Page 8 of Dangerous

Her skin prickled with awareness and she looked up to meet her father’s eyes.

The duke’s hard green gaze flickered between Exley and Chambers before returning to Mia. The message was clear. He was done bringing her suitors, like a cat offering up dead mice. Mia would either make her choice from among these men, or he would make it for her.

She had known for months this day would come and she’d not spent her time idly. One by one she’d ferreted out information about the parade of impoverished peers who sought her hand. Not an easy task when she was both short of money and connections.

Mia wasn’t overly fussy when it came to choosing a husband but she’d have to bed the man—at least until she escaped. As such, she preferred not to contract the pox from the impoverished but genial Lord Herringford, or nurse bruises and broken bones from Horace Chambers, who enjoyed beating his lovers.

The most recent suitor she’d investigated was Viscount Maugham. Unfortunately, the young peer’s country estate was too far inland to be suitable for Mia’s escape plans. On the positive side, the viscount was so effeminate Mia doubted he was capable of bedding her, an assumption that made Maugham her favorite candidate.

Until tonight.

Mia studied the marquess’s austere profile from beneath lowered lashes. Bedding such a beautiful man did not look like it would be a chore, but what lurked below his attractive surface? If she judged him solely by the reception he’d received tonight, his past must be horrible indeed. But people treated her much the same way and she had done nothing to merit such behavior. As far as the ton was concerned, being different was enough reason to be an outcast.

Mia gave his handsome profile a thorough inspection, as if his secrets would reveal themselves if she examined him closely enough.

Exley chose that moment to look at her. His cold eyes blazed at her obvious scrutiny and his lips twisted.

Mia bristled. How dare he look down his elegant nose at me in such a manner? And just when I’d begun to feel sorry for him. She returned his scathing stare with interest, giving her napkin a savage snap before laying it across her lap. She’d allowed his pretty face to soften her judgment. He was just another odious fortune hunter who viewed her as low-hanging fruit. No doubt he expected her to tremble with gratitude at the chance to marry a marquess, even one who was some sort of vile social outcast.

Mia helped herself to oysters on the half shell from a hovering footman. If the marquess wanted her, or her money, he would have to earn it, just like the others. Because she had run out of time to investigate him with more subtle methods, he would have to endure a more direct, and brutal, approach.

“Tell me, my lord, is your eldest daughter out and enjoying the Season?”

His lips thinned at the resurgence of the vexatious subject of daughters. “No. She is in Hampshire with her sisters.”

So, he was one of those horrid men who believed women and children should be left in the country while he cavorted in London? In other words, he was exactly the kind of man Mia was looking for.

He was also the kind of man who—inexplicably—brought out her devilish, teasing side.

“Your children live alone in the country while you entertain yourself in London?”

The marquess snorted, a sound that was dangerously close to a laugh. “They are not being suckled by wolves, Lady Euphemia. My sister lives with them.”

“How convenient for you, Lord Exley.”

He lifted one elegant shoulder. “Many people would say I render my children a service with my absence.”

“And your wife, did you render her a similar service?” Mia bit down on her lower lip so hard the tangy, metallic taste of blood flooded her mouth. What was she doing? She had begun this conversation to spare him from rudeness, not inflict more. Instead she’d lost sight of the point of her questions and had allowed his cool dismissal of his daughters to goad her into foolishness—and cruelty.

Twin slashes of color appeared high on his cheekbones and his eyes bored into her. “Unfortunately, the only person who could tell you what services I render in my capacity of husband is no longer available.” His eyes dropped to her décolletage. “Perhaps that will soon change.”

Mia’s face heated. Was she actually blushing? The notion was so diverting she almost missed his next words.

He turned his entire body toward her and his smile made the hairs on the back of Mia’s neck stand up. “But my life is such a tedious, well-trammeled subject, my lady. I would rather speak of you.”

“Oh?” Her mouth insisted on uttering the encouraging syllable in spite of the warning her brain was shrieking.

“Yes, I understand your skill on the dance floor is . . . entrancing.” He watched her like a little boy who had just kicked over an anthill and was eager to witness the results. “Stories of your prowess are what lured me here tonight.” His voice was almost caressing as he set the hook deeper.

Mia dropped her eyes, suddenly struggling to catch her breath. How dare he?

She stared at the table without seeing her plate. Her chest rose and fell like a cornered rabbit’s as the horrid memory crawled from its hiding place and filled her mind. He was referring to Lord and Lady Charring’s ball, the first society event she’d attended. It had been an intimate affair with only three hundred or so of the ton’s finest in attendance.

Rebecca had given careful thought to Mia’s first dance partner, an older man who was one of the duke’s cronies. A few minutes into the dance—a Scottish reel—the man’s face had turned an alarming shade of red. Concerned for his health, Mia suggested they rest. The moment they stepped off the dance floor, the duke had descended like the winged hangman of death. He’d clutched her arm hard enough to leave bruises and hustled her from the ballroom under the eyes of half the ton.

Mia had been stunned. What had she done? She loved dancing and it was one of the few things she had always excelled at. Even when Babba Hassan had no longer wanted her in his bed, he’d still summoned her to dance for him.

Her father’s ice-cold rage that night had been unlike anything she’d ever witnessed. Mia shuddered at the memory. It had also been the turning point for her, the moment she’d decided she could not live in this country.