Page 31 of Dangerous

When it was clear they’d once again devolved to monosyllables, Mia gave her attention to her plate.

She ate.

He drank.

The clinking of cutlery filled the silence.

“Jessica and my eldest daughter, Catherine, assist the governess with Eva and Melissa.” The dense hedge of greenery muffled his words. “Jessica is of a retiring disposition and does not often venture out into society. She has not come back to London since her only Season some years ago.” His expression was a trifle dazed, as though he’d stunned himself with this veritable flood of information.

“Will Catherine make her come-out next Season?”

The marquess stared stonily at her, as if Mia had asked whether his eldest daughter had plans to take up bear-baiting in Hyde Park. He took a drink and glared at the arrival of more dishes. “There are no such plans.”

Why would such a man not want to give his daughter a Season? And why was she wondering about such a thing? His daughters were none of her concern. He was marrying her for an heir, not to present his daughters, something she would be woefully inexperienced at, in any case. She was marrying him to escape, and, if she was completely honest with herself, because she wished to have him as a lover. All her life she’d given sexual pleasure and never received it. Mia studied her attractive, drunk husband and wondered if that would continue to be the case.

She helped herself to a portion of trout before steering the conversation in a less contentious direction. “You mentioned on our ride in the park you enjoy card games. Which games do you prefer?”

The marquess scrutinized her for an almost insultingly long moment before answering.

“Yes, I have an affinity for cards.”

Mia gave up waiting for more and cut another slice of fish. The food at her husband’s table was superior to her father’s, so the marquess obviously cared about such matters—even though he did not appear to be a great eater. She ate a piece of fish and took a sip of a particularly exquisite wine.

“Do you enjoy playing cards?”

Mia’s head jerked up at the question; was that a slight slurring she detected?

“My brother taught me cribbage and piquet, both of which I enjoy, although I am not very skilled. I am used to chess and Zamma.”

“Zamma?” He sounded interested for the first time that evening, perhaps even that day.

“Yes, it is played on a board with stones or beads. You may have heard it referred to as Hunt and Capture?”

“Hunt and Capture,” he repeated, his lips curling into an odd smile. “No, I have not heard of it. I am partial to games. Perhaps you will teach me Zamma?” Mia was rendered speechless by this unprecedented display of ... anything. As if determined to stupefy her with his garrulousness, he continued, “I enjoy chess with the right opponent. It is a demanding game; the requirement of seeing so many moves ahead is challenging. Many players become too attached to their pieces and are unable to sacrifice something important in order to lure their opponent into a fatal indiscretion. You say you enjoy the game?”

Mia knew he was not talking about chess. What had she done or said to give him the idea she was playing games with him? Whatever it was, she needed to stop doing it.

“I like chess very much, my lord.”

“Are you a challenging opponent?”

“We must play and you may judge for yourself.”

He signaled for the footman to remove his untouched plate and then turned to his refreshed glass, evidently finished with the conversation.

The meal was the longest of her life. Her husband’s determined drinking mediated against conversation, as did the dozen or so servants milling between them. As the daughter of a duke, Mia was accustomed to formal dining. But even at Carlisle House they dined with less pomp when it was only family. His icy manner remained unchanged but she detected a slight sway to his posture. Was he a dipsomaniac or merely avoiding taking her to bed for some reason?

By the end of the meal she was exhausted and the marquess was beyond drunk, no matter how well he hid it. After the last dish was cleared, Mia debated the wisdom of leaving him to his port. But then she met his flat stare. He wanted her to leave.

Mia stood and the marquess stood with her, bracing himself with two hands on the dining table.

“I shall retire to my chambers, my lord.” She refused to wait for him in the solitude of some cavernous sitting or drawing room. If he wanted her, he could come to her bedchamber.

Chapter Eleven

Adam exhaled after the door closed, as if he’d been holding his breath for the past hour instead of pouring prodigious amounts of alcohol down his throat. The tray of port had somehow materialized in front of him. He motioned to the footmen flanking the door.

“You may finish clearing later.”