mind. Your answer, madam. Why?”
Her chin trembled and alarm shafted though him. Everything in him clenched. He had an aversion for feminine tears, especially when used as a means of manipulation.
“I wanted to surprise you by doing something that would please you, something that would cause you to look favorably on me as your wife.”
Instead of tearing up as he feared, she sent him a brave little smile.
