Page 27 of The Lyon Whisperer
He withdrew his pocket watch and checked the time. “Five minutes to eight. Shall we go into dinner, my dear?”
Amelia decided against asking any further questions regarding the basis for their marriage during dinner. She was satisfied that he had answered her truthfully, if vaguely.
Not that she gained an understanding of why he had agreed to marry her. If he had not been the one to suggest their union, and as he was, by his own admission, not in search of a wife, then why marry her?
Furthermore, what had convinced a man so scandal averse to marry her in less than two weeks’ time?
Forconvinced, he had been—by her father, she was sure. The earl’s adamance that she and the Iron Lion wed immediately no doubt owed to her two previous almost-engagements—as she had managed to slip the noose on both occasions. Yes, her father’s desire to see her wed came as no surprise.
But what motivated Culver’s decision? Maybe it was as simple as her being the only daughter of a wealthy earl.
A footman cleared their plates. Another came behind, offering brandy and coffee.
Neither of them were accepted.
An awkward moment passed, on Amelia’s part, at any rate. She wasn’t certain what came next.
She finally made the decision to return to her chambers and prepare for bed. She could read before falling asleep. She had Georgina’s latest novel to look forward to. The thought cheered her.
“My lord—”
“Amelia—”
They broke off simultaneously.
Chase pursed his lips. “We’re back tomy lord,are we?”
She licked her lips and opened her mouth to apologize, and promptly lost her focus when Chase jammed a hand through his thick black mane of hair.
It was the first time she’d seen a sign of inner strife in the man.
Perhaps the fires he’d mentioned earlier weighed on him.
“Do go on,Chase.” She made sure to stress his given name.
He had his mask of calm assurance affixed once more. “You must be tired, following the day’s events. You probably wish to retire for the evening.”
She nodded, making a valiant effort not to scowl. No matter that she had intended to voice her desire to retire for the evening only moments ago. The facthesuggested she go to bed, on their wedding night, struck her as…familiar.
Suddenly her pretty dress, her fashionable hair, the thrilling compliments he’d given her, even his small acts of thoughtfulness today, added up to precisely nothing of import.
She had been grasping at straws, striving to remain positive by ignoring the obvious. This man, for all his mystery and undeniable physical appeal, was every bit as stoic and distant as her father.
“I am rather tired.” She cringed inwardly at the sullenness in her tone, not that he would likely notice, or care.
He rose, fluid and graceful. A hint of his aftershave teased her nostrils.
He pulled back her chair with seemingly no effort, and extended his hand to her. His fingers were long and unfashionably tanned, as if he had been using them to do actual work out-of-doors.
With no real choice, she slid her hand into his.
His grip was warm and firm as he helped her to her feet.
He must have misjudged the space, because they stood entirely too close to one another. Mere inches separated her nose from his hard-looking chest. She breathed in the tantalizing scent of his cologne with every inhalation.
With no warning, he crooked a finger under her chin, tilting her head back ’til their eyes met.
She had not noticed his lashes before this moment. Perhaps due to the glowing candlelit chandelier above them, perhaps due to his nearness, she couldn’t help but do so now. Soot-black, curled, and so thick they practically tangled. She had the oddest urge to run a fingertip over them to see if they were as soft and springy as they appeared.
