Page 82 of The Lyon Whisperer
She could put the question to Chase again. Only, she did not want to hear him admit he had chosen to marry her based on her dowry and the simple fact she was a practical spinster. The thought he had seduced her into their marital bed merely to gain her compliance could hardly be born.
“It will be a long ride tonight if we are to travel in silence, Amelia,” Chase said from the bench across from her.
“What would you like to talk about, my lord?” she asked in a voice that was wooden even to her own ears. So be it. She didn’t have the heart to attempt to sound blithe or pleasant. “I wouldn’t like to broach any subject you might find objectionable.” She knew she baited him, but could not seem to stop herself.
He issued a muffled curse. “Amelia, why are you acting as if my requirements of you have changed?”
“Requirements,” she repeated softly. As if she were nothing more than a domestic servant. “My apologies. I shall endeavor not to make the mistake again.”
But she knew she would. She had never been particularly adept at rising to the standard of paragon people like her father and her husband demanded.
“That came out badly. What I meant to say is…” He broke off and gave what she interpreted as a grunt of frustration. “Did you have a nice time tonight?”
She smiled wanly and hoped he could not make out the glisten of tears dampening her lashes. “I had a fine time. Together, the ladies and I managed to put it about you and I had a long courtship. Some even said…” She bit her lip.Some said it was a love match. That you knew you wanted to marry me the moment you laid eyes on me.
“Yes?”
She shook her head and forced a bright smile. “It does not signify. Suffice it to say we accomplished what we set out to do. Now, if you don’t mind, my lord, I am exceedingly tired, as you rightly assumed. I would like to close my eyes and rest.” Not waiting for his approval, she promptly did just that.
At least, she closed her eyes.
She did not relax. She felt his eyes on her, and in so doing, felt her own traitorous body stir to life.
She wanted his arms around her. Wanted his kisses and his raspy breath in her ear. Yes, it was going to be a long, long ride home.
Chapter Eighteen
Chase lay inbed, arms folded beneath his head, staring up at the ceiling tiles. Sleepless and frustrated, again.
The practice was all too familiar of late. He’d been so sure bedding his wife would take care of theAmeliaproblem, whereby he couldn’t get the blasted woman out of his head.
Unfortunately, her predilection to sneak from his bed after their lovemaking to return to hers had a deeply unsettling effect on him. Every night he woke to find her gone, and then proceeded to lie awake, stewing, for hours.
Making love was not enough to satisfy him, evidently. He wanted…he wasn’t sure what he wanted, precisely, except that he wanted her towantto spend the entire night in his bed.
He’d already found the entire situation vexing.
Then, tonight had happened.
The evening had started off so promisingly. They’d enjoyed a pleasant exchange en route to the ball. Once there, aside from crossing paths with Millicent upon entering, his night had unfolded with surprising ease. Men whom he’d wished to speak with for months regarding certain political issues were all too happy to enter into meaningful conversation with him.
Fallsgate had played no small role, of course. He and his uncle had joined Chase in the card room, by design, he suspected. Fallsgate had clout and commanded the utmost respect. Having his weight clearly behind Chase meant men who previously deigned him too politically insignificant to hear out stood up and took notice.
Chase was also of the opinion that curiosity over his union with the beautiful, enigmatic, and heretofore impossible-to-pin-down Lady Amelia Duval lent him a certain cachet.
Whatever the men’s motives, once they listened to the succinct yet shocking accounts of many a returned veteran’s existence, they seemed to finally comprehend the very real need these men had for help.
It was an auspicious start to the season.
Then he’d gone in search of Amelia.
Something about the sight of his raven-haired wife, gazing up at the handsome earl with her gemstone eyes filled him with…He could not exactly name the emotion, only that it inspired an almost irresistible urge to rip her out of the man’s grasp and slam a fist into his smug face.
He closed his eyes and groaned. Who was he kidding? He could name what he’d felt.Jealousy.He’d been horribly, unreasonably jealous.
In fairness to himself, he wasn’t familiar with the emotion. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d experienced it.
He supposed he could count the moment he learned Tully—then merelyLord Huxleyas he had not yet acceded to the earldom—had wooed Millicent’s affections away from him. But he’d soon recognized that had not really signified.
