Page 69 of The Lyon Whisperer
She shivered and snuggled closer.
Lust unfurled in his guts. He’d made love to her half the night, and he wanted her like he hadn’t had a woman in a year’s time.
He had thought making love to her would lessen his desire for her, but in fact, just the opposite had occurred.
“You snuck out again,” he murmured into her nightcap.
He regretted the outburst immediately.
“I did no such thing. I told you. I was hungry. I didn’t want to wake you, and besides, there’s no door lever on my side so I couldn’t return even if I was so obliged.”
Sheer contrariness urged him to argue. He clamped his jaw shut and kept silent.
She had the right of it and besides, he didn’tneedher to sleep beside him, he was merely curious as to her proclivity to return to her own chamber. He would prove his indifference to both of them, right now.
He released her and turned for the adjoining door which remained ajar. “Go back to bed. I’ll see you at breakfast.”
He glanced over his shoulder at her before closing the door with a bit more force than intended.
He could admit in the privacy of his own thoughts, the forlorn expression on her face had a satisfying edge to it.
Amelia had attendedher fair share of balls, but never had she looked forward to one the way she did tonight’s.
Chase held her gloved hand, steadying her as she climbed the carriage stoop.
She sat, arranging the skirts of her royal-blue velvet ball gown as Chase took the bench opposite hers.
Though the coach’s black-lacquer exterior gleamed, she noted, not for the first time, the seat cushions could do with replacing. She bit her lip and refrained from saying so.
She’d gathered from her and Chase’s recent conversation he took his financial responsibilities seriously. Thus, he either did not have the available money, or he saw the expense as a luxury rather than a necessity.
If only he had access to her dowry.
How odd that her father refused to relinquish the funds at once. Perhaps if she had a word with him about the matter. If she saw him tonight, mayhap she would broach the subject.
She regarded her darkly handsome husband seated across from her.
He gazed out the small window, apparently lost in thought, as if he had forgotten her presence entirely. He’d seemed much the same at breakfast the past several mornings.
The distance between them, precipitated by him each morning, was completely at odds with the way he made her feel when he took her in his arms, as he had every night since the first time he made love to her.
She could not fathom how the passionate and tender man who brought her body to heights of ecstasy under the cover of night showed her little more than polite affection in the light of day.
Indeed, she had begun to hope they would share a bond of stunning intimacy. Those first few days, he had shared feelings and thoughts with her about many things.
It had all changed after that night, nay, thatmorningwhen he shut the dividing door between their chambers in her face.
Oh, all right, not exactly in her face. But when he barged into her room, she had the distinct impression her absence from his bed had bothered him. The thought had pleased her, even if it simultaneously alarmed her.
When he drew her in his arms, she thought he meant to crawl into bed with her to…er…sleep a few hours before they rose for the day.
Instead he’d left.
It had been for the best, or so her rational mind reminded her repeatedly. She did not want him to develop a habit of visiting her in her chamber.
He never mentioned the incident again. Nor had he broached the subject of her spending the entire night with him since then, and, of course she could not do that.
She stared at him from beneath her lashes, unable to look away, though the odd compulsion made her ache inside. She could barely steady her breathing. He was utterly magnificent to behold in his black superfine evening attire. The bright white of his shirt and cravat emphasized the healthy cast of his skin and gleaming blue-black of his hair.
