Page 34 of Dangerous

Instead, she pulled the covers back up to his chin.

Mia had hoped to give him a massage while he slept, not violate him without his consent. That was what it would be if she massaged him while her body thrummed with so much pent-up desire.

No, the massage would need to wait until some other time, if ever.

She picked up the bottle of oil, extinguished the candle, and left her husband’s room through the connecting door. It appeared she would have to satisfy her body’s almost constant state of arousal without her new husband’s help.

Chapter Twelve

Somebody had driven a dagger into his skull; a large, dull, rusty dagger. Adam raised a hand to pull it out but found nothing other than his own pounding head. He opened his eyes and quickly shut them again. It was a miracle he didn’t cry out.

He would just breathe for a while. An unusual, but not unpleasant, smell tickled his nostrils, something sharp, yet floral. Lavender? Adam braced himself and took another breath. Yes, it was lavender. He exhaled with great care but his head still ached. Right now, the slight fragrance was the only pleasant thing about his morning.

He was experimenting with various methods of squeezing his head in a vise constructed of thumb and fingers when he heard the sound of a door opening.

“Sayer?” he whispered.

“Good morning, my lord.”

Adam gritted his teeth. “Ah . . . not so loud, Sayer.”

“I believe this may help, my lord.” A glass was pressed into his hand. Without thinking, Adam raised it to his mouth, swallowed, and then choked.

“Good God, man,” he wheezed, thrusting the mostly full glass away before doubling over. He didn’t need to ask what was in it; he recalled it from the last time he’d tipped the barrel and made a fool of himself, his first year at Oxford.

Memories of yesterday and last night came crashing down, causing his skull to throb even harder. Christ. He grimaced at both his behavior and the burning sensation the drink had left in his throat. The memory of last night was far, far worse.

He held out his hand and Sayer placed the glass in it. He took a deep breath, placed the glass against his mouth, and tipped the rest of its contents down his throat. It took all his strength and gritting his teeth to keep from screaming as the noxious liquid made its way into his system.

It may have been many years since his last bout with Sayer’s cure-all but the beverage had not gotten any better. The last time he’d asked Sayer what was in his concoction. He’d only recited charcoal, goat’s milk, raw egg, and port before Adam had begged him to stop.

Adam gave his servant the empty glass and flopped onto his pillow, gasping. “Bath. Tea. Toast.”

“Very good, my lord.”

He heard Sayer give instructions to a servant who must have been hovering nearby for just that purpose.

“Sayer?”

“Yes, my lord?”

“What time did I . . . er . . . come to bed last night?”

“It was after two-thirty, my lord.”

Adam hesitated. “Did I come to bed?”

“No, my lord.”

“I see. Did you help me to bed, then?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Adam spent some time considering this mortifying fact. He had just about decided to leave off examining the matter any further when Sayer spoke.

“Lady Exley had you brought to your room, my lord.”

Adam’s eyes flew open in surprise, and a moan tore out of his raw throat. He tried to close them again, but they seemed to be stuck open. He looked at his servant through eyes that were on fire. He couldn’t focus on Sayer’s face, but he recognized the slight reprimand in his voice and knew he deserved it.