Mia treated him to the same deliberate smile as earlier, brushing against him as she exited. She looked away from the man’s flushing face just in time to avoid colliding with the marquess, who was frozen in the act of coming toward her.
Mia cursed her stupidity and dropped into the low curtsy that had pleased him the first time they’d met. She rose to find his arctic gaze fixed on her face.
Exley gave a slight bow. “Are you quite finished here?” He glanced from her to the footman, who looked as if he’d like to melt into the silk-covered walls or gleaming marble floor.
Rather than answer, Mia preceded him out the double doors and down the steps. She stopped in front of an excessively handsome equipage. The vehicle—Mia had no clue what it was called—was as sleek and elegant as its owner. It seemed almost precariously perched on big wheels, the stylish body a silver lacquer that complemented the two gray horses hitched to it.
The marquess assisted her into the high vehicle, the feel of his lean, powerful hands on her waist maddeningly brief. He hopped up beside her, took the ribbons from his groom, and settled himself in the seat.
“Wait for me here, Townshend,” he ordered coolly. The servant had barely disembarked when he snapped the reins and the horses leapt forward.
“What a lovely carriage, my lord.” Mia reached one hand up to secure her hat. LaValle would suffer spasms if she lost the thing.
The marquess turned to face her, his pupils narrowed to pinpricks. “Tell me, my lady, do you plan to engage in open flirtation with my servants, as well?”
“Only the young handsome ones,” Mia quipped.
Judging by the slight flaring of his nostrils, her attempt at levity had fallen flat.
Anger swirled around him like sand in a sirocco; Mia looked from his stern profile to his powerful, leather-clad hands as they tightened on the reins. Would he strike her, as the sultan had done on more than one occasion when she’d displeased him? He looked furious enough to do so. Mia had not believed him capable of deep emotions, certainly not jealousy. Or perhaps it was not jealousy, but a concern for appearances? In any case, she had been wrong in her assessment. At least a few emotions churned beneath the thick ice.
He kept his attention on the spirited pair, guiding them through the increasingly busy streets with a light touch. Something about the remoteness of his profile affected her. Her nature had always been far too playful and she should not have teased him.
“I am sorry, my lord. I have behaved badly. I am accustomed to dealing with eunuchs, you see. They require much pandering to manage. I often forget it is different here. It will not happen again.” She laid a hand on his forearm as she looked up at him.
He glanced down with eyes as pale and hard as agates and she removed her hand and folded it in her lap before lowering her chin.
His voice, when it came, was like a blast of frosty air. “You aren’t fooling me for an instant with your meek posturing.”
Mia kept her head bowed to hide her smile. She was pleased he was intelligent enough to see through an act that had always fooled men like the sultan and her father. Of course, it would make deceiving him more difficult.
“You spoke plainly enough the night of the ball. I would ask that you continue in such a vein.” He reined in the horses as they neared the massive gates to Hyde Park.
Mia decided it would be prudent to avoid toying with him, at least for the moment. “I, too, think it best if we continue to speak plainly.”
He directed the carriage down a path that led to a less trafficked part of the park before speaking. “You mentioned eunuchs. They are not, I believe, a common fixture in most convents. It would please me to hear something of the past two decades of your life. The real story, this time.”
“Are you concerned I am unable to behave with decorum, my lord? Perhaps you would like to reconsider your offer of marriage?” She bit her lip. Why did she feel the urge to taunt him so? He was not accustomed to it—that much was plain. But perhaps that was why she could not resist. His heated glare back at the house had been much more interesting than the bored expression he typically sported.
He slowed the carriage even more and turned to face her. “I have been accused of many things, but never of being a jilt, Lady Euphemia.”
Again, she had to look down to hide her smile. His pride was certainly his tender underbelly.
They rode in silence and she composed her face into serious lines before looking up.
“As you no doubt guessed from the many inconsistencies in my story, I have never been to Malta. I lived outside of Oran, in the harem of Sultan Babba Hassan for seventeen years.” Saying the words out loud was unexpectedly liberating.
His face registered no surprise.
“That does not shock you?”
“You will not find me easily shocked, my lady.”
Mia didn’t tell him she viewed such a statement as a personal challenge. She would save that for later. “Part of the story I told you was true. The ship was harried by corsairs, but they captured our vessel not far from Gibraltar.”
“You were on the Persephone?”
Mia blinked. “How—”
“Such things are reported in the papers, my lady. I don’t recall there being a passenger roster, but I do remember reading about it at the time. Please continue.”
The fine hairs on her neck prickled; this man made it his business to know things. She swallowed her concern. Luckily for her, she’d made it hers to hide things.
“There were only a handful of English passengers aboard the ship, among them Hugh Redvers, Baron Ramsay—the same man who would eventually become the privateer One-Eyed Standish.”
“Ah.” Exley’s chilly features thawed a little. “So that is your connection to him. I knew he was the one who brought you back to England. You have known Ramsay for many years, then.”
“I wouldn’t say I knew him. We were together for only a few days on the ship, until the corsairs docked at Oran to sell their captives.” Mia realized her jaw had clenched and moved it from side to side. She would have believed this story was too old for her to feel such tension. Apparently, she had been wrong. “The corsairs raped and then decapitated my nurse the day they took the ship.”
His body tensed beside her at the brutal words and she looked up. Their eyes locked, but he did not rush to offer pointless words of condolence.
“The corsairs never touched me. It did not fit with their plan, which was to give me to the sultan.”
His brow furrowed. “But you are a duke’s daughter. Why not ransom you? Surely they could have done so?”
“Ramsay argued the same thing with them, over and over, until they tied him to the mast and whipped him bloody.” She could still see the big man if she closed her eyes. His broad back naked and streaming blood as an even bigger man delivered the twenty strokes the corsair captain, Faisal Barbarossa, had decreed.
“One whipping was not enough to stop Ramsay. He fought them again when we reached Oran, when the men put me into the carriage that would take me to the sultan. The last I saw of him—until I returned to England—he was being kicked and beaten by a dozen men.”
Mia stared at the seams on her mint-green kid gloves but saw something else entirely. “I never forgot the big Englishman who took such risks on my behalf. I didn’t learn that Ramsay survived the horrible beating until much later, when I heard of his escape from the sultan’s prison.”
Mia remembered the day clearly. Babba Hassan’s fury at the escape had resulted in widespread beheadings. The sultan had been livid enough to offer a reward of gold equal to the weight of Ramsay’s head.
“So, Ramsay escaped many years ago but only returned to England recently.” There was more than a little curiosity in his cool voice.
“Yes, that is correct. I have no idea why Ramsay didn’t return to England until now.” She shrugged. “In any case, he and a dozen other slaves seized control of the very same ship that had captured us a few years earlier. He beheaded Faisal Barbarossa, r
echristened the ship, and became One-Eyed Standish, the most feared British privateer in the Mediterranean. Even tucked away in the harem we heard of his exploits.” She shook her head. “But my story has run ahead of itself. You asked why I was not ransomed?”
He nodded.
“The corsairs knew of the sultan’s insatiable hunger for young girls.”
The grooves that bracketed the marquess’s mouth deepened and his hands tightened on the reins.
“They guessed he would find my red hair and green eyes an irresistible novelty. Some things were more valuable to them than money, and pleasing the sultan was one of them.” She looked at the man who would soon be her husband. “The sultan was my only lover, my lord. I have never lain with another.”
“There were no children from this union?” The words were clipped and his expression had become dogged. Was he regretting his desire for openness?
“There was a child—a son.” Mia gritted her teeth and told the most difficult lie she’d yet spoken. “He died.” She did not need to fake the pain that seized her as she ended her son’s life, even if it was only in the mind of the man beside her.
Exley cut her a brief glance but said nothing.
“The sultan fathered no children during the last ten years of his life. He was unwell much of that time and could not participate in the act of conception without considerable effort.” She was amused to see Exley’s pale skin tint across the bridge of his fine nose.
Ah, even a jaded aristocrat could blush at such plain speaking.
“In any event, he showed little interest in taking me to his bed once I was beyond a certain age. He had many wives who were younger.”
“What caused you to leave Oran?” he asked tightly.
“The sultan died and his son Assad seized control of his father’s empire. Assad and I had had a misunderstanding years earlier and he held me in great dislike. I was lucky enough to escape the palace before he captured me. I hid in the souk, where I sold my jewels to live, and offered a substantial reward to the first person who delivered my message to Ramsay.”
“And then Ramsay came to get you?”
Mia smiled up at him. “I swear you have been reading the scandal sheets, my lord.”
Muscles flexed beneath his pale skin, making her hand twitch at the memory of touching the hard planes of his face. “It would have been impossible to get through the last few months without hearing at least a hundred stories about either you or Lord Ramsay,” he said acidly.
“And some of those stories are so very, very naughty, my lord.”
His nostrils flared. “I wouldn’t know about those, my lady.” He shot her a look that sent heat surging through her body.
“Is that so?” she murmured, not waiting for an answer before continuing. “Ramsay could not come for me himself, but he sent his ship to collect me and bring me to Eastbourne, his port of choice. He then accompanied me back to Burnewood Park.”
Thinking of that journey—the last time she’d seen her son—made it difficult to breathe. Her vision became blurry and she stared down at her hands, blinking away tears.
The marquess broke the strained silence. “I will obtain a special license. Will ten days be sufficient time for you to prepare?”
Mia exhaled. She’d done it. She’d told the story without making any mistakes or rousing any suspicion. “Yes, my lord.”
“My preference would be for an intimate ceremony.”
She nodded. “Will you invite your sister and daughters, my lord?” When he didn’t answer, she stole a look at him from beneath the brim of her hat. His features were set in characteristically harsh lines.
“No.”
Mia tried to find some meaning in the single syllable but came up with nothing. She pushed her curiosity away—it did not serve her purpose. She would need to keep reminding herself that his children were not her affair. Nor was anything else in his life.
“You may, of course, invite as many people as you choose.”
“Yes, my lord.” Mia’s guest list would be short. Other than family, the only person she knew in England was Baron Ramsay.
She’d seen Ramsay once or twice at London functions, but had never managed to speak with him in private. She had a sneaking suspicion the big peer wouldn’t fall in with her escape plans, especially once she was married. Men had a tendency to stick together, even when they didn’t know one another.
If he refused to help her, there were other men on his crew who might prove useful. His handsome first mate—a Frenchman named Martín Bouchard—came to mind. The amorous young man had made no secret of his interest in her. At least his interest in getting her into his bed. Mia would have succumbed to the man’s advances if Jibril had not been on the ship. Yes, Bouchard was definitely somebody she could turn to if necessary.
Mia would make it a point to find out from Ramsay when the Frenchman would be back in England. She could also press Ramsay for news of Jibril. The baron had given her son passage on his ship as well as money for supplies and weapons. The only thing he’d requested of Jibril was his word he would discontinue Babba Hassan’s practice of dealing in slaves, a business her son already abhorred, being the son of a slave.
Mia realized the carriage had stopped and looked up. The marquess was staring. She smiled and a muscle jumped in her cheek. “I’m sorry, my lord, did you say something?”
“You were very far away and looked very pleased about something. Tell me, my lady, what were you thinking about to make you smile so?” His raptor-like stare belied his mild tone.
Nothing that would make you smile, Mia thought, bringing her twitching cheek under control. “I was wondering what we will do after the wedding.”
His eyebrows shot up and his eyes lit with humor.
Heat flooded her face and she pressed her hands to her cheeks. How was it this man had the power to make her blush?
“I meant after that, my lord. Where we will live?”
“Ah,” he murmured, his expression mockingly crestfallen.
Mia found this small display of playfulness encouraging. “Will we stay in London or retire to your home in Hampshire?”
He made a soft clucking sound and the horses resumed their gentle pace. “Which would you prefer?”
“I should like to go to Exham Castle.” Mia realized she was speaking the truth. Not just because of her escape plans, but because she was intrigued to meet the man’s children, as well as the sister who was raising his daughters.
“We shall spend a few days in London after the ceremony and then remove to Exham. Will that please you?”
“Yes, my lord.” She hesitated. “If you do not think me impertinent—”
He turned and gave her a cool look. “Yes?”
“Will you return to London immediately?”
“Would that please you?” he asked, his question a mocking echo.
“Of course not. It’s just that I’m a bit curious.”
He sighed. “Speak plainly, my lady.”
“What is it that you do in London? I mean, if you do not attend ton functions and socialize?”
His face relaxed, as if she’d not asked the question he’d expected, or feared. He shrugged. “I attend my clubs, engage in a bit of fencing and shooting, and manage my various estates.”
“And that is enough to occupy your time?”
His eyes narrowed, as if he suspected there was some other meaning lurking beneath her questions. “Estate management takes a good deal of time, if you are to do it correctly.”
“Of course, my lord,” she murmured, her tone placating. “So you have several estates?” And are any of them closer to Eastbourne?
“Yes.”
“Have they been in your family long?”
“No, they have not.”
This conversation reminded her of some she’d had with Jibril when he’d been young and had done something naughty, making her drag every small bit of information from him. Before she could come up with another question, he spok
e.
“All but Exham and the London house are new properties which I have acquired.”
“Acquired?”
Again he sighed. “To put it bluntly, I am skilled at cards. Most men, to their detriment, are not. When I encounter such men at a card table, it often results in the acquisition of houses and land. More property which, unfortunately, requires even more of my time and effort to manage.” He raised one hand to suppress a yawn, as if speaking so many words had fatigued him.
Mia stared. What kind of man could take other men’s homes with such cool detachment?
The marquess turned to her, as if he could hear her thoughts. Looking into his eyes at that moment was like standing on a ledge and looking down into thick, swirling fog. What did the mist obscure? A harmless step down or a bottomless pit?
Mia suddenly lost all desire to question him any further. In fact, she wondered if she should not leap from the moving carriage and begin running.
She faced forward, and they rode the remainder of the way home in silence.
* * *
Adam couldn’t help noticing his future wife’s look of relief when he refused her offer to come into Carlisle House for some refreshment. Who could blame her? He’d behaved like a jealous boor about a simple flirtation with the footman.
Hell, he’d even surprised himself.
Of course he’d done that a lot lately. Especially surprising had been his carriage ride to Carlisle House yesterday and his impulsive proposal.
He sighed. There was no point marveling over his actions now. What was done was done.
His jealous reaction today, however, was a different matter. He was not a jealous man. His first wife, Veronica, would have driven him mad within six months if he’d been the jealous sort. Lord knows the woman had never stopped trying. It had enraged her that he’d never said a word about her sexual escapades. Well, not until she brought her lovers into his house. Even then, it hadn’t been jealousy he’d felt.
No, Adam couldn’t recall ever having experienced the clawing sensation in his gut that had assailed him when he’d witnessed his betrothed’s sensual smile at her handsome young footman. Even more unsettling was the haze of rage that had clouded his vision at the younger man’s lusty appraisal of his fiancée.
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