Page 137 of The Lyon Whisperer
An odd feeling reminiscent of the day he dropped Amelia off at the modiste shop on Bond Street had the hair on the back of Chase’s nape stirring. “I’ll make this quick. Did you have anything to do with the recent fires in Copsham?”
Tully frowned in evident bemusement. “Did I what? Fires in Copsham? Listen, Culver, don’t you dare try to pin your mismanagement of your properties on me.”
Perhaps he should leave and go find Amelia, now. Dodd’s confession all but ruled out Tully’s involvement.
On the other hand, he was here, and he believed in being thorough. “You mentioned the fires to Amelia. How did you know of them?”
He pursed his lips and huffed out a long-suffering sigh. “If you must know, Millicent told me of your recent losses. She knows how much I relish hearing of your trials.”
Chase snorted. “I’ll leave you to your evening’s entertainment, with one final reminder. Stay away from my wife.”
“Good Lord, how maudlin of you. How perfectly common. You’ve actually fallen for your wife.”
Chase did not bother gracing Tully’s snide remark with a reply. He turned toward the door, then a quick thought occurred. “What is the name of your tailor?”
Tully blinked, then threw his tawny head back and erupted with laughter. “Why?” He asked when he could speak. “You finally wish to address your fashion limitations?”
Chase shrugged.
The earl wiped the corner of his eye. “Hoby and Shepperd, last I remember. Millicent deals with my wardrobe needs.” A cruel smile twisted his lips. “Feel free to ask her. Doubtless she’s here, somewhere, searching for me. Can’t be sure though. I’ve been staying at my townhouse. So much easier to entertain…houseguestswithout my wife under foot.”
Lady Tully ledAmelia down a dimly lit corridor to a side door that opened to what appeared to be a small courtyard. A lone oil lamp, its wick ablaze, sat atop a large stone bench to illuminate the space in a dull, golden glow.
Lady Tully grasped the lamp and gestured toward the bench.
Amelia sent a longing glance toward the now-closed door. Something about this scenario did not feel right. Lady Tully seemed to have staged things, as if she had prepared in advance to speak with her.
She also suspected Chase would be displeased when he learned of her decision to go off on her own with the countess.
But her pride would not allow her to bolt like a scared rabbit. She sat, arranging the silk skirts of her pale-lavender gown in an offhand manner.
She favored one side of the cold stone bench, expecting Lady Tully to join her.
Instead the countess approached the balustrade, lamp in hand, turning her back to the railing to face Amelia like an actress preparing to deliver a monologue.
“I assume Chase—you do not mind if I call him that? We are, after all, old friends.”
She did mind, but she refused to fall into her trap, which it clearly was. Instead, she projected an air of ennui. “Lady Tully, I need to get back. I’m expected. What did you wish to tell me?”
Her smile vanished. In the grainy lamplight, her face took on an eerie cast.
“I believe Chase told you of our history, did he not?”
“I’m not sure what history you refer to, Lady Tully.”
She chuckled. “Come now, Lady Culver. He no doubt told you how we were nearly engaged, and how he lost me to the current Earl of Tully.”
She inclined her head.
“Ah. I can see in your eyes that he shared what very few know—that the earl meant to cast me aside. He wanted to use me to hurt Chase by forcing the too-noble nobody—pardon my calling a spade a spade—to marry me, compromised.
“In the end, I did what I had to do to secure the match and got no less than I deserved. I don’t regret a single thing.”
“How very nice for you,” Amelia said stiffly. Calling her husband a nobody, indeed.
She had also had enough of sitting while the other lady loomed over her like a dark cloud. She rose to her feet.
For a split second, Lady Tully looked taken aback. “I’m coming to my point, if you’ll grant me a few moments more of your time?”
