Dangerous

by Minerva Spencer

  “Can you get into the slave quarters? Do you even know where they are? Where do you think they are holding Jibril? Inside of Assad’s harem with his women?”

  Mia’s heart dropped at the truth of his words. She had no clue as to where the slave quarters were. She’d lived in the palace for seventeen years and never even saw most of the massive structure where the sultan’s people lived and worked.

  “My lady,” he said levelly, taking her hands in his and holding them tight. “You must go to Ramsay. He will do everything he can to make sure no harm comes to your son. You know that is the only way.”

  “I can’t go to London, Bouchard. We don’t have the time!”

  “Ramsay is not in London. He is in Eastbourne, at his family’s country house. It will not be out of our way at all.”

  “He is at Lessing Hall?”

  Bouchard nodded.

  She chewed her lip but then shook her head. “I can’t go there—he has family there, they will find out about this and my husband will learn where I am before I can even leave the country.”

  “Ramsay is alone, the rest of the family are in London.” Bouchard’s eyes flickered nervously. “I cannot say why, but there is nobody at Lessing Hall save for the baron.”

  Mia didn’t care why Ramsay was by himself. She stared into Martín’s eyes, which had shifted from arrogant to earnest. If this man—a man with a fierce reputation of his own—counseled Ramsay’s guidance, she could not dismiss his suggestion without due consideration. She had to go to Eastbourne to get on Bouchard’s ship, so talking to Ramsay would not take her out of her way. Still, it was almost more than she could bear to bring her problems to Ramsay. He would fight her with every weapon at his disposal. Chief of those weapons would be exposing her plans to Adam. And she knew, beyond any doubt, Adam would not risk his unborn child on such a journey.

  But what other choice did she have?

  “You will not help me otherwise?”

  He shook his head.

  “Be ready to leave tonight.”

  * * *

  Mia left Martín in the small park, a thousand thoughts running through her head as she made her way home. The pain in her chest as she made plans to sneak off almost dropped her to her knees.

  She loved Adam, but she loved Jibril, too. It was not a contest as to which she loved more; she would go into the same situation to save either of them. Adam had the power to stop her. If he did, and if anything happened to Jibril, Mia knew she would never forgive her husband. She could not risk that, even though it meant risking the life within her, which she knew meant so much to him.

  She would have to act fast. She’d have no trouble feigning sickness and avoiding the play tonight—she was sick, sick with grief.

  Before Mia knew it, she was climbing the steps to the town house. She handed her cloak to the waiting footman before stripping off her gloves and checking her reflection in the large mirror. Her face gave no sign that her entire life had just collapsed. “Is Lord Exley in?”

  “He went out a little while ago, my lady. Shall I check with Batson and see where His Lordship was bound?”

  Mia almost wept with relief. She wouldn’t need to run the risk of facing him. Yet. For the first time in days she was grateful he was avoiding her.

  “No, that won’t be necessary.”

  LaValle was busy with something in her dressing room when Mia entered her chambers.

  “My lady?” The Frenchwoman frowned. “Are you unwell?”

  Mia lifted a hand to her forehead. “My head aches dreadfully. Perhaps you could prepare me a posset like the one you gave me at my father’s house?”

  “Bien sûr, madam! But I will have to check with the kitchen. I am perhaps missing something to make a proper dose,” she mused, her mind already on her task.

  “Yes, well, you go and find what you need,” Mia urged.

  “Shouldn’t I help you undress, so you may go to bed?”

  “I’d rather you make the drink for me.”

  LaValle nodded and departed without another word. Mia wanted nothing more than to crawl into her bed and sleep until the nightmare was over, but she needed to pack her bag before LaValle returned.

  It took her longer than she would have liked to find a bag small enough for her to carry. It only had room for one change of clothing and some essentials. She would wear several layers of clothing on her person when she left this evening.

  Leaving—how was she to leave the house without being seen? She bit her lip—there were hours yet to come up with something. In the meantime, she needed to write a letter to Adam. She could not simply leave without a word and abandon him to even more horrid speculation.

  She shivered at the thought of his face when he found out she’d gone. She could leave him a letter, but she could not tell him the truth. If he suspected even for a moment that she was leaving for the Mediterranean, he would know to look for her in Eastbourne, at the house of Lord Ramsay.

  She sat at the small writing desk in her sitting room and stared at the blank sheet of paper, wondering what she could say that would keep her safe yet not completely destroy the man she’d come to love. Should she lie to him? Tell him the truth? What could she say that would be kind but not give away her destination? What could she say that would not make him feel betrayed and hate her?

  What could she say?

  The clock ticked loudly, its even cadence nagging and implacable: Time to go, time to go, time to go, it said.

  Time to go.

  She bent her head to the empty parchment and began to fill it....

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Mia lay in bed with a cool cloth on her forehead as her husband frowned down at her, concern clouding his beautiful eyes. Even though she knew it was only concern for the baby inside her, she still treasured the look. She memorized every detail of his face so she could feed her soul with the memory in the weeks to come.

  “Are you certain I shouldn’t send for the doctor?” he asked again.

  “No, it will go away with rest.” Deceiving him was truly making her ill.

  “I’m sorry I will miss the play, Adam. The girls have been looking forward to this evening and planning their outfits for days.”

  He regarded her from beneath lowered lids. “I shall pass along your regrets,” he said coolly, turning away.

  “Adam—”

  “Yes?”

  Mia swallowed. She would wreck things if she wasn’t careful. “I just wanted you to know that you have become very important to me.” It wasn’t what she’d meant to say, but it was the best she could manage with such deception in her heart.

  He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes so heavily shuttered he looked like a stranger. Mia searched for any clue that he might still feel something for her, but could not see past his beautiful face.

  LaValle bustled into the room and placed yet another glass on her nightstand. “I beg your pardon, Lord Exley. This is something Mrs. Harper sent for you, my lady.” LaValle sniffed, her dismissive tone indicating her feelings on the matter before she turned away to fuss with something on the dresser, completely unaware of what she had just interrupted.

  Adam’s mouth smiled but the expression never reached his eyes. “Get some rest, my lady.”

  Mia watched his elegant form disappear. He knew. He didn’t know what he knew, but he knew something was wrong. It was a good thing she wouldn’t need to see him again before she left. She was one step away from throwing herself on his mercy.

  * * *

  Adam closed the door to his wife’s bedroom and then stared at it, as if the wood might tell him what was causing alarm bells to sound in his head.

  Her words had stupefied him. What the devil did that mean—he’d become important to her? If he was so bloody important, what had she been doing with her hand in the damned footman’s coat? And if what she’d been doing was so bloody innocent, then why had she not explained herself?

  The last four and a half days had been the w
orst in almost a decade. The fact that he’d known this would end badly since the beginning only made matters worse. How could he ever have forgotten the painful, crushing, and humiliating lesson he had learned—that love led to disillusionment at best and betrayal at worst? Christ! The woman hadn’t even waited until the child was born before seeking comfort in another man’s arms. Adam didn’t even want to contemplate the idea that the child might not be his.

  Was it just something about Adam that drove women away? Did he do or say something that repelled them? And how could he have been so stupid as to believe her? He was beyond furious with himself. He was—

  “Papa?” The word was so soft he almost didn’t hear it. He turned. The vision he encountered took his breath away: Eva, dressed in a cloud of strawberry-colored muslin, her masses of black curly hair tamed into ringlets. Adam stared. He’d always thought she was the very image of Veronica, but he’d been wrong. She resembled his mother, her heart-shaped face and dark blue eyes those of a stunning beauty.

  A red flush spread across her high cheekbones—cheekbones like his own, he noticed—as she waited for his reaction.

  He smiled and took her hand. “You look beautiful, darling.”

  “Thank you, Papa.” She smiled, making her beauty complete.

  “Papa?” Catherine and Melissa appeared behind Eva, their smiles hesitant and sweet.

  “My goodness,” Adam murmured, something in his chest making it difficult to say more.

  “Mia helped us choose the colors,” Melissa said, wearing a pale yellow gown that made her sandy hair and freckled face golden.

  Adam looked at his youngest daughter, a child he knew was not his, and cupped her rounded chin. “You’re as pretty as a buttercup. And you look so grown up.” He turned to Catherine. “And you—you are grown up. White suits you,” he added, an odd, proud pang shooting through him. Eva and Catherine had inherited his and Veronica’s dark hair and eye color. They would be beauties like their mother.

  Adam could only hope blue eyes and sable hair were the only things they’d inherited.

  * * *

  Adam enjoyed the evening far more than he’d thought he would. It wasn’t the production itself he enjoyed, but the pleasure his daughters took in the performance. They shared lemonade in their private box with Lady Hammersmith’s granddaughter and several other young women of their acquaintance. Bringing Eva and Melissa—who were still in the schoolroom—would be viewed as odd, but Mia had argued it could not hurt them to be out in public a little and Adam thought she’d been correct. He was so charmed by their obvious delight in the event, he was sorry Mia had missed it, even though her presence in the box would have made things more awkward. At least for him.

  Not only his butler, Batson, but also Sayer and his wife’s maid were in the foyer when they arrived home, as if they’d been waiting for him. He met Sayer’s eyes and saw the usually unflappable man was, for lack of a better word, flapped.

  Cold fingers of dread crept down his spine.

  “Wait for me in the study,” Adam told Sayer and LaValle.

  It seemed to take ages before his daughters were finished thanking him, bidding him good night, giving their love to Mia, and finally trundling sleepily to their beds.

  Gesturing to Batson to follow, he strode into the study and found the two servants standing nervously in front of the large desk.

  “What is it, Sayer?”

  “My lord,” his valet began, darting a nervous look at the Frenchwoman. “Er, Mademoiselle LaValle found a letter bearing your name when she went to check on Lady Exley earlier. She, well—” He gave the maid a look of appeal, which she ignored. “Well, Lady Exley seems to be gone, my lord.” Sayer held out one of Mia’s embossed, sealed sheets of stationery.

  Adam sat down before he fell down. He looked at the missive in his hands, almost too terrified to open it.

  It was all happening again, like some bloody nightmare that wouldn’t stop.

  “Sit,” he said to the three servants looming around his desk.

  His wife’s handwriting was girlish and free-flowing, the hand of a woman who’d not had much to write about most of her adult life. The pages were spotted and spattered with blots of ink and water spots.

  Adam,

  I am more sorry than you can ever know for what I am about to do. I cannot make these words any more palatable: I am leaving you because I can see no other way. I cannot tell you why I am leaving or where I am going. You would stop me if I told you and I cannot let that happen.

  I am not leaving you because I want to. I am leaving because I must.

  I will come back when I have finished what I need to do. I know you will be anxious for the child I am carrying and worried about harm to your heir. Please know I will take all possible care of our unborn child.

  I hope you will be able to forgive me for what I am doing, but I will understand if you cannot find it in your heart to do so.

  Your wife,

  Mia

  Adam reread the letter several times, certain he must have missed something, some essential piece of information that may have been lost in his quick, frenzied reading.

  He looked at his servants. His confusion must have been plain on his face. Batson, whose presence had yet to be explained, finally spoke.

  “My lord, what I am about to say is, well, not something I would wish to say.” His dignified butler was pale and shaken.

  “What is it, Batson?” How was he able to sound so calm when inside he was flying to pieces?

  “This afternoon, when I sent Carlson on an errand, he saw Lady Exley in rather, erm, well, heated conversation with a . . . person.”

  “A person?”

  “Yes, my lord, a male person.”

  Adam frowned, heat creeping up his neck. “Very well. My wife was talking to a man—what of it?”

  Batson swallowed. “They seemed to be discussing something very ... passionately, my lord. Now, it was wrong of Carlson, but he lingered, getting closer to, er, well to put it plainly my lord, he got close enough to eavesdrop on Lady Exley and the young man.” Again Batson paused.

  “Bloody hell, man, get to the damned point!” Adam startled both himself and everyone else in the room. So much for calm and controlled.

  “Carlson said they only spoke some of the conversation in English. He said the man sounded like a Frenchie when he spoke English. He said Lady Exley spoke both French and some other language. Something very foreign-like. Carlson didn’t get most of it, but he heard the word ‘ransom.’”

  Adam could only stare.

  “He couldn’t make heads nor tails of who was being ransomed, my lord.” Batson’s voice was filled with regret. “I’m sure it was garbled, but he said it sounded like Her Ladyship was worried about someone called ... Gabriel.”

  “Gabriel?”

  Batson nodded. “Yes, my lord, Gabriel. Or something like that.”

  Adam glanced at the letter in his hand. There was certainly no mention of any Gabriel in it. “Was that all Carlson heard?”

  Batson’s pale cheeks became as red as two apples.

  “Batson, if you do not tell me absolutely everything this very instant, I shall send you packing.” Adam’s quiet words seemed to frighten his servant even more than his emotional outburst had.

  “He heard them make plans to meet tonight. At the Black Swan, my lord.”

  Bloody hell. The Black Swan was the most unsavory inn in Brighton. It had been raided dozens of times by excisemen. The inn had been—before the raids—perhaps one of the best-known meeting places for free-traders, its underground cellars notoriously labyrinthine storage places for smuggled goods.

  “Fetch Carlson.”

  Adam turned back to the other servants after the butler left. “Do either of you have anything to add to this tale?”

  “Only that she ’as taken some small number of ’er tings, my lord,” the Frenchwoman said, her narrow face pinched with disapproval, as if Mia’s departure were somehow Adam’s f
ault.

  “You may go.” She rose and left the room with obvious reluctance.

  Adam flung himself back in his chair and looked at Sayer. “After we speak to Carlson and get a description of this man, you will go to the Black Swan and find out when they left and where they have gone.”

  Sayer nodded, his expression as unreadable as ever. Adam couldn’t help wondering what the man was thinking. His master had yet a third wife who couldn’t wait to get away from him. He shook his head. God Almighty, wait until the scandal sheets got hold of this!

  Carlson entered the room like a man approaching the gallows.

  “You have nothing to fear, Carlson. I merely want you to describe the man you saw talking with Lady Exley. Please do so thoroughly, but with all haste. Time is of the essence.”

  The handsome young footman took a deep breath. “He was youngish, perhaps five and twenty. He spoke like a Frenchie but he didn’t really look like a Frenchie. He was—” Carlson struggled to find the correct words. “He was a big fellow, my lord. He looked like he’d been in the sun a lot. His hair was brown but had been bleached by the sun. He had real strange eyes. Demon yellow,” he added, looking embarrassed by his words. “That is, they were very unusual, my lord.” He stopped, looking at Adam to judge his reaction.

  Adam nodded at him curtly. “Go on.”

  “He was dressed like Quality, not like you would have expected, him kind of looking rough.”

  “Rough?” Adam interrupted.

  “Yes, my lord,” Carlson agreed, frowning at the effort of describing the man. “His hands were big and he had shoulders like an ox. Even from where I stood I could see he weren’t no stranger to hard work. Beggin’ your pardon, my lord,” Carlson said, flushing for some reason Adam could not discern.

  Adam raised his brows. “Is that all?”

  Carlson thought a moment. “Yes, my lord.”

  Adam dismissed him and turned to Sayer. “I have a few matters to take care of before I change. Pack lightly and quickly and then saddle Breaker for you and Max for me. I shall meet you at the Black Swan and we can depart from there.” He paused. “I don’t know who this man is, but she knows very few people in this country. I am fairly certain of her destination and only need some small bit of confirmation.” His words surprised a flicker of emotion from Sayer but Adam saw no need to enlighten him just yet.