Page 133 of The Lyon Whisperer
She ought to be annoyed by his faintly condescending, definitely high-handed manner. Instead, her heart swelled in her chest, practically choking the breath out of her. She nodded, aware the love she felt was probably written all over her face.
Not for the first time she wondered what Chase felt for her. He had never told her he loved her, though she knew he cared for her. It was there in the way he listened to her, the way he stood up for her, the way he made love to her.
She wanted to ask him, but fear that he would reiterate what he told her in the beginning held her back. Theirs was no love match, he’d said, adding that she pleased him—none of which ruled out the possibility he might fall in love with her.
Eventually he would love her, and he would tell her so. There was time, she told herself. They had the rest of their lives.
Chase smiled andreleased his wife’s arm as yet another man claimed her for a dance. He watched as the man swept her into the crush of bodies.
“Surprised to see you hanging about all evenin’, m’boy,” his uncle said with a cackle and an elbow to his ribs. “’Spected you to be in the card room talking politics by now. But then, you’ve got it bad, just as I always knew.”
Chase frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
His uncle, who had been more of a father to him than the one who sired him, grinned indulgently, and twisted one corner of his bushy white mustache. “You don’t think I’d push you to marry just to save my hide, do you?”
Chase’s frown deepened and his gaze slid to his aunt, currently deep in conversation with several of his wife’s club friends—Lady Harriet, her friend, Mrs. Sheridan, and Lady Georgina Belfry.
“Not to worry. Lady Culver don’t know about the bet, and I intend to keep it that way.”
Chase relaxed somewhat. “Do you mind explaining what in hell you’re talking about, sir?”
The viscount flashed Chase a smug look. “You thought I would miss how the day after visiting Fallsgate in my stead you developed a one-track mind?”
Chase felt his cheeks growing warm. He would not reach for his handkerchief to mop his brow, he told himself.
“Claimed you wanted the earl’s advice on how best to further your aim.” He chuckled. “But you already had told me about the incident with Fallsgate’s daughter the day of.”
Chase crossed his arms over his chest. “What of it?”
“Had stars in your eyes, you did. Mayhap I wouldn’t have thought twice, but I knew Amelia’s mother, you see. What a looker she was. Not a man alive met her that didn’t want to throw his hat in the ring for her hand. Don’t mind telling you, Fallsgate got a run for his money.”
“You don’t say?” Chase said, striving for an air of bored indifference.
“But that’s not my tale to tell.”
His interest pricked up at that, but the viscount went on.
“I had a suspicion, y’see, that the lass had caught your eye.” He shrugged. “Figured I’d know for certain when I explained how you’d have to marry her for the sake of the family. Had you balked—”
“By God, I did,” Chase interjected.
Uncle Harry waved that off. “You gave in quick enough when I let it be known who you were to marry. That’s the point. Knew right away if it weren’t a love match, it soon would be, and I’m glad to see I was right when I put that rumor about.”
Chase snorted. “You’re mad, sir. Ours is a business arrangement, a pleasant one, mind you—what?” he demanded, his train of thought going sideways as he noted his uncle staring at him like he’d grown antlers.
In answer, the viscount threw his head back and bellowed with laughter.
Chase’s aunt materialized at the viscount’s side. “What has amused you to the point of imitating a jackal on the hunt, my lord?”
With obvious effort, he reined in his amusement. “Private joke, m’dear. ’Fraid you wouldn’t understand.”
“I love a good joke,” came a woman’s authoritative voice.
Chase turned to see Lady Frommer drawing to a halt at his side.
“Lady Frommer, congratulations on hosting the crush of the season,” the viscountess said.
Lady Frommer nodded her silver-haired head regally. “Thank you.” She made a show of glancing around the small group. “Where is Lady Culver, the baroness?”
