Page 15 of Dangerous

“My brother is approaching. I’m afraid our time is over.”

He nodded and stood. “It has been a most enlightening evening, my lady.”

An almost crippling sense of despair ballooned inside her at his dismissive tone of voice. So, Viscount Maugham would be her choice after all.

She accepted his proffered hand and stood. “It has been a pleasure, my lord.”

The marquess bowed low. “Indeed it has. Perhaps we shall see each other again before you leave town.”

The vague words caused her hand to clench around his. What did he mean by that? Would he call on her?

“Are you ready, Mia?” Cian shouldered between them and Exley released her hand.

The marquess favored Cian with the merest of nods and strode away.

“He didn’t do anything untoward, did he?” Cian demanded, turning to watch the other man leave.

“No.”

He took her hand and placed it on his arm. “You look rather pale. Are you quite all right?”

Was she?

“Yes, I am fine,” she lied.

He patted her hand. “Thank God that is over.”

Mia couldn’t help echoing his sentiment. The marquess was a clever, dangerous man and she’d begun their association with a lie, and not a small one. Part of her hoped she would never see him again. But another part of her mind—the larger, louder part—desperately hoped this was not the end between them. She had never been so attracted, so mentally and physically stimulated, by a man before. Not that she’d had many opportunities in the harem or the few weeks she’d lived in London. It might be foolish, but she would welcome the opportunity to engage in intimate caresses with such a man, not to mention pit her wits against his—just as long as she was far away when he finally discovered her lies.

As Mia danced she searched the noisy, glittering throng for one slim form.

She located him easily by the empty space in the otherwise crowded ballroom. He was approaching the duke, who still stood near the entrance. The two men exchanged a few words before Exley signaled to one of the hovering footmen and then strode from the room.

He was leaving. Mia had been his only dance partner.

* * *

Adam flung himself with uncharacteristic force onto the soft leather of the carriage seat and rapped on the roof. His brain was fogged and his nerves felt exposed and raw, as if he’d just been flayed. He dropped his head back against the squabs and closed his eyes. Nothing had gone as he’d expected tonight, nothing. At least not with Euphemia Marlington.

As for the rest of the evening—the disgusted stares of men like Cian Marlington and Horace Chambers, the utter terror of women he’d never even met—that had all been exactly what he’d expected.

Adam thought back to the final words he’d spoken to her. Why had he said them? Why had he said anything?

You said less than nothing, his conscience assured him.

That was not true, and he knew it. Saying nothing was the only thing that was saying nothing. Saying anything else was ... well, it was saying something.

She would more than likely expect him to pay a call.

Who cares what she expects? The thought hurtled out of some dark recess in his mind with all the force of a charging bull. Adam told himself he didn’t care what she expected, but he cared a great deal what he would do. After tonight, it scared the hell out of him that he had no idea what that might be.

She’d rattled him, and he hadn’t been rattled in a very long time. He didn’t like it.

Adam’s mind was a chaotic mess and he couldn’t pinpoint what had unnerved him most: The longing that had struck him like a brutal kick to the stomach as he’d watched her greet her guests beside her father and brother? Or the openness in her clear green eyes when she’d asked him why her brother and all the other guests were behaving like boors.

Could she really have been ignorant of his past? She’d appeared genuinely annoyed when she’d pressed him for the truth, yet her reaction to his grim disclosure had been dismissive, as if he’d confessed to nothing more serious than filching cookies. Rather than be daunted by his words, she’d all but offered herself to him. What kind of woman was eager to become the third wife of a man with two mysteriously dead wives? Either a stupid one, a fearless one, or a mad one.

Or perhaps an intelligent, dangerous one?