Page 63 of Dangerous

She pushed up close between his thighs and lay against his chest. He wrapped his arm around her, holding her lightly but firmly beneath her breasts while his legs gripped her more securely.

“Mm,” she sighed, shifting and adjusting cushions under her legs and feet until she felt a deep laugh in his chest, his arm tightening around her as he leaned down to kiss the top of her head.

“You are just like the Mantons’ cat.”

“Their cat?”

“Yes, their cat. I believe they call the beast Boadicea, which is not surprising for them, I suppose.”

“How am I like a cat?” she persisted, pleased by the happy, relaxed note in his voice.

“The way you take a sensual pleasure in your surroundings and comfort. Although you’re so small that maybe I should say you’re like a kitten.”

Mia sighed and snuggled closer. She was thoroughly enjoying the journey even though an unexpected summer storm made their post stops a wet, muddy business. She was eager to see her new home but she couldn’t help treasuring the novelty of a long carriage ride with her husband.

The truth was, Mia was far from miserable with her life and that realization made her feel guilty. Every day she promised herself she’d begin taking steps toward making her escape. Yet every day ended with her no closer to selling her jewelry or sending a message to Bouchard.

Was her hesitation purely selfish or had Ramsay been correct in saying her presence in the middle of a violent struggle would not help Jibril’s cause? Mia nibbled on the end of a curl that insisted on breaking free and tickling her nose. She might view Jibril as a boy, but men were fighting and dying because they wanted him as their leader. It had been her son who’d pleaded with her to go to England to begin with.

But wasn’t that argument merely self-serving?

Mia didn’t think so. Instead, she was beginning to see merit in Ramsay’s suggestion she tell Adam the truth and bring Jibril to England. Adam had been a social outcast for years and had done well enough for himself; why could not Jibril do the same?

Mia released the strand of hair and frowned. She was not even sure anymore if she could leave her husband. Every day she became more certain she loved him; not that she had any experience in what love was supposed to feel like. Whatever she felt for him, she didn’t want to live without it. She absently stroked her hand down his thigh.

“Mia,” Adam warned.

“I won’t, Adam, I promise.” She stopped her stroking but smiled as she felt his stiffness against her back. In the middle of their last tussle in the carriage—earlier that day—the vehicle had become stuck in a deep rut. Adam had been forced to curtail his pleasure and had warned her against teasing him any further en route.

“I shan’t let you work me into a lather and then be forced to muck around in a ditch with a bloody cockstand,” he’d muttered.

Mia almost giggled as she recalled his irritation. He had been at attention.

It had taken all five men to budge the large vehicle. By the time Adam reentered the carriage he’d been wet and muddied almost to the tops of his boots. Mia stroked the soft buckskin of his breeches at the memory. Why was it she found him even more arousing covered in mud and disheveled? His hand closed over hers, steadying the stroking gesture she’d unconsciously resumed.

Mia closed her eyes. It had been only two weeks. Surely she could consider the matter for a little longer before making any decisions? Perhaps she might even tell him the truth?

* * *

“We are here, my lady,” Adam told his gently snoring wife.

“Mm?” She pushed herself up off his chest, where she’d spent the last two hours of the journey sleeping like a cat, curled up in his lap. “Already?”

“Yes, already,” he agreed drily. Adam raised the shade higher as the carriage rolled beneath the exterior castle wall into the large cobbled courtyard. It was past dusk but the drive was well-lighted with torches burning in the ancient holders.

The structure was a fine example of a walled castle, built to protect the early coastline from invaders. The river that had used to run in front of it had spread into a sluggish estuary, and the outlet had been abandoned as other, deeper water ports developed.

Over the years Exham Castle had seen many changes. The moat, of course, no longer held water and wooden spikes but was only visible as a slight indentation, now filled with grasses and wildflowers.

Adam had spent a good deal of time and money reconstructing those parts of the old wall that had crumbled. The rock he’d used had been quarried from the same sites as the original and painstakingly milled to fit the gaps. He’d been pleased by the result, a façade that looked almost uniform. It was not the most comfortable place to live but he always felt a rush of pride when he beheld it for the first time after a long absence.

Jessica was standing in front of the rather barbaric main entrance, where more torches burned in massive medieval holders, much as they must have done hundreds of years ago.

Adam shoved through the myriad of pillows his wife required in every situation and opened the door to the carriage, leaping out before the steps had been placed. He stretched and yawned as one of the footmen unfolded the steps. Adam reached for Mia’s hand and grinned at the expression on her face, which was wondrous as she took in the castle behind him.

“It is so magnificent and imposing.” She didn’t bother looking where she was stepping but luckily, he was close enough to catch her, whispering in her ear as he lowered her to the ground.

“You must be more careful, my dear. We don’t want my detractors saying I murdered you the very day you arrived.”