Page 30 of The Lyon Whisperer
She sent him a stern look. “Sir, have you forgotten our agreement?”
He unfolded his muscular body from the bench and rolled his head ’til his neck gave an audible crack. “I have not, madam wife. Not for one bloody damn minute.”
She blinked at his harsh language, even as a strange thrill shot through her. She started to ask him what exactly he meant by the exclamation—then decided she understood well enough.
He held his hand out to her to help her from the bench, then tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Come. The hour grows late. I shall escort you to your chamber.”
He led her slowly along the path. She had a vague sense she ought to continue their conversation, and reemphasize their agreement. But she had enjoyed their kiss. What if he took her reminder as a request not to repeat the small intimacy?
In the end, she said nothing, and soon found herself standing in front of her antechamber door.
She licked her lips, glancing at the closed door further down the corridor. His chambers—connected to hers and accessible to hers at his discretion.
Chase took her hand, bowing over it. “I bid you goodnight.” Still holding her hand, he lifted his dark gaze to hers. “I shall honor your request, Amelia. I will not open the door between us. When we finally make love, it will be at your behest.”
Her mouth fell open, unabated.
With that, he straightened and sauntered away making for the grand staircase. He trotted down the stairs without a backward glance.
Amelia approached thebreakfast hall aware of a certain excitement coursing through her.
Her heart leapt at the sight of her dark-haired husband seated at the head of the breakfast table. He practically radiated vitality.
He glanced up, taking in her frozen stance, one thick brow arching.
Clearing her throat, she lifted her chin and strode for the sideboard. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Amelia. I trust you slept well?”
She picked up a plate and shot him a look over her shoulder.
His dark eyes gleamed, as if he had seen through the wall separating their bedchambers and knew she tossed and turned much of the night, skin over-heated as she relived their shared kiss and replayed his words.
Presumptive cur.
She sent him an angelic smile, then turned to pluck up a thick slice of toast and scoop a large dollop of marmalade onto her dish. “I slept like a log,” she lied as she made her way to the table. “Indeed, I fell asleep the moment my head touched the pillow.”
His lips twitched. “I’m glad to hear it.”
She made a mental note to not overplay her vehemence in future.
She spread butter over her toast, then added the marmalade. “What are your plans today, sir, if I may ask?”
He leaned back in his chair. “I had intended to take you out riding.”
Warmth unfurled in her chest.
“I’m afraid I must venture into town, however. I received a missive this morning from my uncle’s man-of-affairs requesting my presence to discuss the fires I mentioned yesterday.”
She squelched her disappointment over his imminent departure and reflected his absence could be of use to her. “I see.” She took a dainty bite of her toast. The orange marmalade tasted divine.
“He was able to confirm no one was seriously injured, however, the damage to surrounding areas and loss of timber is more extensive than we originally perceived.”
“I see,” she said again. “You had mentioned the likelihood children playing with fire had inadvertently caused the blazes. Do you still think that’s the case?”
His mouth tightened. “Doubtful. I’ll get to the bottom of it.”
She started to ask how he intended to proceed with his investigation when he executed an abrupt change of subject.
