Page 80 of Dangerous

Mia was infatuated by her husband.

Rather than find that admission repugnant or terrifying, she surrendered to the knowledge with joy and relief. She had waited a long time to find love and had never really believed or expected it would happen. Now that she’d found it, she could not regret it. Even if he never took her back after this, even if he only remained her husband for the sake of an heir, she would not regret the depth of feeling she felt for him.

The only other person she cared more for was her son. He was also the only person for whom she would have left Adam. Mia had no room in her mind to entertain regret about her decision just now. She had the sick suspicion she’d have the rest of her life to live with the effects of today’s actions.

* * *

Mia wouldn’t have believed she could sleep in the miserable chaise, but when the carriage came to a halt, she realized she must have slept for several hours. The outlines of Baron Ramsay’s ancestral home were barely visible in the predawn light. The only other time she’d been to Lessing Hall had been in the middle of the night and she had been too upset to notice anything about her surroundings.

Martín’s face appeared in the carriage window, the dark smudges beneath his unnerving eyes showing the toll the ride in virtual darkness had taken.

“Stay here while I send word to the baron.”

Mia was in the process of rearranging her disordered hair and frock when the door opened again and Martín put down the stairs and held out his hand for her. His expression was thunderous and Mia wondered what had happened in the short interval to make him so furious.

The answer to her question was apparent when she reached the door and encountered the stiff mien of a man who could only be the butler.

“Lady Exley?”

“Yes. I am Lady Exley.”

The butler hesitated, considering the best approach as he regarded a woman who might be the daughter of a duke and a marchioness in her own right. He turned to Martín, looking at him much as a man would look at a pile of malodorous refuse he had almost stepped in.

Martín threw his hands in the air. “Voyons! You have seen her. Now go get the baron!”

He snatched up Mia’s hand, pushed past the horrified butler, and led her through the enormous foyer, up a flight of stairs, and down a long hallway, pausing at a console table and taking the small candelabrum that sat on it. He opened the door and gently pushed her inside before closing the door behind them.

“Sit.” He gestured to a chair and placed the candelabrum on a long table behind the sofa across from it. He lighted several other candles before going to a small table, where the clinking of glass told her he was pouring a drink. He threw back the contents and then poured another.

“Brandy?” he asked after the second glass went the way of the first, as if he was only now realizing the rudeness of quaffing a beverage without offering some to her.

“Yes, perhaps a very small amount.” She would probably need more than that.

He grunted and busied himself with the decanter before unceremoniously handing her the glass and flinging himself onto the couch across from her, his beautiful riding clothes wrinkled and filthy from the long night. He sipped his drink and regarded her with a suspicious gaze, a distinctly unfriendly gleam in his eyes.

“It looks as if they know of you here,” she said.

He snorted rudely and took a drink. “That fool butler. I would thrash him if he were not at death’s door already.”

“Do you stay here often?” Now that he was no longer trying to seduce her with every word and glance, she found his arrogance boyishly endearing. Jibril often behaved in such a high-handed manner.

“Not if I can help it.” He finished his drink and put it down with a thump before dragging the back of his hand across his lips. Lips that were compressed in an expression of annoyance rather than their habitual sensual pout.

Mia laughed and drew a venomous look.

The door flew open and bounced off the wall.

Mia and Martín both sprang to their feet.

“My lord, I am—” the younger man began.

“What in the bloody hell are you doing here?” Ramsay yelled, his single green eye on Mia. She felt, rather than saw, Martín release a sigh as he realized he was not the focus of the other man’s ire.

Mia refused to let Ramsay intimidate her, no matter how intimidating he was. She placed her fists on her hips. “Assad has taken Jibril.”

Ramsay stopped a foot away from her, his hands lifted, as if he’d been on the point of picking her up, carrying her back to the carriage, and stuffing her in it.

He turned to Bouchard.