Page 81 of Dangerous

The erstwhile arrogant captain shrugged and commenced to examine his boots.

“Where is Exley?” His gaze flickered across the room, as if Mia might have hidden him somewhere.

“He does not know I am here.”

He let out a wordless bellow and shoved one big hand through his sleep-mussed hair, which already stood out at odd angles. “You came here without him? Are you insane? The man will probably shoot me and run his sword through me when he finds out you’re here.”

“Did you not hear me?” Mia demanded, rage boiling up inside her and driving her voice up at least two octaves.

“Yes,” he yelled back. “I heard you, Mia. Your son has been taken by his brother. They are engaged in a bloody war! What the devil did you expect to happen? I told the young hothead he should stay, but he would not listen.” He stared down at her with a murderous look on his face. “Just as you did not listen when I told you to confess to Exley.” He threw his big hands in the air. “What a surprise! Like mother, like son.”

Of all the arrogant, obnoxious, odious—Mia reached up and poked him hard in the chest with her finger. “Listen to me you . . . you . . .” Mia stamped her foot, too furious to even think straight. “You beefhead!”

Ramsay’s mouth formed a stunned O of surprise that would have been humorous under other circumstances but only irritated her now.

“I didn’t want to come here—to speak to you or listen to your orders—but Bouchard made me. So, will you let me tell you what has happened instead of roaring like an enraged bull? Will you just shut up and listen to me for once?” Mia’s last words echoed through the big room like shots from a pistol.

Ramsay’s mouth made a snapping sound when it shut. Martín, on the other hand, looked as if his jaw would graze the floor. His eyes bulged as they flickered from Mia to his former captain, a man feared by some of the worst killers and rogues on the planet. The silence in the room was brittle, broken only by the sound of Ramsay’s grinding teeth. Years seemed to pass before he nodded abruptly and gestured to the settee behind her. “Sit and tell me how you have come to be here.” He dropped into the chair across from her.

Mia’s legs shook like blancmange as she resumed her seat and related the events of the last twelve hours. Once she had finished she added, “I have only come to you because Martín insisted. He argued, rightfully, that you are one of the few people to have escaped the sultan’s slave quarters, which is probably where they are holding Jibril. Martín believes you could give me information that would help to smuggle Jibril out. He does not think Assad will release Jibril even if I bring the money.”

The baron’s eye narrowed as he looked at Martín. Whatever Martín saw in his face made him flush and drop his eyes under the bigger man’s gaze.

Ramsay heaved a sigh and rubbed the scar that ran from his temple to his jaw. It was the same injury that had taken his eye and was a souvenir from Sultan Babba Hassan—the father of the man Mia was asking him to help. The irony was not lost on her.

“Martín should have come to me before he told you of this, Mia. But he’s right. The only reason Assad would ask you to deliver the ransom is to take revenge. And you know it.”

Mia nodded. “Yes, he has always believed I convinced the sultan to order his mother’s death. It is not true. I never spoke to Babba Hassan in favor of her death, but I did nothing to discourage him, either.”

“I am pleased to hear it,” Ramsay said. “Assad’s mother was a monster and terrified any slaves who worked in the palace.”

“I do not dispute she was an evil woman, Ramsay. But the manner of her death did not serve her son. The sultan never trusted Assad after what his mother did. The manner of her death left Assad ashamed and angry—and it raised my own son to favored status at his expense.”

He waved his hand. “That is water over the dam.” His expression shifted from irritated to businesslike. “Martín is correct in that we will have to steal Jibril away from the palace.”

“We? Surely you will not go? You have only just returned to England.”

“Yes, I will go.” Ramsay scowled, although the expression seemed more directed at himself than Mia. “No matter how bloody inconvenient it is, no matter that she will flay the skin from my back,” he added under his breath. “But you? You”—he pointed a big finger at Mia—“will be of absolutely no assistance. In fact, the only thing your presence will serve to do is make an easy target for Assad. So, if you—”

Loud voices came from beyond the door.

Ramsay lunged to his feet. “What the devil is it now?” he demanded of nobody in particular before striding toward the door and wrenching it open. Mia tried to peer around him but his huge body blocked the view into the hallway.

“Ah, Ramsay. Just the man I was looking for.”

Mia jumped to her feet at the sound of Adam’s voice.

“Now, I am past the point of asking nicely, Ramsay. Where. Is. My. Wife?” The hiss of a sword leaving its scabbard punctuated his demand.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Adam had to glare up a good six inches to meet Baron Ramsay’s eye. He’d not intended to draw his sword, but the protracted interaction with Ramsay’s butler had frayed his already tenuous grip on his temper. He stood rigidly before the much larger man, his sword drawn but still at his side.

The baron lifted his hands and took a step back into the room. “I have no sword and would not fight you if I did.” He smiled wryly. “I am not eager to leave this life just yet.”

Adam re-sheathed his weapon and stalked past him into the room. He cast a quick look at his wife to assure himself she was unharmed before his gaze settled on the man who’d abducted her.

“You.” He strode toward the smirking, handsome face.