Page 86 of Dangerous

The Golden Scythe had been one of the sultan’s finest ships for years and Mia knew it must have infuriated Assad to lose it to a privateer so soon after his father’s death. The sultanate relied heavily on its ships, both to engage in legitimate trading as well as the lucrative and highly illegal slave trade. It did not bode well for Assad’s crumbling empire that he was unable to maintain control of his small fleet.

The Scythe was smaller than Ramsay’s Ghost but impressively armed and as clean and polished as the finest carriage in Hyde Park. Mia could see by the way the sailors greeted their captain they held him in high regard. Indeed, Bouchard became a different man when he boarded the ship, his movements sharper and more purposeful. He almost appeared ... mature.

He led them belowdecks to his cabin and Mia stared in wonder when he opened the door. She’d stayed in Ramsay’s cabin on the Ghost and it had been larger than usual, altered to fit the man’s size. But Bouchard’s cabin? It was like ...

“Good Lord, it is just like a brothel,” her husband muttered. Mia bit back a laugh, and then frowned, wondering how her husband knew of such things. She would ask him later, if he ever relented toward her.

“Thank you, Captain,” Mia said, when it was clear Adam would say nothing good. “It is quite ... luxurious.” And it was. The bed took up half the room and was piled high with velvet and silk bedding, the dark wood and brass polished to a blinding shine. One wall, the wardrobe, she supposed, bore large mirrors, a silent but vocal testament to Bouchard’s staggering vanity.

The captain grunted and flung open the wardrobe doors. “I have made the room for your cloth.” He paused. “Cloths, clothe.” He finally gave up, shaking his head in disgust, his tongue unable to accommodate the English combination of t and h.

Mia thought his English was much improved even in the short time since she’d last seen him, and the mistakes he made were rather charming, not that she would ever tell him so.

“Thank you, Captain.”

He nodded abruptly. “I leave you now.”

Adam turned to his luggage once the Frenchman had gone, his expression perplexed.

“I shall put away our clothing,” Mia said. Like the aristocrat he was, Adam had not done without servants in quite some time, if ever. He nodded and Mia could feel the tension coiled inside him as he paced about the small space. He’d not forgiven her. Oh, he answered her questions and discussed the details of their trip readily enough, but there was a distance between them that had not existed since the early days of their marriage. Mia had no idea how to cross it. She’d tried to sway him with her lovemaking, but he’d slept alone last night and she’d not had the courage to force her way into his bed. He was very, very angry and hurt. Mia could not blame him for either feeling. It was her job to bridge the distance between them.

She took a step toward him and it felt symbolic. “Will you keep me company for a stroll on deck?”

* * *

Adam looked down into his wife’s pleading eyes, fully aware he was acting childishly. He’d managed to discard the anger he’d felt regarding her lies, but her abandonment was another matter entirely. He still couldn’t forgive her for looking to another man in her time of trouble. Maybe he never would.

He resumed his pacing without answering her, coming to a halt in front of the built-in bookshelf above the desk.

“Our captain likes to read,” Adam murmured, browsing the small selection of books.

“He also likes to play chess.” Mia gestured to a handsome box and board that sat beside the bed.

Adam snorted. “Let us hope he has cards, as well.”

A month of getting thrashed at chess by his wife would be enough to rattle even the most sanguine man, and Adam was far from that. Especially not since he now had his own lies to hide.

“I will not allow my wife to leave that ship, Ramsay. If I had my way, she’d not be on it in the first place,” he’d told the baron last night after Mia had finally gone to bed—but not before she’d cast him enough suggestive, longing looks to melt stone.

“I understand and I would not like to be in your position. I’m sorry I agreed that she should go with us, but I would hate to go all that way and not have her on hand if we can’t find the boy as easily as we think. Or if Assad demands to see her before he produces him.”

Adam had lowered the glass of port he’d just raised to his mouth. “Please tell me you aren’t planning to use my wife to bait a hook, Ramsay.”

The baron waved Adam’s glare away with his brawny three-fingered hand. “No, of course I’m not. However, if Assad believes she is there, he may trot the boy out and make things a lot easier. Besides, I don’t fancy your chances of keeping her from going, not if you ever want her to speak to you again.”

Adam grunted, knowing the big man was correct. He wished her displeasure did not matter to him, but there was no denying it did—even though he was currently too furious to speak to her.

“I will draw the line at her stepping foot on shore. I want her far away from those docks when you and I go to find her son.”

Ramsay grinned. “You and I?”

Adam knew Ramsay was no fool, for all he enjoyed playing the jester. If he did not believe Adam would contribute anything, he would have no qualms about leaving him on board the ship, just as Adam had no qualms about leaving Mia.

“You cannot think to leave me behind. I will be valuable when it comes to fighting in close quarters and dispatching men without a pistol. I’m assuming we will want to keep our presence quiet if we need to get close to the palace.”

“I’m hoping there will be no dispatching,” Ramsay pointed out.

Adam nodded, willing to be amenable, as long as it served his interests. “As am I. However, praemonitus, praemunitus.”