Page 30 of Dangerous

“Sayer!”

Sayer’s head appeared around the corner. “Yes, my lord?”

“Are you distilling the brandy?”

“I’ve had to send for a new bottle.” Sayer paused. “You finished the last one, my lord.” His head disappeared.

Adam didn’t need his valet’s significant pause to remind him of how much alcohol he’d consumed lately. Especially today—his wedding day. He’d been drinking steadily since he’d retired to his study, where he was allegedly seeing to important business. Business comprised of pacing and trying to get his rampaging lust under some semblance of control. He needed to stop imagining his new wife without clothing before he made an even greater fool of himself.

Even more important, he needed to stop imagining that other men were imagining her without clothing. Just because Adam could not think of her in any other way did not mean the entire male populace was mentally undressing her. If he could not get his jealous impulses under control, his social calendar would be filled with early morning appointments on Hampstead Heath.

Lust and jealousy. Adam snorted, what a delightfully lowering combination. Would he complete his transformation to callow youth by sporting high collars, wasp-waisted coats, and festooning himself with fobs and seals?

Adam groaned as the object of his obsession flashed into his mind and he stiffened, all over. He scrubbed his offending appendage roughly, as if that would somehow scour away his bothersome thoughts.

His lust would abate after he got the bedding out of the way. That was the way it had been in the past when it came to his amours. Although perhaps he’d never been quite so consumed before. He dismissed the worry. By this time tomorrow he would be back to his normal self. He would make sure of it.

Adam closed his eyes at the soothing notion and relaxed. He’d almost drifted off when a horrible thought slammed into him. Water flooded over the side of the tub and fanned across the white marble floor as he struggled to sit up.

Good God. What if bedding her once only made his obsession worse?

* * *

Mia’s splendidly handsome husband was drunk. She glanced about the enormous formal dining room and repressed a sigh. Not that it mattered if he was unfit for conversation. The only way to talk would be to bellow over the monumental floral arrangement that dominated the center of the twenty-foot table. It was less an assortment of cut flowers and more an impenetrable hedge of vegetation that seemed to have sprouted from the table itself.

Eight footmen descended on the table to set out multiple courses that consisted of at least a half dozen offerings. Gamble was among the men waiting at the table, conspicuous in his ducal livery, a gold and green dragonfly buzzing among seven black and silver.

Mia glanced from the handsome young footman to her husband and found his eyes boring through her. He was paler than usual, the only color two slashes of crimson on his cheekbones, like cuts from a knife. He’d been watching her with a sullen intensity since the moment she entered the room and had, no doubt, noticed her examination of Gamble.

She leaned to the side and smiled around the carnivorous-looking floral display. “My rooms are quite lovely, my lord. Did you have them decorated recently?” she shouted.

He tipped back his head and drained fully half his glass of wine.

Mia’s eyes widened. Good Lord.

“You must give your compliments to Hill. He is responsible for all of it. It was done two years ago, after the death of my mother.” His voice was as cold and unemotional as ever. Perhaps he was not as intoxicated as she assumed. Or maybe food would halt the process.

He glanced down at his untouched plate and pushed it aside.

Or perhaps not.

“Have you only the one sibling, my lord?” Mia almost laughed after the question left her mouth. They were married and yet she had no idea how many brothers and sisters he had. What must their silent audience think of such an asinine conversation?

Judging by the contemptuous twist of his lips, her new husband was thinking something similar.

“Yes, my sister, Jessica. She is the younger by three years.”

The footman hovering behind him refilled his glass. The marquess glanced down and his expressive brows hooked, as if he was surprised to discover his glass had required filling.

Mia wondered if he typically consumed such quantities of alcohol. The frown he gave his newly replenished glass suggested he was wondering the same thing.

“Your sister lives at Exham Castle?”

“Yes.”

“With your daughters.”

“Yes.”