Page 20 of Dangerous

Mia knew of at least two ladies of the ton who enjoyed more than the usual run of services from their handsome young servants. While that was not the kind of servicing Mia wanted from the strapping blond man, she was willing to dangle the promise of amorous relations or anything else to get what she needed.

She crossed the handsome inlaid wood floor and went to the window that overlooked the front entrance to the house. The Duke of Carlisle’s house was the largest on the square, occupying the greater portion of the south side of the street. The street was empty save for the occasional scurrying servant and a handful of ubiquitous gawkers who milled day and night, hoping to get a glimpse of her. The crowd was thin now, but would swell as the day passed into night.

Just like the gawkers, Mia could hardly get her fill of looking out windows. There had been no windows in the women’s part of the sultan’s palace and she’d often gone months without seeing anything other than the enclosed courtyards, private apartments, and high stone walls.

A light tapping sound made her turn. Her footman stood in the open doorway.

“The Marquess of Exley to see you, my lady.” His voice was more modulated than it had been a few moments before. He stood stiffly beside the door, holding it wide open.

Mia treated him to the same deliberate smile as earlier, brushing against him as she exited. She looked away from the man’s flushing face just in time to avoid colliding with the marquess, who was frozen in the act of coming toward her.

Mia cursed her stupidity and dropped into the low curtsy that had pleased him the first time they’d met. She rose to find his arctic gaze fixed on her face.

Exley gave a slight bow. “Are you quite finished here?” He glanced from her to the footman, who looked as if he’d like to melt into the silk-covered walls or gleaming marble floor.

Rather than answer, Mia preceded him out the double doors and down the steps. She stopped in front of an excessively handsome equipage. The vehicle—Mia had no clue what it was called—was as sleek and elegant as its owner. It seemed almost precariously perched on big wheels, the stylish body a silver lacquer that complemented the two gray horses hitched to it.

The marquess assisted her into the high vehicle, the feel of his lean, powerful hands on her waist maddeningly brief. He hopped up beside her, took the ribbons from his groom, and settled himself in the seat.

“Wait for me here, Townshend,” he ordered coolly. The servant had barely disembarked when he snapped the reins and the horses leapt forward.

“What a lovely carriage, my lord.” Mia reached one hand up to secure her hat. LaValle would suffer spasms if she lost the thing.

The marquess turned to face her, his pupils narrowed to pinpricks. “Tell me, my lady, do you plan to engage in open flirtation with my servants, as well?”

“Only the young handsome ones,” Mia quipped.

Judging by the slight flaring of his nostrils, her attempt at levity had fallen flat.

Anger swirled around him like sand in a sirocco; Mia looked from his stern profile to his powerful, leather-clad hands as they tightened on the reins. Would he strike her, as the sultan had done on more than one occasion when she’d displeased him? He looked furious enough to do so. Mia had not believed him capable of deep emotions, certainly not jealousy. Or perhaps it was not jealousy, but a concern for appearances? In any case, she had been wrong in her assessment. At least a few emotions churned beneath the thick ice.

He kept his attention on the spirited pair, guiding them through the increasingly busy streets with a light touch. Something about the remoteness of his profile affected her. Her nature had always been far too playful and she should not have teased him.

“I am sorry, my lord. I have behaved badly. I am accustomed to dealing with eunuchs, you see. They require much pandering to manage. I often forget it is different here. It will not happen again.” She laid a hand on his forearm as she looked up at him.

He glanced down with eyes as pale and hard as agates and she removed her hand and folded it in her lap before lowering her chin.

His voice, when it came, was like a blast of frosty air. “You aren’t fooling me for an instant with your meek posturing.”

Mia kept her head bowed to hide her smile. She was pleased he was intelligent enough to see through an act that had always fooled men like the sultan and her father. Of course, it would make deceiving him more difficult.

“You spoke plainly enough the night of the ball. I would ask that you continue in such a vein.” He reined in the horses as they neared the massive gates to Hyde Park.

Mia decided it would be prudent to avoid toying with him, at least for the moment. “I, too, think it best if we continue to speak plainly.”

He directed the carriage down a path that led to a less trafficked part of the park before speaking. “You mentioned eunuchs. They are not, I believe, a common fixture in most convents. It would please me to hear something of the past two decades of your life. The real story, this time.”

“Are you concerned I am unable to behave with decorum, my lord? Perhaps you would like to reconsider your offer of marriage?” She bit her lip. Why did she feel the urge to taunt him so? He was not accustomed to it—that much was plain. But perhaps that was why she could not resist. His heated glare back at the house had been much more interesting than the bored expression he typically sported.

He slowed the carriage even more and turned to face her. “I have been accused of many things, but never of being a jilt, Lady Euphemia.”

Again, she had to look down to hide her smile. His pride was certainly his tender underbelly.

They rode in silence and she composed her face into serious lines before looking up.

“As you no doubt guessed from the many inconsistencies in my story, I have never been to Malta. I lived outside of Oran, in the harem of Sultan Babba Hassan for seventeen years.” Saying the words out loud was unexpectedly liberating.

His face registered no surprise.