Page 29 of Dangerous

She inspected the rest of her new living quarters. An enormous copper tub took pride of place on a pedestal in the center of her bathing room. The tub looked large enough for several people and Mia shivered with anticipation. It was the first tub she’d seen in England that even remotely resembled the lavish bathing areas in the sultan’s palace. The English did not view bathing as a leisure activity.

A collection of cut-glass bottles covered the vanity in front of a massive, wood-framed mirror. Mia took one and pulled the stopper: lavender, her favorite. She replaced the bottle and studied the rest of the room. The floor was an alabaster marble shot through with gray veins. If Mia were to stay here for long she would see that carpets were brought in to warm the beautiful, but cold-looking, floor. The walls were covered in ice blue silk, a color that was elegant but not particularly restful.

The bedchamber walls were a darker blue and a large four-poster bed with a damask canopy dominated the room. Plush rugs of silver, blue, and cream covered the polished wood floor. The only other furniture was a gilt settee and two spindly chairs clustered in front of a large, dormant fireplace. Mia briefly considered having a fire built. Summer in London was far colder than winter in Oran.

She was still wondering if a fire would make the room too hot for her new husband when LaValle returned, followed by a line of servants bearing steaming buckets.

Mia went to stand before the large mirror in her dressing room. “You may undress me.”

The Frenchwoman hurriedly closed the doors that separated the rooms. The woman had a prudish mania when it came to Mia’s naked person and thought her mistress’s comfort with her own nudity disturbing.

LaValle worked in silence on the various buttons, tapes, and hooks that contributed to an Englishwoman’s full battle armor. After years of wearing either nothing at all or a loose caftan, Mia found the restrictive clothing unbearable and wore only a dressing gown whenever possible.

LaValle removed her gown and draped it over the dress stand before she began unlacing the corset that was the misery of Mia’s existence. She was almost boyishly skinny but she could not go without a corset. The only good she could see in the evil garment was that it pushed up her small breasts and made them look twice as large as they were, which was still not saying very much.

She exhaled a gusty sigh of relief when her maid removed the stiff garment and finally lifted off her chemise. Mia examined her naked body in the mirror as LaValle removed her slippers and stockings. She thrust out her small breasts and frowned at the result. What would her new husband think of her? She was no longer young, but her body was still firm and supple. She did not think the marquess favored young girls. He’d looked displeased when he’d heard how early she’d lost her maidenhead. Perhaps he found mature women desirable.

She caught LaValle’s disapproving stare in the mirror. The woman was looking at the small emerald that nestled in Mia’s navel, her lips pursed. This wasn’t the first time Mia had noticed her servant’s disapproval.

Piercing had been common among the sultan’s people, who traced their history to a Kabyle tribe that had long ago migrated down from the Atlas Mountains to the sea. Most of Babba Hassan’s guards had had pierced ears and many of the eunuchs and women pierced noses, navels, and even nipples.

She leaned closer to the mirror and peered at the side of her nose. Only the smallest of dimples was still visible. Mia had removed the nose stud she’d worn for years before leaving Oran. At first she’d done so because the sight of a large diamond stud in the souk would have been too tempting a target for thieves. She’d had to sell it later and had never replaced it because she knew Englishwomen did not go about with piercings. The marquess would never know her nose had once borne a diamond stud.

Mia looked down past her disappointing breasts to her navel and the small gold ring set with a beautiful emerald. It was one of the first gifts she’d received from the sultan when he’d had her pierced. She fingered the gem and it glinted a rich green in the well-lighted dressing room. Should she remove the jewelry?

Judging by the Frenchwoman’s reaction, perhaps it would be better.

She looked from the emerald to her servant’s critical face. She would leave the piece of jewelry. If her husband did not like it, he could tell her himself.

Chapter Ten

Adam submitted to Sayer’s ministrations in silence, the two men conducting the business of master and servant with their usual lack of conversation. Sayer was the only servant Adam had retained after the death of his first wife, Veronica. He’d either pensioned off or found new positions for the others. Especially those at Exham Castle, many of whom had witnessed far more than was comfortable for either Adam or his family. His daughters were already burdened with their father’s reputation; the last thing they needed was to grow up with scandalous tales of their mother.

But Adam hadn’t been able to part with Sayer, who’d been with him since Oxford. Not only was he an excellent valet, but his taciturn manner suited Adam to perfection. He would have been hard-pressed to recall the man’s speaking more than ten full sentences in the past year. He was so in tune with Adam’s tastes, it was no longer necessary for him to even enter a shop. Sayer took care of every aspect of his clothing except actually wearing the garments.

The last thing Adam would countenance was an emotional or high-strung servant—like his friend Danforth’s valet, Creel, who was given to bouts of near-hysteria whenever his master came home with a wine-stained cravat or scuffed Hessian.

Adam considered his closest friend’s reaction to the news of his impending nuptials while Sayer undressed him. The two had been sitting at their club, relaxing after a successful night at the tables.

“I have asked Euphemia Marlington to marry me and she has agreed. I would like you to attend me at our wedding ceremony.”

Danforth had choked and spilled half a glass of port down the front of his erstwhile snowy white cravat. Adam had imagined he could hear the anguished screams of Danforth’s valet as the crimson liquid discolored the fine linen.

“You’re . . . I beg your pardon?” Danforth said, as uncaring of his ruined cravat as he was his valet’s sanity. There was scarcely a night when Danforth did not return home looking as if he’d been rolled by highwaymen.

“I am betrothed to Lady Euphemia Marlington.”

Danforth’s deceptively angelic eyes had opened even wider than usual as he digested the news, a grin growing on his boyish face. “Well, congratulations, old man. A toast!” He’d mashed his glass so hard against Adam’s he’d almost covered him with the remainder of its contents.

“She’s a lovely woman, Exley.” The younger man’s warm, speculative look had caused Adam’s hand to tighten around his glass. Part of his mind—the part not urging him to call out his friend—had been disgusted by his rampant jealousy.

Adam realized his mind had dragged him back to the same tedious topic: his obsession for his new wife.

“Fetch me a brandy, Sayer.” He left his small clothes on the floor and headed toward his bathing chamber, where a steaming tub awaited. He dipped one foot into the almost scalding bathwater and flinched back. It took him several minutes before he could ease himself into the tub.

He believed baths were one of life’s great indulgences and always had the servants heat the water beyond what was comfortable so he could soak longer. Once he was submerged in the steaming water, he lay against the sloped back and pondered his obsession. He was more upset that he was capable of being obsessed than he was at the subject of his obsession.

In effect, he was obsessed by the fact he was obsessed. Christ.