Page 32 of The Lyon Whisperer
He definitely recalled the times she chosenotto hide how she felt—when she inflicted the might of her wrath on all and sundry. And why he was thinking about his mother after all this time was beyond him.
As for Amelia, whether or not she truly cared to spend time in his company, one thing was certain. He had wanted to get back here to her very badly.
The near compulsion bothered him, just not enough to override it.
“You say your uncle’s man-of-affairs suspects arson?” Amelia asked, drawing his thoughts back to the conversation at hand. “How does one deduce that? Fires in close quarters happen often. It takes only one spark to take down a block of tinder constructed buildings.”
“I agree. Still, I found his argument compelling. The number of fires started, the size, no obvious, natural cause.” At her questioning look, he explained. “No lightning strikes, no villagers burning refuse, etcetera.
“One accidental fire, in light of the recent scarcity of rain is reasonable. Two, less so. No doubt I shall have to go investigate myself. Even if arson is not the root cause of the fires, I’ll need to ascertain the extent of damage and sanction the repairs. Too, I’d like to restructure the storage facilities in such a way fire won’t pose so much of a risk to the village itself.”
She gave him an approving smile. “I wish more of the nobility thought along those lines. So often the upper crust ignores the plight of their villagers if it does not directly impact them.”
“As far as I’m concerned, the villagers’ plight is the nobility’s plight. A decline in the villages within the fiefs we oversee is a decline for the entire estate, is it not?”
Her liquid eyes glittered with admiration, as if he had just made her point.
Time to change the subject.
“I understand you succeeded in summoning your maid. Mr. Oliver informed me she arrived this afternoon with the rest of your things.”
She froze for half a beat, as if his statement caught her off guard. Interesting, especially as she had spent the better part of the evening steering the conversation toward him—asking after his day, his plans for his and his uncle’s estates, his favorite food, for pity’s sake.
Did simple curiosity drive her, or a desire to keep his attention off of her?
“Sally did arrive. We spent the better part of the day unpacking my things.”
She folded her serviette and smiled her thanks at the footman who came to clear both their plates.
The footman blushed and grinned like an idiot. His besotted expression remained in place as he crossed the dining room, dishes in hand, and exited.
Extraordinary.Howard had been one of his regiment. Tough as hammered steel. Even faced with heavy shelling, the man had never appeared so dazed.
“If you’re not too tired from your exertions, I thought we might share an after-dinner drink. As you stated, we need to better acquaint ourselves with one another.”
He wondered how she’d react to his blatant reference to her prerequisite to their establishing normal physical relations.
A delicate shade of pink climbed up her neck and bloomed over her cheeks. “I’d like that.” She dampened her lips with the tip of her tongue.
An unholy desire to ravage that mouth, to taste that tongue, to claim her as his, surged through him. It was maddening. True, he had not had a woman in quite a while, but it had not been so long that he should crave her like a man desperate for drink.
Something about Amelia drew him. She was beautiful, yes, but he’d known many a beautiful woman, and never had a woman’s looks ensnared him.
What was it? The frankness of her violet stare? The richness of her voice? Her lack of coyness? Mayhap he simply wanted to bed his wife.
The last made perfect sense. Once he had her, he would surely get back to normal.
He led her into the library, closing the double doors behind them.
He’d chosen this chamber because of her apparent affinity for books, hence her adamance that she be permitted to maintain her reading club membership. It was also one of his favorite chambers in the manse from the days when he lived here with his aunt and uncle following the death of his father. They’d brought him to Warren House, and away from the city, hoping the slower-paced country life would help him adjust to the loss.
Removing him from town had also quieted the gossip—or at least kept it from Chase. By then his mother had been gone several years already, but his father’s death reignited talk of their torrid marriage, her scandalous abandonment of same, and his father’s subsequent decline.
The dark, red-papered walls and floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookshelves filled with leather-bound tomes had offered him an escape from his conflicted emotions of grief and relief.
He steered Amelia to the intimate sitting area he’d favored from the days of his youth, and helped her onto the velvet sofa before setting off to fetch their drinks.
He returned with two snifters, handing her one.
