Page 59 of Dangerous

Chapter Nineteen

Mia got her sparring match the next day.

When the owner of the fencing school, a Frenchman named Beauleaux, learned of the proposed match, nothing would do but for him to come to Exley House himself.

Viscount Danforth also attended the informal event. He’d learned of the match from Adam when the two had met at his club.

“I told Exley that wild horses would not keep me away, my lady,” he told Mia when he arrived to witness the match.

Mia had quickly relaxed around the handsome young lord, who was easy-mannered and amusing. Danforth passed along several messages from his sisters, complete with intonation and actual wording, leaving her breathless with laughter by the time he was done.

The two of them amused each other while Adam and the fencing master donned their safety equipment and clothing, murmuring quietly to each other as they limbered up across the room.

They used the largest drawing room, which had an enormous set of wooden doors along one side that could be folded back, joining the room to the adjacent music room to make a nice-sized ballroom—or, in this case, fencing arena.

“Do you fence, my lord?” Mia asked Danforth after they had both stopped laughing at a message Livia sent.

“I try, but I am nothing to your husband. He is quite singular, as you will soon see. I believe even Beauleaux has his hands full with him. Of course, Beauleaux is now past his prime, but he was reckoned to be one of the best in the world in his youth.”

“Adam practices quite a bit, I believe?”

“Yes, I think he enjoys it as much for the exercise as for the actual fencing. He has an enormous amount of energy.” He looked at her. “But you probably know that far better than I, my lady.”

She raised her brows at him and, to her amusement, he colored as darkly as the burgundy silk that covered the drawing room walls.

“Begging your pardon, my lady, that is to say,” he stuttered. “I only meant you must know him best, as you are his wife.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Mia said, watching as Adam lowered his fencing mask. Mia believed he was just as enigmatic-looking without the mask. “He is a private man.”

“Yes, he is. I daresay he’s always been that way, even before his disastrous first marriage.”

Even this man knew more about Adam’s marriages than Mia. The last day and a half had been filled with an entirely unexpected growing ease between her and Adam, although he’d still not volunteered anything about himself or his past wives. She’d had her chance when she’d bargained for answers. Of course, she was curious about his past, but she didn’t want to be the one who broached a subject he could only find unpleasant. She would leave the timing of such disclosures to him.

Danforth leaned closer. “Exley does his best to cultivate a reputation as an uncaring hedonist but he has been remarkably helpful to my sisters. They are beginning a home for disadvantaged women, complete with a school to teach them new skills. Without his help—and money—the school would never have become reality. He is also converting one of his larger properties into a place where orphaned boys can learn a trade without the cruelty associated with so many apprenticeships. He spends a lot of his time on these projects and has become quite a force for reform, and his views are respected in Parliament. Luckily, the men who sit in Lords are not as condemning of his past as their wives and daughters.”

“Your sisters told me about both projects. I am grateful as he would never talk about such things, at least not willingly.”

“Give him time. He will open his budget with you, just as he has with me and my sisters.” He grinned, exposing a charming dimple. “Exley will thrash me if he learns I’ve been talking out of school but I don’t regret telling you.” He looked across the room at his armed friend and frowned. “Even so, perhaps you should not tell him until you are well out of London.”

She laughed at his mock-terrified expression.

His look turned serious. “If it were up to Exley, everyone would believe him to be the villain he is painted.”

Mia had come to the same conclusion. Her husband was much more comfortable with censure than praise. Perhaps it was merely a matter of habit, or the result of enduring years of suspicious looks and snubs.

The match between the two men was exciting and invigorating. The energy they expended, and the grace and power with which they moved, was very like a lethal dance.

As far as Mia could tell, her husband was indeed a master of the art. He was as smooth and clever with his foil as his instructor. The number of touches they scored off each other was never off by more than one.

The exhibition lasted perhaps three-quarters of an hour, and by its conclusion the Frenchman was breathing so heavily Mia did not think he’d given ground to his wealthy student.

Adam’s pale face was flushed when he removed his protective headgear. His damp hair and slick skin were mute evidence of the effort the match had required of him.

The men toweled off and removed their plastrons before coming to join Mia and Danforth. Beauleaux was persuaded to take a small glass of wine before returning to his studio, where he said the students would be lined up and waiting.

Danforth made his bow shortly afterward, reminding them he would see them later that evening at his sisters’ dinner party.

Mia found herself alone with her uncharacteristically rumpled husband.