Page 48 of Dangerous

Freshly shaved and wearing slippers, a gray silk banyan, and a nightshirt—for the first time in years—he entered his wife’s room. She was surrounded by chattering, bustling servants and wearing a gown of forest green silk that sheathed her delectable body like a second skin. Adam looked at the milling servants, frowning when he spotted the giant blond oaf.

Mia’s eyes flickered between him and the footman.

“You may go now.” She made shooing motions toward the door with both hands and servants, male and female, hurried from the room.

Heaps of cushions were scattered in front of the fireplace—where there was a bloody fire burning. A coffee table groaned with food.

“You’ve been busy,” he noted.

She came toward him with her usual sinuous grace and took his hand. “Thank you for coming,” she said, in all seriousness, pulling him toward the pile of pillows.

Adam gestured toward the fire with his free hand. “Are you cold?”

“Always.” She frowned. “Is it too hot? Are you uncomfortable? Should I—”

“I’m fine.”

She waded into the center of the cushions and gracefully lowered herself, pulling him down with her. Adam glanced down at the floor and grimaced.

“Please?” She cut him a look he could only call the “Irresistible Kitten Look.”

Adam grunted and lowered himself gingerly onto a big cushion. “Very well, but it shall be on your head if I can’t get up again.”

She turned to the table. “Wine, my lord?”

Adam paused in the act of shoving several of the larger pillows between his back and a nearby chair. “Please.” Whatever was going on, he might need a bit of fortification.

She poured two glasses and handed one to him. “Are you hungry?” She gestured to the formidable array of food.

Adam wasn’t, but she seemed to have gone to a lot of effort. What the devil did the woman want? He’d stayed away from his own house all bloody day thinking to please her with his absence, and now this? He sighed. “Perhaps some bread and cheese.” He sipped his wine as she filled a small plate and brought it toward him, somehow managing to look graceful on her knees.

She fussed with her own pile of pillows until she was satisfied and then reached out and took his foot in her hand. She removed first one slipper and then the next, her eyebrows raised as if in challenge. She motioned to the delicate chair he was leaning against.

“In the palace we rarely sat on furniture, and never any as uncomfortable as this.” She sat with her small unshod feet crossed and resting against her calves. The last time Adam recalled sitting in such a position was when he had been a very young child. At seven and thirty he doubted he could manage it.

He sipped his wine and waited. This was her orchestra; he would let her conduct.

“I enjoyed yesterday evening very much, the company more than the play. The only part I did not enjoy was realizing everyone else knows so much more about you than I do.” Her brow creased. “I can see what you are thinking. Please don’t poker up. I think that is the correct saying?” She cut him an inquiring look.

“Poker up is one way of expressing it,” he said wryly.

“Tsst!” She tossed her head with contempt.

“And that is certainly another way of expressing something, although I know not what.” He took a piece of cheese.

She frowned, clearly in no mood to be distracted from her point. “I look a fool not knowing what everyone else does.”

Adam took a large drink of wine, wondering what it was she thought everyone knew.

“You are not planning on drinking too much and losing consciousness?” She arched one russet brow but her green eyes sparkled with humor. “Not that I did not enjoy the time I spent with you the first time.” She lowered her eyes and fiddled with the corner of an ice-blue velvet cushion.

“What time?”

A slow, sly smile spread across her face.

“My lady?” He used a tone that usually obtained instant results from both those who knew him and those who didn’t. He could see by her growing smile his new wife was not a member of either of those groups.

“I will offer you a bargain.”