Page 46 of Dangerous

She frowned. Last night wasn’t about love; it was about business. Well, and maybe a little lust. The marquess wanted an heir, and he had taken steps to get what he wanted. The fact that he’d made the transaction a pleasure rather than a chore didn’t alter the truth. He didn’t want a wife or a lover or a friend. He wanted a child. She was a broodmare and it was her duty to breed. Period. He’d come to her, serviced her, and departed as soon as politely possible. She would do well to keep that in mind. Just because he was tender in bed, did not mean he was tender in general. He was pursuing his reason for marriage just as she would pursue hers when he dumped her at his country home.

* * *

The few hours he’d managed to sleep had been flooded with images of his new wife. None of the images had been the type to encourage peaceful slumber and Adam awoke feeling edgy, but also resolved. He thought about how close he’d been to carrying through on his schoolboy infatuation and sleeping in his wife’s bed and shuddered. Well, his brain shuddered but his treacherous cock kept reminding him why waking in his wife’s bed would be a much more rewarding experience than waking alone.

They’d barely spent any time at all together and she’d already invaded his hard-won peace of mind and caused havoc. Who knew what would happen if he were to indulge his obsession and enjoy her company as freely as he seemed to want? Of one thing he was certain: only rigid control would answer.

To that end, he commenced his morning with a freezing bath. Once he’d extinguished his insistent arousal, he sent word to saddle his newest hack. Phoebe was an unusual silvery gray mare with intriguing white spots scattered across her withers and flank. She was as eager as she was beautiful and the perfect companion for a bruising morning ride.

The park was almost deserted and Adam rode her like a demon. His mount was cursed with as much excess energy and tension as her master, and Adam returned to Exley House as lathered as the mare. Unfortunately, he was still brimming with mental energy, no matter how savagely he’d abused his body.

He snatched a quick breakfast while still in his top boots, bolting down a cup of coffee and ordering a pot for his room, just in case his new wife proved to be an equally early riser this morning as last and surprised him in the breakfast room.

After another bath—this one less icy than the first—he spent a few hours in his study, looking at the latest bills from the army of workers he’d employed to repair a massive and somewhat hideous building off Tavistock Street in the Strand. Adam had won the building from a man who’d had more luck making money speculating than he did keeping it at the card table.

Based on the latest report from the architect supervising the work, it should be ready for its new residents before the end of the year. After a brief meeting with Hill regarding his plans to remove to Exham, Adam ordered the phaeton brought round and went to look at the ongoing renovations in person. He killed an hour examining a cracked lead roof and rusted drains before going to his club.

At White’s, he checked the betting books and found his wife’s name almost conspicuously absent. He smiled. Mia was now off limits. At least to any man who wished to continue breathing.

He’d just finished reading the last of several newspapers and was contemplating calling on Danforth when the man himself wandered in.

Adam set aside his paper.

“Hullo, old man.” Danforth signaled for a footman before dropping heavily in a chair. “Brandy and coffee. In that order.”

Adam arched an eyebrow. Danforth’s clothing was meticulous, indicating he’d just been prepared and released into the world by his valet, but his eyes were red-rimmed and watery.

“Hitting it a bit hard, Danforth?”

He grunted. “I went out last night after the play.”

“Oh? And how was it?”

Again he grunted. The waiter arrived with his drinks and he took the brandy with a shaking hand, tossed it back, hissed through his teeth, and frowned. “My sisters informed me this morning that I’m overripe for a repairing lease.”

“You look like hell, Danforth. I’d advise you to heed them.”

“And when have you ever heeded a woman, Exley?” Danforth asked, his expression uncharacteristically arch.

Adam ignored the question and led the discussion into safer areas. They argued over the last Peninsular clash, the Battle of Fuentes de Oñoro, which was still a heated topic for debate even weeks later.

Adam did his best to dampen the younger man’s desire to purchase a commission and do his duty. “You must stay alive and succeed to the earldom, Danforth. You are the only real means of security and support for Octavia and Olivia.”

His friend flushed at the mild rebuke. “Yes, yes, I know. It would be foolish and cruel to risk their future, but—”

Adam stood, tired of a subject that would do his young friend no good. “Join me for a session at Beaulaux’s?”

Danforth scowled up at him, aware he was being rudely managed.

“Come, it’ll be almost as fun trying to kill me as it would killing Frenchies.”

“More fun,” Danforth muttered.

Beauleaux’s was an elite fencing club where Adam spent a good part of each week. Danforth was not a member at the expensive club for the simple fact that he couldn’t afford it. Adam was one of Jean Beauleax’s most valuable customers and he brought the younger man as frequently as he could, contributing to a silent membership for Danforth, unbeknownst to the impoverished, but proud, viscount.

Adam first took his scheduled period with the great Beauleaux himself. It would be far better to expend some of his energy on a more worthy foe before beating on the enthusiastic, but less skilled, Danforth.

Adam and Beauleaux worked hard on each other for over an hour. A small crowd of regulars gathered to watch in the gallery that surrounded the larger of the fencing arenas. He could see by Beauleaux’s satisfied smile at the end of their exhausting bout that the crowd was much more rewarding to him than the actual fencing. Adam suspected the business-savvy Frenchman allowed his touches, merely to keep him coming back and drawing more clientele in his wake.