Page 58 of The Lyon Whisperer
To date, other than her mad ride at midnight prior to their marriage, he’d seen nothing to indicate a propensity for outlandish behavior that he would need to curtail.
He recalled the gothic romance she purchased in Copsham, and promptly dismissed the book. One gothic novel did not a hoyden make.
His eyes lingered over her as she filled her plate. She looked lovely and utterly feminine, as always, in a fetching morning gown of pale…plum, he supposed, trimmed with velvet ribbon. He wondered what her clothing allowance had been under her father’s roof and whether he ought to concern himself.
If the Copsham mill had fulfilled the shipyard order for lumber he had negotiated, he would not give the matter a second thought. But one of the recent fires had destroyed most of the inventory.
He would have to inform the ship makers and request additional time.
He shook off the thought as, plate in hand, she made her way toward him. Faint dark circles he had not noticed before underscored her violet eyes.
Guilt pricked him. Mayhap he had hurt her more than he realized.
He rose to pull out her chair. “Did you sleep well?”
She hesitated briefly. “I did. And you?”
He glanced at the footman hovering in the open doorway. “Would you mind fetching a fresh pot of tea for Lady Culver?”
“Oh, that’s quite all right, Howard. It’s still piping hot, just the way I like it.”
Chase stifled an oath. He wanted a moment of privacy with her, and how in hell did she know the servants’ names better than he did? “I insist, Howard.”
The man beamed at Amelia. “My pleasure. Is there anything else I can bring you, Lady Culver?”
She sent him a bright smile and shook her head.
Wearing an ear-to-ear grin, he dashed forward to retrieve the silver pot and hurried from the breakfast room. “I won’t be a moment.”
Amelia waited until the servant had gone to rebuke Chase. “Thank you for your concern, but I assure you the tea is fine.”
He inclined his head. “I wished a word in private.”
“Oh.” She looked momentarily nonplused.
“I awoke to find you gone.”
A faint blush stained her cheeks, but she said nothing.
“I wanted to ascertain you did not suffer any ill effects from”—he paused—“last night.”
“No. I feel very well, sir.”
Her voice, low and velvety, acted like a feather down his spine. His loins tightened with arousal. So much for the notion her effect on his senses would diminish after they consummated their marriage.
“Do you? I am glad. I worried because I know you found the act uncomfortable.”
She licked her lips. “I did, at first. It…improved.”
“It tends to,” he murmured, grateful for the table hiding his increasingly obvious condition. “I daresay, the next time you may even enjoy it.”
“Oh, I did,” she hastened to assure him, then cleared her throat. She glanced at the empty doorway and lowered her voice. “The first part.”
He coughed into his fist to hide his amusement. “I know. I refer to the second part.”
Her mouth formed a smallOand interest sparked in her gem-stone eyes. “I see.”
“Amelia?”
