Page 120 of The Lyon Whisperer
He cleared his throat, which had gone suddenly dry. “I can speak for neither your mother nor your father, but as for myself, I must admit I find your admittedly unconventional views and unique approach stimulating, even admirable, if challenging at times. I would go so far as to say, I would be vastly bored by any other woman.”
Moisture dampened her lush lashes. “That is high praise, indeed.”
“That is not to say I’ve changed my mind concerning your disturbing tendency to forge blindly into potentially dangerous situations in your zeal to assist your apparently dim-witted husband in his investigations.”
She swatted his chest. “I never meant to insult your intelligence, my lord. I simply wanted—”
“—tohelp,” he interjected.
She grinned.
He traced his fingers over her jawline. “Better now?”
“Yes,” she said softly, and pressed her cheek to chest. “I do love you so,” she whispered. A moment later she straightened. “I shall let you get back to your work for the remainder of our journey, as promised.”
He pulled her close. “I think not. I wish to rest my eyes a while longer, and I’m quite comfortable.”
She snuggled her face against his neck, and he thought he felt her mouth curve in a slow smile.
All too soonthey arrived at Dodd’s residence, a cottage located on a remote street near the staging area where teams of timbermen converged to start and finish their days.
Chase eyed the dark windows and smokeless chimney from his vantage within the carriage as Amelia removed herself from his lap.
When she reached for her bonnet he said, “It does not appear Dodd is home. You may as well stay in the cab while I make certain.”
Chase opened the door and waved at Geoffrey to indicate he not bother with the carriage step. He vaulted onto the sparse grass with a vague notion in his head that the absence of the step might keep Amelia safely in the carriage.
He approached the small dwelling and rapped his knuckles on the front door. No one came to open it.
He closed a hand over the door lever. It turned easily.Unlocked, then.He opened the door, cautiously. That fast, the musty odor of dust and accumulated filth assaulted his nostrils.
“Do you think we should enter?” Amelia asked from directly behind him.
He shifted to face her, stifling a curse. “I thought I told you to wait in the carriage.”
“I wished to stretch my legs. Furthermore, must I remind you webothagreed I should be present in the event Mr. Dodd is available for questioning?” She tried to look past him into the darkened interior. “Do you think he’s inside?”
“One way to find out.Ishall enter.Youreturn to the carriage.”
“Why?” Her eyes met his.
“He may object to our presence.”
She pursed her lips in a considering manner. “I shall wait right here.”
He eyed the heavens, stepped inside, and shut the door very firmly in her face.
A steady sawing snore reached his ears immediately. A quick glance around the open space which served as a combination of the dining room and sitting area gave evidence to what his nose had already discerned. Discarded clothing, dirty dishes crusted with indeterminate food, mismatched cutlery, and a large brown bottle combined to cover most of the surface of a square wooden table in the room’s center.
He picked up the bottle.Empty.He sniffed the uncorked lip. Whiskey. Very fine by the nose.
He strode into the kitchen, located a tin bucket of water, then followed his ears to Dodd.
The man sprawled atop a rumpled bed, fully clothed. By all appearances he had not washed or groomed in some time. Patchy stubble covered Dodd’s face, and the smell of old sweat permeated the chamber.
Chase dashed water from the bucket on the man’s face.
He came to, jerking half upright, lids opening to reveal beady, red-rimmed eyes. “Wh-wha’ is this? Culver, s’that you? What the bloody hell do you mean, barging into a man’s home? You got no bus’ness—”
