Page 12 of Dangerous

He watched from the corner of his watering eye as she giggled and flirted with the self-important Chambers. The corpulent man preened and puffed up like the randy old rooster he was. Had Adam looked as fatuous as she’d spun her outrageous story to him?

He grimaced. Probably.

He ate his food, sipped his wine, and watched as she worked her magic on the other man. She was like a chameleon. She discerned what a man liked and then gave him exactly that. It was unnerving. What was the real woman like? And why did he even care?

He glanced down the table at Carlisle, the only peer in a decade to voluntarily consider Adam as a son-in-law. The Duke of Carlisle looked up just then and met his eyes, lifting his glass a fraction of an inch before taking a drink.

Adam ignored the gesture and turned back to Carlisle’s daughter. She was nodding and simpering while Chambers, the ass, maundered on about a horse.

For the first time in a very long while, Adam was intrigued by another human being. He had come here tonight out of curiosity, rather than any serious search for his next wife. He’d stopped thinking about remarrying years ago, when it became apparent that not even the most desperate man would give his daughter to the Murderous Marquess.

And then Euphemia Marlington had looked at him openly and frankly—without judgment or fear—and his tight control had slipped a little. Adam stared at her beautiful profile, his mind seething with unfamiliar, uncomfortable, and unwanted feelings.

Just what had she done that her father was willing to barter her to a man everyone believed had killed not one, but two, wives?

More importantly, how far was Adam willing to go to find out?

Chapter Five

Chambers kept Mia trapped all the way through the dessert course, ensuring she did not get another chance to speak with Lord Exley. She had hoped to have a word with him after the men returned from their port, but Cian appeared and hurriedly whisked her off to the receiving line. Almost as if he wished to keep her away from the intriguing marquess.

Mia stood between her father and Cian and greeted hundreds of expensively garbed and elegantly coiffed strangers. In between smiling at guests and murmuring greetings, Mia watched the ever-growing crowd that filled the enormous ballroom. The Marquess of Exley was never difficult to find. Wherever he stood he was surrounded by several feet of empty space. She had never seen anything quite like it.

The only person who approached him was Viscount Danforth, an attractive man who was perhaps ten years Exley’s junior. Each man was a perfect example of male beauty, one sunny and fair, the other dark and brooding. The young lord’s presence appeared to have a humanizing effect on Exley, whose expression of contempt softened while the two chatted.

By the time their father released Mia and Cian from their duties, she was vibrating with excitement at the prospect of her first dance.

“Mia, I must speak to you for a moment,” Cian murmured, taking her arm and pulling her into a small alcove before she reached the dance floor. He glanced around nervously. “I wanted to tell you about Exley.”

“Yes?” she prodded when he paused.

“The thing is—” Again he stopped, his brow furrowed.

Amusement vied with exasperation as Mia waited for him to finish. “Yes? Tell me, what is the thing?”

His next words came out in a rush. “There is no reason you should endure the slight of a man like Exley offering for you.”

His words surprised a laugh out of her. “He hasn’t offered for me, Cian.”

“He will.”

Mia blinked. Just what did her brother know that she didn’t?

“Look.” Cian frowned, as though he was agonizing over something and how to say it. “The truth is, you needn’t take any of the horrors Father has thrown at you—Maugham, Chambers, none of them. I will not let him force you into an unhappy marriage. I give you my word on that.” He swallowed, as if recalling whom he was speaking of defying.

Mia took his hand and squeezed it. “I am flattered by your concern for me, Cian. But I’m well able to take care of myself.” She glanced toward the dance floor, where couples were beginning to assemble for the first set. “Come, we must take our places to open the ball.”

“I think you should—” Cian stopped, his eyes on something outside the alcove.

The hum of voices died and Mia saw Exley walking toward them. The slim marquess split the crowd like a ship’s prow parted water, leaving trails of gawking, whispering, pointing men and women in his wake.

He stopped in front of Mia and held out a hand, his expression bland. “I believe this set is mine, my lady.”

The dance offered few opportunities to speak to one’s partner, which turned out to be just as well. Mia focused her attention on the steps, an action made difficult by the oddly heated sensation the marquess’s gloved hand provoked each time they touched.

“For a man who does not attend many balls, you certainly dance well,” Mia said as they came together in formation.

A tiny smile softened his stern mouth. “You are too kind, my lady. Your own dancing is shockingly—”