Page 57 of The Lyon Whisperer
Warmth and contentment, affection and belonging swirled within her.
She was his wife now in every way.
Chapter Thirteen
Chase awoke inthe night from a sound sleep. An unfamiliar and profound sense of satisfaction suffused him.
Amelia.
He opened his eyes to pitch darkness and tried to gauge the time. Based on the chill in the air and the shadowed hearth, the fire had died hours ago. He peered at his drawn curtains. No tell-tale seam of light burned along their edges.
He smiled and reached for his wife—and found nothing but a cold, empty place on the mattress beside him.
He hinged upward and glared at the dividing door between her chamber and his.
She’d returned to her own bed, like a thief in the night?
He flopped back onto his pillows.
Husbands and wives did maintain separate bedchambers, he reminded himself. Presumably that meant they often slept in separate beds. What did he care? They had made love. Their marriage no longer teetered on the edge of illegitimacy.
Perhaps she assumed he would want her to return to her chamber.
Perhaps she had been cold.
Perhaps uncomfortable.
He winced.
He had not been particularly careful with her. He’d meant to be, then she’d wriggled her hips beneath his and his body had reacted with a will of its own. He’d sheathed himself to the hilt.
She’d been so tight. So slick from her recent climax at his touch.
He grew hard again just thinking about their coupling and groaned.
Perhaps it was best she’d gone back to her own chamber. If she’d remained, he’d want to make love to her again, now, and she would be tender.
He rolled onto his side and ordered himself back to sleep. He was nearly there when the thump of a door closing—softly, as if someone tried to mute the noise—drew him instantly awake.
He slung his legs over the side of the bed and stalked naked to the connecting door. He wrapped his hand around the lever, and pulled the door open on silent hinges.
Amelia lay in bed, her back to him. Her white lace cap once more covered the bulk of her hair. She huddled under bedcovers drawn to her nose, apparently sound asleep.
For a moment he considered sliding into bed beside her.
No. He was fine on his own. He pulled the door closed and padded back to his bed.
As his eyes drifted shut, it occurred to him he ought to clarify matters. At breakfast he would inform her she had no need to depart his bed in future.
Chase lingered atthe breakfast table reading a copy ofThe Timeswhen Amelia put in an appearance. He’d long since finished eating.
He set his paper aside. “Good morning, Amelia.”
She offered a shy smile on her way to the sideboard. “Good morning, Chase.”
Satisfaction stormed though him. She was well and truly his now. Lady Amelia Culver, Baroness of Sidford, future Viscountess of Everston.His.
To think their alliance, forged by her father and his uncle, was predicated on the stipulation he get her in line—or else.
