Page 151 of The Lyon Whisperer
The sound of approaching hoofs echoed.
Chase sent up a silent prayer that this time the rider was Amelia.
To his great relief, it was she—riding astride and dressed in widow’s weeds. At least the net was pulled back.
She drew to halt when she reached them. Her gaze met Chase’s. She sent him a tentative smile.
He did not return it.
She had the grace to look somewhat chagrined before shifting her attention to her father. “Good afternoon, my lord.”
“Afternoon?” he barked. “It’s damn near evening.”
She blinked, and it occurred to Chase she wasn’t accustomed to her father cursing in her presence. “So it is. What…er…brings you here?”
“I wish to speak to you and your husband.”
“Excellent. As it happens, I wish to speak to you, as well. Both of you.”
Chase snorted as his fear subsided and anger over the danger she’d put herself in welled up inside him. “There will be a discussion, madam. You may count on it.”
He was not prepared for the look of profound sadness in her eyes when she looked at him.
Before he could think of one word to say, she seemed to shake off the emotion. “Gentlemen, I shall return the horse to the stables and I’m afraid I’ll need a moment to freshen up. I’ll join you shortly.” With that, she rode off.
Chase watched her for a long moment. Then he gestured in a wide sweep and strode for the manse. “You heard the lady.”
Fallsgate had alreadyhanded his mount off to a footman when Chase reached the front stoop.
Without a word, he led the earl into the manse, down the corridor, and into his den. He shut the door and strode for his desk.
Rather than sit behind it, he eased a hip onto the edge and crossed his arms over his chest.
“I think you should know, I suspect Amelia learned of the bet.”
“Learned of it, or you told her?”
He shook his head. “No. If it was up to me she’d never know what a bastard you are.”
Fallsgate’s face went crimson. “How dare you?”
“Oh, I dare,” Chase said, his voice menacingly soft. “And I’ll tell you something else. You will not hold that damned bet over my head any longer.”
Amelia burst into the room. She had not changed clothes. Her face glistened as if she’d done little more than splash water over it. “Please, Chase, do not say another word. I have an announcement to make.”
Both men stared at her.
“Father, I finally understand what you want from me. You want me to behave properly, to do and say things as a proper lady would.” She lifted her chin. “I also understand you mean to not only withhold my dowry, but collect a very large gambling debt should I fail—or rather, should my husband fail to bring me to heel.”
Her father scowled. “Amelia—”
“I will not allow you to destroy all he has worked for to rebuild his and his uncle’s estates. I vow, from this moment on…” She broke off, her voice warbling as tears threatened.
Chase straightened, prepared to rush to his wife and take her in his arms should the dam break. But he prayed fervently it would not.
She took a deep breath and soldiered on. “I vow I will behave properly. No more strays collected from the stews…”
“The stews, saints above,” her father bemoaned. Obviously he had not known where she had found the litter.
