Page 16 of Dangerous

Adam snorted. Not that he’d found her unintelligent—far from it. Indeed, her approach to marriage appeared logical, unemotional, and . . . almost male. He frowned. So, not only was she much too attractive for a man’s comfort, she was also far too clever.

As for being dangerous? Well, he’d almost heard the wheels turning in her scheming mind, both when she’d been spinning her ridiculous yarn and later when she’d spoken “frankly” about her spousal requirements. In spite of her avowedly frank behavior, Adam didn’t believe she’d been entirely honest with him. He’d destroyed too many men at the card table to doubt his ability to accurately read faces: the woman was up to something.

Adam shrugged. He wasn’t about to waste his time speculating what it was she had planned. No sane man could guess at the workings of the female mind, and there was little reward to be had trying. As the Bard said, “That way madness lies . . .”

If he decided to throw caution to the winds and marry her—not that he was entertaining the idea, mind—it would be on his terms, not hers. She could have all the secrets she wanted, but if she thought to make a fool of him, she had a hard lesson waiting for her. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t treat her with all the gentlemanly respect she deserved, but he would make damned sure she made a good-faith effort to deliver on her part of the bargain if they married.

Again, not that he was seriously considering marriage to Euphemia Marlington or any other woman, no matter how sultry her eyes, or wicked her lying pink lips—

Adam swore under his breath. You’d think he’d never seen a woman before tonight. But there was just something about her ... something knowing in her eyes. A man would never be bored in her presence. Nor would bedding her be a chore. His cock, primed for action since her blasted description of dates and couscous, hardened the rest of the way as he imagined her lithe, naked body beneath his.

Adam allowed himself to enjoy the image of her naked beneath him for what it was—a male fantasy—and then he pushed it away. He wasn’t in the market for a mistress. He needed an heir, not a companion or an interesting bed partner. Her ability to breed was the only thing he need be concerned about. And that interest, he told himself, would be far better served with a younger and more fecund woman. An image of his second wife drifted through his head, and Adam frowned.

The carriage door opened, startling him out of his thoughts.

“We’re here, Your Lordship.”

Adam hadn’t even realized the carriage had stopped. He shoved away thoughts of wives and flashing green eyes and lying pink lips and hopped out of the carriage.

“Come back for me at the usual time,” he told his coachman, taking the steps to his mistress’s town house two at a time. Some energetic bed sport and a much-needed release would clear his muddled head. Indeed, an evening with the delectable Susannah St. Martin was just the thing to push thoughts of redheaded sirens and marriage from any man’s mind.

Chapter Six

Mia was positive every dipsomaniac, lecher, fop, and penniless peer in London had shown up to offer for her. Scarcely would one man leave the drawing room than another would file in. She’d received no fewer than five offers of marriage. The duke looked increasingly implacable each time she’d vacillated and begged for a little more time to consider the offers. She was on the verge of hiding in her room and locking the door when the Marquess of Exley was announced.

She shot to her feet, anger at his much delayed appearance warring with joy that he’d actually shown up: joy won.

“Show the marquess in,” Mia said.

“Tell the marquess we are not at home,” her cousin Rebecca said at the same time.

The young footman gaped.

Mia’s eyes locked with her cousin’s as she carefully smoothed her mint-colored muslin.

“Show the marquess in,” Mia repeated, employing the tone she’d used in the harem to command respect. The door shut behind the footman and Mia lowered herself onto the settee, her legs as shaky as a newborn foal’s.

Rebecca fluttered beside her like a frantic moth. “My dear Mia, I do not think you should—”

Mia raised a hand to halt the flow. “I know you do not care for him, Rebecca, but your approval is not necessary.” She threw back her shoulders and folded her trembling hands in her lap. She couldn’t have said whether she shook with anticipation or dread, but she most certainly felt alive, more alive than she’d felt since the last time she spoke to him.

“But Mia, my dear, just—”

The door opened and Exley stepped into the room.

“Lady Euphemia.” He graced her with an exquisite bow.

Mia could only stare. The wretched man was even more gorgeous in daylight than he’d been by candlelight. While sunlight exposed the small lines that radiated from the corner of his eyes and the grooves that bracketed his mouth, those subtle signs of age somehow added to his appeal. His coat was a dark blue that made his pale eyes even more striking. His lithe, muscular legs in fawn-colored pantaloons were more sinfully sculpted than they had been in black satin.

“What a pleasant surprise, my lord.”

He looked amused by her waspish tone. “I did try to call yesterday but could scarcely see the front door for carriages, horses, and gentlemen callers.”

Mia ignored his mocking comment. “Are you acquainted with my cousin, Miss Rebecca Devane?”

Rebecca dropped a shaky curtsy.

“A pleasure, Miss Devane.” He gave the older woman a slight bow.