But most disturbing was the vivid image of Euphemia Marlington’s delicate, naked body pinned beneath the hulking footman, her head thrown back in ecstasy, green eyes reduced to sensual slits as the beefy blond man thrust himself into her, her body writhing with pleasure and her—
Adam jerked the reins with a clumsy spasm.
His ham-fisted handling of the ribbons startled his groom so badly, the man almost fell from his perch. “Your Lordship?” Thompson’s eyes were round.
Adam didn’t bother to explain. Besides, what could he say? That he was crippled with jealousy over a woman he’d known less than a week? He was stunned, ashamed, and terrified by the crude animal possession that had come out of nowhere, seized him by the scruff of the neck, and shaken him like a kitten.
The disturbing image of the footman and Mia again tried to slither into his head.
Mia! Just when did she become Mia, you dolt?
Adam gritted his teeth and shoved both the hectoring inner voice and snarling green-eyed monster into a corner of his mind and then locked them away.
He’d be damned if he would tolerate Veronica’s brand of rampant whoring from this particular wife. If Euphemia Marlington wanted to rut like an animal, she could bloody well do so within the confines of his bedchamber. Or hers. Either way, Adam’s body would be the only one she would be writhing beneath for the foreseeable future.
He gave a humorless crack of laughter, not caring who heard. Whatever scheme she was planning in her pretty little head—and he didn’t doubt for a heartbeat she was up to something—it had better not involve Adam in the role of cuckold. He would not tolerate shaming from a third wife.
Chapter Eight
The informal wedding ceremony went smoothly. Even Cian behaved—after offering to spirit Mia away to freedom during the brief carriage ride to St. George’s.
“It’s your last chance, Mia. You merely need give me a sign and I’ll have Cheyne turn the carriage.”
“And where would you take me, Cian? Back to Carlisle House? To Burnewood Park?”
He’d leaned across to take her hands. “Ask Father to give you more time. There are other men . . . men who are less—”
She’d pulled away her hands. “Please do not speak ill of my betrothed, Cian.”
He’d sat back at her sharp tone and Mia relented.
“Let us not argue, Brother. I have made my decision.”
She’d not only made her decision, she’d then gone through with it; she was now the Marchioness of Exley.
Mia glanced around the big room as it filled with guests, her head rather muddled after the whirlwind of the past ten days. The wedding had taken place just before noon and they’d returned to Carlisle House for a celebration feast. Small clusters of guests stood about the formal receiving room, conversing in low voices. The number of people gathered out in the street—and outside of St. George’s—had been mob-like by comparison.
They were the most notorious couple in Britain.
The scandal sheet headlines shrieked, THE MURDEROUS MARQUESS TAKES THE DUKE OF CARLISLE’S MYSTERIOUS DAUGHTER TO WIFE!
Her new husband had taken it all in stride, flinging the sack of coins to the maddened crowd with the same cold contempt he showed everyone, peer or commoner.
The wedding had actually been far larger than she’d expected. Mia had had no hand in planning any of it. It had all been her cousin Rebecca’s doing. After that first day, when her cousin had cried herself into a stupor, Rebecca had embraced the wedding with so much enthusiasm it might have been her own idea.
“He is, without a doubt, one of the most elegant men in the country, my dear,” she’d told Mia in the confiding tone of one passing along a secret. “His personal wealth is enormous—even without the entailed properties.”
Rebecca’s sudden about-face amused Mia. “Are you privy to His Lordship’s ledgers, Cousin?”
Her cousin’s pale cheeks flared, the color making her appear young and pretty. “I am merely repeating what is well-known, that he possesses several magnificent estates.”
Mia already knew that from their ride in the park—the only time they’d been alone in the days before the wedding. Exley had seemed determined to avoid spending time alone with her and she’d learned little else about him during the past week and a half. Anyone who might have told her about the marquess was hardly likely to gossip about him after their betrothal had been announced. The only person Mia knew well enough to ask about her mysterious husband was Baron Ramsay. She somehow doubted the privateer-turned-lord knew anything about the marquess as he’d hardly been back in England much longer than Mia.
As if her thoughts had summoned him, Lord Ramsay entered the room and stopped to greet the duke. She still found it difficult to think of Lord Ramsay as anything other than One-Eyed Standish, a man whose exploits and sudden return to England had filled as many—if not more—scandal sheets than Mia.
More guests entered and the duke turned to welcome them, leaving Ramsay standing alone.
Mia leaned toward her cousin, who was clucking over some matter involving seating. “If you’ll excuse me, Rebecca.”
“Of course, my dear, of course.”
Mia wasted no time.
“Lord Ramsay,” she said, easing up beside him and giving him a flattering look from beneath her lashes. Flattery was not something she had to feign. Ramsay stood a good head taller than any other man in the room and he towered over Mia. His enormous body was well-formed and impeccably clad. And his face, although marred by the scar that ran across it and the patch that covered one eye, was almost obnoxiously attractive.
He bowed over her hand, an amiable smile on his handsome face. Mia opened her mouth to begin her campaign.
“Lady Exley,” he said, putting emphasis on the two words. Mia looked closer and realized there was a hard glint in his solitary green eye. “I suspect you are about to embark on a tiresome subject we have already exhausted. Let us dispense with it now, so that we may enjoy the festivities. You are married. And even if you were not, I would not transport you back into that dangerous viper’s nest.” His unexpected offensive left her speechless.
His face softened as he surveyed her from his great height. “Jibril would have my head, Mia. Your son extracted a promise from me that I would not allow you back into danger,” he added softly.
Mia’s heart thrilled at the sound of her son’s name—it had been so long since she’d spoken to anyone who even knew of his existence.
A small voice inside her insisted the baron’s words were sensible, that Jibril, although young, was a well-respected leader of men who would not appreciate his mother’s interference.
Mia suppressed the voice with all the ruthlessness she could not use on the man across from her. Her son was a boy who didn’t know what was right for her, or himself, for that matter.
“What have you heard from him?” she asked.
“Very little, but enough to know he is realizing the futility of gaining control of his father’s shrinking empire. Assad is beheading the family of anyone who shows the slightest inclination to support Jibril and that has had a cooling effect on his cause. I told him in my last message I would not throw good money after bad. I counseled him to come back to England. The Duke of Carlisle is a man of influence, Mia; he will take care of his grandson.”
“As he has taken care of me?” she hissed, her resolve to deal sweetly with the towering baron dissolving at his arrogant words.
Ramsay’s blond brows arched.
Mia scowled up at him. “You know Jibril can have no life here—I have no life here. I hate England.” She fought to keep her voice down. “I wish with all my being I had never agreed to Jibril’s demands and returned to this vile country.” She swept the room with a hate-filled glare. “They will never accept me, Ramsay, and I was born here. How can you think they would accept my half-caste son?”
“You appear to have done well enough.”
Mia followed Ramsay’s gaze to her n
ew husband. Even at his own wedding there was a gulf of empty space surrounding Exley, as though he were a lone British ship in enemy waters.
The aloof lord had invited no one to the ceremony save Viscount Danforth, who’d served as his only male attendant. Danforth was speaking to one of Mia’s many cousins, so Exley was alone. He was watching Mia and Ramsay bicker. He met her eyes and cocked one brow, his lips curving into an amused, superior smile. The smile that made her want to do something shocking and wipe it from his face.
Mia groaned at the lustful thought and looked away from her husband’s probing gaze. She stared up at the handsome giant beside her instead. “If I had a stick right now I would beat you with it.”
Ramsay’s booming laugh shook the very foundation of the house. Unlike his rich laughter, however, his eye was as hard as a faceted jewel. “Even such a dire threat as that will not make me change my mind.”
Mia was too choked by frustration and rage to respond.
“You do Jibril a discourtesy by keeping his existence a secret. Your son is not so weak a man that scandal and gossip would overwhelm him.” The baron gave a dismissive flick of his three-fingered hand. “He must forget his father’s dying empire. The days of growing rich off slavery and piracy are at an end. Now that you are married and established, you could help him.” His eye became shrewd and assessing. “Anyone who can navigate the shark-infested waters of the sultan’s household—and flourish—would be a force to be reckoned with among the ton.”
Mia flushed at his unexpected praise.
His next words were not so flattering. “You are a fool if you haven’t told Exley about the existence of Jibril and your desire to return to Oran. I agreed to keep the matter from the duke because I saw no point in making your homecoming any more difficult than it needed to be—especially since Jibril refused to do the wise thing and accompany you. However, I do not feel as sanguine hiding the truth from Exley. The man is your husband and it would behoove you to treat him with some respect and disclose your secret. If he were to ask me about you, I would feel compelled to tell the truth.”
“It is not your secret to disclose,” Mia hissed between clenched teeth.
Ramsay heaved an irritated sigh. “Do you imagine Exley will allow his wife to jaunter off into corsair-infested waters, Mia? The man is no fool and is possessed of a notoriously dangerous temper.”
“Exley?” Mia looked at the unsmiling man across the room and gave an unladylike snort. “He is colder than a snake. I doubt you could rouse his temper—even if you could find it.”
“I couldn’t, but I’ll wager you could, Mia.”
Mia answered with a bitter laugh.
“Exley is not the sort to sit by and do nothing while you engage in intrigues. I’ve seen him shoot and fence, and I assure you, my lady, he is devilishly skilled at both. He has killed more than one man who has dared to make sport of him.” Mia started at his words but Ramsay wasn’t finished lecturing yet. “I should not try to deceive him were I you, madam.” He paused, as if he wanted to say more on the subject, but then seemed to change his mind. “In any case, neither you nor Jibril will get my assistance retaking the sultan’s crumbling empire. Nor will I transport you back into the middle of a desert war. Jibril is a man and must settle his own problems without his mother clucking over him like an overprotective hen. Your time would be better spent straightening out your affairs here.”
Mia heard the steel beneath his words and bit back a scream. What did Ramsay know of her life? Who was he to say what was best for her or Jibril? Her head fairly jangled with rage but she took a deep breath and suppressed it. She needed the privateer. Right now he was her only connection to her son. It would be unwise to alienate him any further than necessary, no matter how unsympathetic he might appear to her cause.
She looked up and smiled. “I daresay you are correct. Let us not argue, my lord.”
His single eye narrowed, as if he could see her devious thoughts.
“Has the Batavia’s Ghost run into any trouble on her recent journeys?”
He stared.
It was Mia’s turn to give an exaggerated sigh. “I only mention the matter because I’ve heard the French have increased their forays.”
“She is out of the water and undergoing repairs in Eastbourne at the moment,” he finally admitted.
“Is your crew enjoying this sojourn on English soil?”
His full lips compressed into a grim line. “Please, don’t bring up such an irritating subject. Most of my crew has circled the globe dozens of times and one would think they’d know how to behave. Unfortunately, that is not the case. I seem to spend most of my time—and not a little of my coin—rescuing them from either the authorities or armed, angry townsfolk. The sooner the ship is mended and off, the better it will be for all.”
“Yes, I suppose most people have not often seen the likes of men like Two-Canoes or Martín Bouchard.”
“Yes, Two-Canoes has managed to terrify the locals merely by existing. Martín is no longer disrupting either the townspeople or my household, as I have put him in charge of the Ghost, at least for the time being.”
“Martín Bouchard is now captaining your ship?” Mia repeated, stunned.
Ramsay frowned at the excitement in her voice.
“So, he is a captain now,” she said in a much calmer voice, even though inside she was leaping for joy at the news. There was no doubt in her mind that Martín Bouchard—for the right amount of money—would take Mia wherever she pleased. She bit her lip hard to keep from grinning.
Ramsay nodded slowly, his forehead deeply furrowed, as though he was working through something in his head.
“Why are you suddenly so interested in my ship and crew?” Ramsay asked, interrupting her private rejoicing.
Mia was spared from responding by the approach of Lord Exley. Her husband, she mentally corrected.
“My lady, Lord Ramsay.”
She had given up trying to look beyond his haughty façade. Maybe there was nothing behind it? Other than the brief show of passion when he’d proposed, and the equally brief flare of anger when Mia had flirted with her footman, she’d seen no sign of any other emotions. It was his wedding day and he’d shown no sign of caring one way or another that they were now man and wife. Did their marriage really matter so little to him? Mia knew the thought should please her—after all, the more distant he was, the better it was for her plans. Even so, the knowledge that he could be so cold left a chill in its wake.
Ramsay grinned at her husband, as though thrilled by the marquess’s cold greeting. He held out a giant hand, a habit that was most certainly not English.
“I was just congratulating your lovely wife, Exley.”
Her husband’s elegant hand disappeared in Ramsay’s enormous fist.
“I am the one you should congratulate,” the marquess contradicted softly. Mia could see he didn’t believe the baron. It didn’t take a genius to see that her conversation with Ramsay had been heated. Well, heated on her side. Mia would need to behave with more circumspection around her husband in the future; his sharp eyes saw too much.
She placed her hand on his forearm. “I was just telling Lord Ramsay how eagerly I am looking forward to seeing Exham Castle.”
The marquess laid a hand over hers, the almost imperceptible flush on his high, sharp cheekbones the only sign her possessive gesture had affected him.
Ramsay’s gaze flickered back and forth, like an eager spectator at a play. “You cannot be leaving tonight for Hampshire?” He swept Mia’s body with a lecherous look that caused Exley’s hand to tighten around Mia’s.
“We will spend our wedding night in town.”
The words wedding night caused heat to creep up her neck. Once again her new husband had made her blush and feel like a girl, rather than a woman long past her prime. Mia beamed up at him and his eyes widened, as if he, too, had experienced something unexpected.
The baron looked from Mia to her new husband and snickered
. Mia did not know Ramsay well, but she had quickly realized the big privateer had a mischievous streak a mile wide. He was clearly enjoying the awkward tension between her and Exley and looked eager to add to it. “My congratulations to you both. I wish you both very happy.” He rocked back on his heels, his gleeful expression making him resemble a very large boy who was struggling to contain his amusement. “I understand you have children in Hampshire, Exley?”
“Yes, three daughters.”
“Ah, daughters.” Ramsay grinned for no apparent reason. “I daresay they will be thrilled with a new step-mama. Not to mention the prospect of a new sister or brother.”
Mia’s jaw dropped at his vulgar innuendo. Why the obnoxious—
The marquess ignored the other man’s improper reference to pregnancy and looked from the towering baron to Mia, his pale eyes darkening, as if he were imagining putting her in such a condition.
Would she ever stop blushing? Mia looked away from her husband and caught the baron staring at her with a knowing smirk. She scowled up at him and shook her head.
Ramsay’s booming laugh once again shook the room and Mia wondered if it was too late to kick him.
Chapter Nine
Adam settled his wife on the forward-facing seat and took the one across from her. He noticed, for the first time, faint smudges beneath her large green eyes. “You are tired, my lady?”
“A little. But I am relieved to have the ceremony over. I am looking forward to seeing your house.” She gazed out the window into the darkening streets.
“It is your house, now, as well,” he reminded her, admiring the graceful line of her neck.
“Yes, of course.” She smiled and turned back to him, folding her hands in her lap. Her pale green gown was simple and becoming. It was modestly cut, displaying only the upper slopes of her small breasts. In the half-light she looked like a much younger woman, until the carriage passed beneath a lantern and illuminated her green eyes—eyes that usually sparkled with sinful, wicked things but now appeared tired and lackluster.
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