Page 74 of Dangerous

“He is alive. He will remain so unless he does something foolish. Assad is demanding ransom.”

Mia almost wept with relief. If Assad wanted money that meant Jibril was safe.

“How much?”

Bouchard gave another shrug. “He knows you are the rich daughter of a duke—”

“How much, Bouchard?”

“Twenty-five thousand pounds.”

Good God. Mia’s mind raced round and round like a fly trapped in a bottle. How in the world could she get such an amount quickly?

One thing was certain: she could never ask Adam. At least not now. She might have asked him a week ago, before he’d become a stranger to her. She had been on the verge of telling him about Jibril several times since that horrible day. But confessing that she’d only married him with the intention of leaving him would hardly make their current situation any better. How could she convince him that she’d changed and did not want to leave him? Especially since the bungling mess she’d made of her meeting with Gamble.

“I still have the jewels you sent me.” He broke into her anguished thoughts, the concerned expression resting awkwardly on his face, as if he had little experience with the emotion. “I gave them only a short look, but it is perhaps ten thousand.”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, her mind calculating the amount she might get from the rest of her jewels if she could sell them. Several of the items Adam had given her were of immense value. She cringed at what she would tell him when he found out, but pushed the thought away. She would have to confess everything—but only after she had done the deed and sent Martín on his way.

“I have more jewels I could give to you. It will be a very close thing.” Her eyes flickered sightlessly at the greenery around them.

Martín gave her a long look before sighing noisily and releasing a stream of curse words, shaking his head with a look of self-loathing. “Ça suffit! Keep your jewels. I will loan you the money. For interest, of course,” he added in English, his expression hard.

Mia almost smiled at the obvious torture it caused him to make the generous offer, but she was too close to crying. “Thank you, Martín! Thank you.” She took his hands. “You know I will honor my debt.”

He hesitated, his lips oddly twisted. “There is one more thing.”

Mia’s skin crawled at the look in his eyes. “What?”

“Assad says he will only take the money from you.”

“But—”

“It is madness, my lady,” Martín said, “I only tell you this because I do not feel right keeping anything back. But there is no way you can make this journey. Even if you did, you know that if Assad has you both, he will kill you both. That is the only reason he wants the money from your hands. You know this is true.” His unusual eyes were deadly certain. “Se venger.”

Revenge.

Mia fought the paralyzing horror flooding her. Oh God, how was this possible? It was her fault. She should have forced Jibril to come with her. Or tricked him, or hit him over the head and dragged him to England against his will, anything rather than let him return to a half brother who was mad with hate and envy.

“Where are you staying? I will meet you there tonight.”

He lifted his hands. “My lady,” he began, using the protesting tone she knew too well. Once again a man was going to tell her what she had to do.

“Martín!” Her voice rose. “You must have known that I would come when you told me? You must have. Do not waste precious time with argument. I will meet you tonight. Now, where are you staying?”

Bouchard regarded her as if she were a dangerous animal in need of careful handling. “Madame.” He paused, his expression one of agony. He scrubbed his big square hand through his sun-bleached hair, making a mess of his careful coif. He gave her a pleading look. “If I take you into the waters of the Mediterranean, you know that Ramsay will cut off my testicles. You know this is true. I like my testicles, my lady. They are close friends to me.” He stared hard, his worry unfeigned.

Mia stared right back.

She may as well have been trying to stare down the weather or the tide. “What would you have me do?” she asked, her voice hoarse with the effort of not screaming.

“I will take you to Ramsay. He can help you decide what you must do. He understands the way these men think better than any of us, he always has. He and Delacroix are the only people to have escaped the sultan’s palace still alive.”

“I escaped the palace,” Mia protested. “I lived most of my life there. I know of a secret way inside. I can get us back in just as easily as Ramsay can.”

“Can you get into the slave quarters? Do you even know where they are? Where do you think they are holding Jibril? Inside of Assad’s harem with his women?”

Mia’s heart dropped at the truth of his words. She had no clue as to where the slave quarters were. She’d lived in the palace for seventeen years and never even saw most of the massive structure where the sultan’s people lived and worked.