It was as if he’d been transported into some brighter, more intense version of his life. He was torn by emotions he’d not known he possessed, sensations he’d believed to have dried up and blown away long ago. Adam couldn’t bear to leave her for even a day, feeling as if he were missing part of himself.
He’d made two simple promises when he’d asked for her hand in marriage—one to her and one to himself—and he’d broken them both. He’d fallen in love with a woman who’d told him in plain English that she never wanted to live with her husband.
What the devil was he supposed to do now?
* * *
What the devil was she supposed to do now?
She was pregnant.
Mia took a sip of tea, hoping it would calm her churning stomach, if not her churning mind. Would Adam return to London now that she was breeding? Was the source of so much joy—the fact she was carrying his baby—also the death knell for the happy, wonderful life they’d been living?
Well, one thing was certain. She could not go off to Oran while carrying his child. She winced away from the relief and happiness she felt at finally making the decision. Was she really so shallow, so ephemeral, she could rejoice in abandoning her son?
She’d wrestled with the argument until she wanted to scream. In the end, she told herself it didn’t matter how she felt about her decision to stay—at least until she had the baby—it was the only decision she could make. That did not mean she couldn’t send her son money.
The door opened and Gamble stepped into the room.
“You wished to see me, my lady?” The blond man’s attitude toward her had become surlier as the weeks passed. He was long past the point of believing she intended to share anything with him, let alone her favors. She’d given him expensive gifts and generous vails—far more than she gave any of the other servants—but he was not appeased.
Mia smiled, wanting to set him at ease before she sent him on her errand. “It occurs to me you might be missing London, Gamble? Would you care to go back for a few days?”
He squinted and his mouth opened. Nothing came out.
“I’m not displeased with you, Gamble. I just thought you might be a little homesick. This is your first time away from London, isn’t it?”
He colored, whether in embarrassment or pleasure, Mia could not have guessed. “Yes, my lady. I’m London born and bred.”
He sounded so proud Mia smiled. “I need you to take a package to Eastbourne. After that, you could go to Exley House and spend a week before returning to Brighton. Would you like that?”
This time he was definitely flushing with pleasure. “Yes, my lady.”
“Good.” She stood and went to her desk. She paused, as if just remembering something. “And Gamble?”
“Yes, my lady?” He came closer, his eyebrows raised in question, but his mind clearly on the holiday ahead.
“This is a private matter.” She opened the desk drawer and extracted twenty pounds, which she held out to him. His eyes widened and his hand hesitated. “Take it. You will need it for traveling money. Whatever is left is yours. Consider it a token of my appreciation.”
He locked eyes with her, his expression not one a good servant would show his mistress. “Very good, my lady.”
Mia wondered if it had been wise to give him so much. Well, it was too late now. She opened the lower drawer on the desk and extracted the slim but heavy packet. It contained her mother’s jewels, all except a few pieces. She’d never gotten around to selling them, but Bouchard would know what to do.
She looked up at him, considering his formfitting livery. “There is a direction on the packet. The man in question might not be around when you arrive, but the owner of the Pig and Whistle will know what to do. I want you to leave today. Take whatever method of travel is most expeditious. You may take your time on the return journey, if you’d rather. Here—” She held up the parcel. “I don’t want you to walk out of here with this in your hand, Gamble. Is there any way you can tuck it into your coat?”
He looked too befuddled by the twenty pounds she’d given him to find her request odd. He pulled out his lapel and undid a couple buttons. Mia stood on tiptoe and shoved the packet into the opening he made. She pushed it down harder, making sure it was secure, and then fastened the buttons. “It’s hardly noticeable,” she said, smoothing her hand over the front of his broad chest. “I want you to keep—”
“Mia?” It was Adam’s voice.
She froze, her hands clutching at Gamble’s lapels to steady herself as disbelief, anger, and terror swirled inside her. How was it she had not heard him enter? How?
Mia realized she would be hidden from the doorway by the big footman’s body and closed her eyes, wanting to stay where she was, to hide. Maybe if she remained quiet Adam would simply turn around and go away. But then she opened her eyes and realized he was standing a few feet away, his face a mask of cold fury as he looked at her hands, which rested on Gamble’s chest.
Mia released her servant’s coat and nodded. “You may go, Gamble.”
Adam didn’t move a muscle as the big footman eased past him and quietly closed the door.
She smiled brightly. “Were you looking for me, darling?”
Right away, Mia knew she had made a mistake; an enormous mistake.
His eyelids dropped and he gave her a smile that made her shiver. “I was, my dear.”
“Adam, I—”
“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt whatever you were doing,” he said, his tone clipped, emotionless, and businesslike. “I came to tell you the dressmaker has arrived.” He gave her an abrupt bow. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Adam, please—”
He turned back to her as fast as an adder. “I meant to tell you that I will be returning to London on Tuesday. I would leave sooner, but I promised the girls to take them to the theater.”
She reached out to touch him and he stopped her with a look that was pure venom.
“You have honored your part of the bargain, madam, and must be eager and grateful that I can now honor mine.”
The room spun around her at the cold loathing in his voice. The door clicked shut and she felt behind her for something to hold on to as the floor tilted beneath her feet.
Oh God. What had she done?
Chapter Twenty-Two
Mia absently listened to the conversation of the girls and the occasional remark Miss Temple directed—generally at Eva and usually to ask her to stop doing something or other. Mia couldn’t help thinking the governess’s constant harping was a large part of why Eva was so awkward and uncomfortable. She was tempted to send the woman back to the house on some pretext and would have done so if she could only summon up an excuse. But her brain would do nothing to help her.
It had been five wretched days since Adam had caught her with Gamble. She’d returned from the sitting room that day to find the connecting door to his room locked. Oh, she could have made a scene or entered through the hallway door, but to what end?
She had tried to bluff her way out of a bad situation and had only made it worse. And he would be leaving tomorrow. She probably wouldn’t see him for nine months, if then. She needed to do something or say something and she needed to do it quickly.
“May we, Mia?” Catherine asked, breaking into Mia’s thoughts.
“I’m sorry, darling, what did you ask?”
Catherine smiled shyly at the endearment. “Could we look at some gloves afterwards, if you are planning to allow me to attend Lady Hammersmith’s rout, that is.” She blushed as she gently reminded Mia of the engagement with Lady Hammersmith’s granddaughter Amanda, a girl her age who’d quickly become her special friend.
Mia squeezed her arm. “Of course you should have some proper gloves. We will go after Eva has finished choosing her last two fabrics.”
The carriage came to a stop and Mia looked out the window directly into a pair of unforgettable eyes set in a very handsome face.
Martín Bouc
hard. And he was standing outside the shop they were going to visit, staring boldly at Mia. As stunned as she was, Mia was aware enough to shake her head, the slight movement halting him in his tracks. He gave one of his amused sneers and sank back against the stone façade, crossing his arms over his broad chest and assuming the attitude of a man forced to wait.
“Mia, did you see that man staring so rudely?” Catherine asked, drawing close to Mia, as if to offer protection against the stranger.
“No, dear, was someone staring?”
Eva laughed loudly and Miss Temple shushed her. But the irrepressible girl continued, undaunted by her governess’s severe look. “I believe he was coming toward you with the intention of speaking to you. Do you know him? He looked as if he knew you.” Her blue eyes were sly as she studied Mia’s face.
Mia smiled coolly at her mischievous face, which so resembled Adam’s in features, if not expression. “I’m sure I wouldn’t have forgotten such a face. Come, let us not dally.” She hustled them out of the carriage and into the dressmaker’s shop, brushing past him.
“Excuse me, sir,” she murmured.
“The park,” he said in a loud whisper.
Mia glanced at the girls. They were too excited to get into the dress shop to notice anything else. Miss Temple, who was just behind her, did not comment on her unusual encounter but gave Mia a speculative look as she walked past.
The quarter of an hour she had to wait before making her escape was agonizing. Even then, she wondered if she were leaving too soon after Martín’s disruptive appearance. But she had to take the risk; she was terrified he would wander off and she’d never find him. Or worse: he’d show up at the house. She grimaced at the thought of Adam’s reaction to the virile, arrogant captain on his doorstep.
“I have something of a headache, Miss Temple. I believe I will take a chair and go back to the house.”
Mia dealt with the usual questions and concerns with polite demurs and smiles. Inside she was screaming. She was almost frantic by the time she was able to convince them she wouldn’t take the carriage and instead climbed into the chair that had been hailed by the dressmaker’s boy.
She had no idea what park Bouchard meant; the only parklike place she could think of was a square they’d driven past on their way to the dress shop.
Mia saw his broad shoulders and golden head from the far side of the street. She stopped the chair and paid the sturdy men the entire price for the journey.
She restrained herself from running to meet him, but still made the short journey with unseemly haste, her eyes sweeping the streets as she approached the bench where he sat. It was not private, but it would have to do. A wicked smile spread across his lips as he saw her flushed and anxious face. She seated herself and turned expectantly, annoyed by his arrogant expression. Had she made a mistake trusting him?
“Madame,” he greeted her, moving closer. Too close. She inched away from him and frowned to communicate her disapproval. It was pointless; he merely smiled.
“Why are you here, Bouchard?”
“So uncivil,” he answered in French.
She stared at him, waiting.
He smirked, amused by her irritation. “I met your man at Eastbourne. I tried to pay the big English idiot you sent to bring word to you, but he would not come back.” He raked her body with eyes the color of very old gold. “What have you done to your servant, madame?” Mia flushed at the man’s impertinent innuendoes. He shrugged at her narrow-eyed stare. “I take it the jewels you sent were not a gift for me?”
“Didn’t you read my note?”
He waved a dismissive hand. “My ship is having repairs and I decided to come see you myself.”
Mia snorted. What an arrogant fool. “You mean Ramsay’s ship is being repaired.” Drat! More delays.
“No, I mean my ship.”
“You no longer captain for Ramsay?”
“No. I now captain my own ship, the Golden Scythe.” Bouchard seemed to double in size, his expression beyond smug.
“The Golden Scythe,” she repeated dumbly.
He smirked. “Oui.”
Mia had heard of the ship before—many times, in fact. It had once been part of the loose fleet of corsairs who served the sultan. If Bouchard had seized the ship that meant her stepson Assad’s hold on his father’s empire must be slipping. Did that mean Jibril was gaining support?
She looked at Bouchard. “So you have a ship of your own now. Good. You will be able to take the packet I sent you and deliver it to my son. How long will your ship be under repair?”
“She is almost ready.”
Mia bit back a scream. “Then why are you wasting time coming here?” Her eyes narrowed. “If you think to bed me, Bouchard, you are—” He raised a hand, no longer smiling. Dread and terror flooded her as she saw the pity in his hard eyes. She grabbed his arm. “What? What is it? Why are you here?” Her high-pitched words drew the attention of a passing nanny carrying a baby and Mia swallowed down her hysteria. “Why have you come?” she repeated.
“I came because I thought to deliver the news myself.”
“Good God, Bouchard! What news?”
“Your son, he has been taken by Assad.” He looked away from her face and down at his hands, not so comfortable any longer.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “Is he . . . ?”
“He is alive. He will remain so unless he does something foolish. Assad is demanding ransom.”
Mia almost wept with relief. If Assad wanted money that meant Jibril was safe.
“How much?”
Bouchard gave another shrug. “He knows you are the rich daughter of a duke—”
“How much, Bouchard?”
“Twenty-five thousand pounds.”
Good God. Mia’s mind raced round and round like a fly trapped in a bottle. How in the world could she get such an amount quickly?
One thing was certain: she could never ask Adam. At least not now. She might have asked him a week ago, before he’d become a stranger to her. She had been on the verge of telling him about Jibril several times since that horrible day. But confessing that she’d only married him with the intention of leaving him would hardly make their current situation any better. How could she convince him that she’d changed and did not want to leave him? Especially since the bungling mess she’d made of her meeting with Gamble.
“I still have the jewels you sent me.” He broke into her anguished thoughts, the concerned expression resting awkwardly on his face, as if he had little experience with the emotion. “I gave them only a short look, but it is perhaps ten thousand.”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, her mind calculating the amount she might get from the rest of her jewels if she could sell them. Several of the items Adam had given her were of immense value. She cringed at what she would tell him when he found out, but pushed the thought away. She would have to confess everything—but only after she had done the deed and sent Martín on his way.
“I have more jewels I could give to you. It will be a very close thing.” Her eyes flickered sightlessly at the greenery around them.
Martín gave her a long look before sighing noisily and releasing a stream of curse words, shaking his head with a look of self-loathing. “Ça suffit! Keep your jewels. I will loan you the money. For interest, of course,” he added in English, his expression hard.
Mia almost smiled at the obvious torture it caused him to make the generous offer, but she was too close to crying. “Thank you, Martín! Thank you.” She took his hands. “You know I will honor my debt.”
He hesitated, his lips oddly twisted. “There is one more thing.”
Mia’s skin crawled at the look in his eyes. “What?”
“Assad says he will only take the money from you.”
“But—”
“It is madness, my lady,” Martín said, “I only tell you this because I do not feel right keeping anything back. But there is no way you can make this journey. Even if you did, you
know that if Assad has you both, he will kill you both. That is the only reason he wants the money from your hands. You know this is true.” His unusual eyes were deadly certain. “Se venger.”
Revenge.
Mia fought the paralyzing horror flooding her. Oh God, how was this possible? It was her fault. She should have forced Jibril to come with her. Or tricked him, or hit him over the head and dragged him to England against his will, anything rather than let him return to a half brother who was mad with hate and envy.
“Where are you staying? I will meet you there tonight.”
He lifted his hands. “My lady,” he began, using the protesting tone she knew too well. Once again a man was going to tell her what she had to do.
“Martín!” Her voice rose. “You must have known that I would come when you told me? You must have. Do not waste precious time with argument. I will meet you tonight. Now, where are you staying?”
Bouchard regarded her as if she were a dangerous animal in need of careful handling. “Madame.” He paused, his expression one of agony. He scrubbed his big square hand through his sun-bleached hair, making a mess of his careful coif. He gave her a pleading look. “If I take you into the waters of the Mediterranean, you know that Ramsay will cut off my testicles. You know this is true. I like my testicles, my lady. They are close friends to me.” He stared hard, his worry unfeigned.
Mia stared right back.
She may as well have been trying to stare down the weather or the tide. “What would you have me do?” she asked, her voice hoarse with the effort of not screaming.
“I will take you to Ramsay. He can help you decide what you must do. He understands the way these men think better than any of us, he always has. He and Delacroix are the only people to have escaped the sultan’s palace still alive.”
“I escaped the palace,” Mia protested. “I lived most of my life there. I know of a secret way inside. I can get us back in just as easily as Ramsay can.”
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