Page 26 of The Lyon Whisperer
“My lord, Chase?”
“Yes?”
“How is it we became engaged?”
“I don’t take your meaning.”
She began to wander the room, her footfalls silent over the thick, Aubusson carpet. “No? We had barely been introduced when my father informed me we would wed—in a fortnight, no less. I wondered how the betrothal came about.”
He moved to one of the seating areas comprised of a blue velvet sofa, two armchairs, and the accompanying tables. He lowered onto the sofa and spread his arms over the back.
She got the distinct impression he stalled.
“I believe your father and my uncle had a discussion about it.”
She joined him, perching on one of the armchairs. “You believe,” she repeated.
“Yes.”
“Were you looking to get married?”
He slanted her a long, inscrutable look. “Not particularly. But, when the idea was presented to me, I decided it had merit.”
“Oh, merit,” she aped. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected or hoped to hear. Maybe a small part of her wanted her new husband to declare her he’d taken one look at her and fallen madly in love.
That’s what would have happened in one of Georgina’s novels.
“May I ask how old you are, Chase?”
His brows puckered slightly. “I’m nine and twenty. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious about who I married.”
“A natural enough condition, I suppose. Anything else you wish to know?”
She smiled. “Quite a lot actually.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled in a very becoming fashion. “Very well. What else can I tell you?”
“I understand you were once engaged, a long while ago, to the Countess of Tully.”
He set his barely touched wine on the table beside him with a soft click. “You got your gossip wrong there, I’m afraid. We were never engaged.”
She flushed, embarrassed by his label. Hisaccuratelabel. She had acquired the information through gossip. She knew she ought not to press further. But that stubborn streak of curiosity urged her on. “But you courted her with the intent of marriage?”
“Briefly. I was under the mistaken assumption the desire was reciprocal. It turned out she wanted to be a countess more than she wanted to be a mereMrs. At the time, though my father had passed, everyone assumed my uncle and aunt, the viscount and viscountess, would have offspring.
“Alas, their union produced no children. Even had she known at the time I would inherit, I’m sure she would still have preferred marrying an earl. All’s well, and all that.”
She wondered if he was truly as unmoved as he claimed. A perverse need to know the extent of his feelings for the woman compelled her on. “Did you love her very much?” An odd tightness invaded her chest.
His mouth twisted in a semblance of a smile. “I more thought she and I suited. I later decided I had it dead wrong. But then, I was quite young.” He shook his head. “Truly, I now believe Lord Tully did me a favor by marrying her.”
The tightness within her seemed to dissipate. “Do you think we shall suit?”
A slow smile curved his mouth. “Let us hope so.”
Not exactly the profession she hoped for.
