Was it wrong she wished this man had given Lord Brunley lessons on how to propose? “Somebody worse” was not precisely a good recommendation of character.
“I’ll take that chance,” she replied, twisting out of his grip. She slid the bolt of fabric out from under her arm and held it in front of her as a barrier.
Which he chuckled at, but at least he couldn’t get his hands on her.
He lunged toward her, and she swung the bolt up over her head, slamming it down on top of him, making him stumble.
And then she heard a growl from behind her, and a long arm shot past her and into the man’s face, sending him straight down onto the cobblestones.
That must have hurt.
She spun around, finding herself nose-to-chest with Nash. Of course.
“I had it handled.”
One dark eyebrow rose. “Didn’t look like it.”
“That’s because you interfered.”
He peered over her shoulder at the man lying on the ground, then his gaze darted to the bolt of fabric. “Your plan was to smother him?”
“I’ll have you arrested!” the man moaned, his hand cradling his chin.
Nash strode past Ana Maria to stare down at the man, his hands curled into fists at his side. “You won’t.” His words settled, the threat in them nearly palpable. “In fact, you’ll beg pardon of the lady.”
“I will not!” the man replied.
Nash bent down to stare into the man’s face, not moving, just staring. The man responded by glaring at Nash’s feet. Ana Maria suppressed a giggle.
“Beg pardon,” the man said at last.
“Apology accepted,” Ana Maria replied, tucking the bolt of fabric back under her arm. Nash was still towering over the would-be assailant, and she tugged on his sleeve. “Why don’t you escort me home, Your Grace?”
He snarled. Whether it was because he wanted an opportunity to get into more altercations or because she’d reminded him of his title, she didn’t know.
“Your Grace?” the man echoed.
Ana Maria raised her voice to address him. “Yes, you’ve just been punched by the Duke of Malvern.”
“Ohh.”
“Let’s go,” Nash said in his usual abrupt way. He took the bolt of fabric from her, tucked it under his arm, and held his other arm out for her.
She opened her mouth to inform him she was perfectly capable of carrying her own things, thank you very much, but it wasn’t as though he didn’t know that. He was just being Nash—assuming all the physical duties around him, taking charge without asking, being proprietary about the things and people he cared about.
Oh. That was an unsettling thought. He did care about her, of course. He cared about her because she was Sebastian’s sister, and Thaddeus’s cousin.
But did he care for her as Ana Maria? A person in her own right?
Because she had always been so keenly aware of him, but she’d known he hadn’t paid much attention to her. Ever. Until the night of the ball.
And now it seemed he was turning up everywhere—not so much like a bad penny as a brutal force of nature.
There was something rather primitively exciting about it all. Though she should not be having those kinds of thoughts about her brother’s best friend.
She gave herself a mental shake, then realized he was guiding her toward a pub. Not the King’s Arms, but another one. What was it about men wanting to buy her ale?
“I thought you were escorting me home?” Unless he was so determined to get into a physical altercation he couldn’t wait until he saw her to her door.
“We need to talk.”
She snorted. “You? Talk?”
He pushed the door to the pub open, leading her inside, and heading toward a table where one lone man sat. “Off,” he said, and the man scurried away.
Nash grunted, and settled her in the man’s seat.
“I can talk,” he said at last.
Ana Maria rolled her eyes. “Yes, and I can sing. But neither of us can do those things very well.”
A barmaid appeared at the table. “What’ll ye have?”
Nash looked at Ana Maria. “Well, I don’t know what to order,” she said.
“Two ales.”
“Right away.”
“What do we have to talk about?” She didn’t mean to speak in an aggressive tone, and yet here she was. “Because I don’t think we have anything to talk about. Except for you agreeing to let me handle things on my own.”
“Not going to do that.” His eyes held an intensity that made her tingle. “I’m going to handle things for you.”
Oh.
Chapter Seven
Even in the relative dark of the pub, Nash could see the angry spark in Ana Maria’s eyes. “You’re not going to do that? And who are you to decide how I am to comport myself?”
I’m your protector.
And her brother’s best friend. That was all.
But he couldn’t rid himself of the memory of walking into that room where that oafish lord had her cornered, feeling the fierce urge to pummel anything and anyone that might hurt her. And then coming across her in a dockside street, for God’s sake, as another man accosted her. Feeling the righteous anger surge within him, glad to put it to good use.
“Can we agree on a compromise?”
Not that he was going to actually compromise, but she didn’t have to know that.
“Compromise?” She sounded skeptical. He didn’t blame her; he couldn’t think of any time in the past he’d compromised. Mostly because people didn’t usually even try to compromise with him—they just left him alone. And if they didn’t? He hit them.
The barmaid returned with the ales, placing them on the table. He took the glass, gesturing for Ana Maria to do the same.
“Are we toasting to something? To you staying out of my business?”
She was far more irascible than he’d remembered. Not that he’d thought that much about her before; it was only now, now that Sebastian wasn’t there taking care of her that he’d started to pay attention. Not to mention seeing her in that gown.
The protector. Stepping in when required, even if not desired.
“No.”
Her mouth twisted into an adorable pucker.
“But I will if you learn to protect yourself.” He took a sip of the ale. She did the same, sputtering as she drank.
The look on her face made him almost laugh. Except he never laughed.
“It’s unusual!” she muttered. “I’ll get used to it.” She took another sip, this time mastering her expression. “How do you propose I learn to protect myself?”
“I’ll teach you.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh.” A moment of silence. “So—you’ll teach me how to punch people? Like you do?”
She sounded intrigued, not horrified, thank God.
“Yes.”
“But—but I am nothing close to your size. How will that work?”
How will that work?
The question brought all sorts of unwanted images to his mind—images that were most definitely not suitable when thinking about Ana Maria.
But still.
Him sliding his hand down her arm, showing her the correct way to hold her fist. Feeling the movement of her body as she thrust her hand into an imaginary opponent.
Helping her become stronger.
They were intoxicating thoughts.
“Well,” he said at last, realizing she was giving him an impatient look. “I’ll train you. I have a room for boxing—”
“Of course you do,” she murmured.
“And we can work together until I feel as though you can handle yourself. Until then, you’ll need to let me know when you’re likely to be in the kind of neighborhood I just found you in.”
Both eyebrows rose incredulously. “And why would I do that?”
He leaned forward. “Because if you don’t, I’ll tell Thaddeus, and you know how he’ll react.”
That adorable pucker again. He
should probably tell her she shouldn’t look so cute when she was mad, but he knew that would likely make her madder.
“That’s blackmail.”
He shrugged. “I just want you safe. Sebastian would expect no less of me.”
“Humph.” She downed the rest of her ale in a defiant gesture. Then ruined the effect by wrinkling her nose.
“Fine. When do you propose we start these lessons?”
Another shrug. “You can tell me. You won’t need them if you can promise me you won’t venture into any dangerous areas by yourself.”
“We’ll start tomorrow, then.”
He smothered a grin at her irritable tone.
Ana Maria had never felt so many disparate emotions in her prior twenty-eight years. Contradictory emotions, as suited her new role as the walking oxymoron.
Gratitude, because she wasn’t entirely certain she could have handled that man on her own. Annoyance, because he’d had to rescue her. Something else that surged when she thought about the power of his body, and how he’d rushed in to protect her.
And something on top of that when she imagined what it would be like to train with him.
Alone. In a room where he presumably wore less and sweat more.
Oh dear.
She needed to get her mind off all of that. “Can we order another?” she asked. He’d finished his ale as well.
“Mmph.” He lifted his hand to beckon to the barmaid, then raised two fingers.
“I didn’t realize your grandmother was in town.” That was an excellent change of topic—if she was thinking about older judging relatives she wouldn’t be thinking of him in his shirtsleeves, thrusting his fists toward an invisible opponent.
“I didn’t either.”
The barmaid returned with their drinks, taking their empty glasses and setting the full ones down. “Pay now, if you please,” she said.
He withdrew some coins from his waistcoat pocket and handed them to her. She looked down in surprise. “Thank you, sir,” she said in an effusive tone.
Generous on top of everything. As she’d anticipated.
“So why is she here?”
He took a long swallow instead of answering.
“My heir.”
That wasn’t helpful. “What about your heir?”
Another drink instead of a reply. “Like my father.”
“Oh.” She knew about his father, of course. Not all of it—Nash was even more taciturn when it came to his own private matters—but she knew there was a reason a young Nash was suddenly at their house all the time, sometimes sporting unexplained bruising.
Sebastian had pleaded with Nash to let him help, but Nash had refused. They were both so young at the time, and how could they possibly go up against a grown man? A duke?
“And how does your grandmother come into it?”
“Says I have to get my own heir.”
Which meant— “Oh! So you’re planning on getting married?”
Goodness, why did her voice have to squeak at the end like that?
“Have to do it eventually.”
“Ah.” She took a sip of her ale instead of responding, which was probably for the best, since her first emotions were disappointment, jealousy, and envy. None of which she precisely understood, or would allow herself to understand, but were there nonetheless.
“And your grandmother is here to . . . assist you in finding a bride?”
He grimaced. Which answered her question.
“So that is why you were at the ball the other evening.” Dressed like every other gentleman, looking impossibly handsome and dangerous all at the same time.
A grunt of agreement.
“If I can help—” But he was already shaking his head before she could finish her sentence.
“No help.”
She drew back in her chair. “So you can demand that I take lessons in fighting from you, but you won’t let me help in finding someone to marry?”
“Not your concern.”
This time, there was only one emotion. Anger.
“I know that you are entirely self-sufficient,” she said in a low, furious tone, “but can’t you see how unbalanced it is to help me without allowing me to help you?”
“And what will you do?” His fierce tone startled her. “You’ll tell me which young lady seems to be the least terrified of me? Or which one is the most desperate for a husband?” He snorted. “I can figure that out by myself, and if I can’t, my grandmother will apparently be doing it for me. I don’t need your help.”
Her chest tightened in response. That he thought so little of himself, that he was refusing a genuine offer of help, that he was so obviously reluctant to embark on marriage, but was determined to do it to stave off a potential reprisal of his father’s behavior.
All things that made her concerned for him, angry at him, and proud of him all at the same time.
“I should be getting home.” She couldn’t speak all the words in her heart, she wouldn’t dare to, so she should get herself out of his vicinity until she had composed herself.
Which might mean she would next see him when she was eighty years old.
By which point he would have gotten married, so that would be taken care of.
So there was a bright side to being conflicted.
“I’ll take you home.” He rose, holding his hand out to her in assistance. She glanced at his hand, the strength of it, marveling that he was so willing to help others but not take any help himself.
What would it look like if he did?
What kind of help could she offer?
And why did that question raise so many fascinating thoughts?
They walked in nearly companionable silence back to Thaddeus’s house. It was a long walk, and at first he’d wondered if her delicate lady feet could handle so much walking, but then he recalled that prior to a few months ago, she’d been doing all the duchess’s most unpleasant work.
Albeit not in her delicate lady slippers.
“Are your feet comfortable?” He sounded so awkward. No wonder he never spoke.
“My feet?” she replied, sounding surprised.
“Yes. The walking. We could hail a cab, if you’d like.” Or he could just carry her.
“I am fine,” she replied, sounding vaguely offended. So he wouldn’t offer to pick her up. Likely a good thing, what with all those soft curves in his arms.
“Why would you worry about my feet?” she asked after a moment.
He shrugged.
“That’s not an answer. I appreciate the concern, but I can walk all by myself, Your Grace. I can dance and speak and defend myself.”
“No you can’t.” He tilted his head back toward where they had come from. “Your idea of defense is to whack someone with fabric. Here, give that back to me,” he said, tugging the bolt of fabric from under her arm. He’d attempted to carry it out of the pub, but she’d been too quick for him.
She yelped in surprise, and then glared at him.
It felt good, in an odd way, to have her glare at him. It meant that he could provoke a reaction, not just a tolerance. That she treated him as a person with opinions, albeit opinions with which she did not always agree.
Such as that she should be taught self-defense.
But the thought of her wandering about London, her delicate lady feet taking her to disreputable neighborhoods in search of something pretty—that was enough to make his chest tighten and his fists clench.
“I do appreciate your concern,” she said, this time in a softer tone. “I know Sebastian has likely asked you to watch out for me. I will tell him you are doing a splendid job, if you like.”
“He did not—” Nash began, then clamped his jaw shut. It would be far better for her to believe that he was doing this out of some best friend appeal rather than out of his own worry. If she thought that he was acting out of anything other than honoring a friend’s request—then she would think he cared for her.
He did not want her to know
he cared for her.
Because he didn’t, of course. That is, other than the usual care one would have for a friend’s sibling. A person to be tolerated by virtue of that person’s relationship to the person you truly cared about.
And not that he’d ever tell Sebastian he truly cared about him. For one thing, he assumed Sebastian knew.
For the other, that wasn’t anything Nash had ever done—express, out loud, his true feelings toward somebody.
“We’re here. You can leave me now.” She spoke abruptly. Had he been silent too long?
Well, he could answer that question: always.
He hadn’t realized they were as close to the house as they apparently were. They approached it, the waning afternoon light making the many windows sparkle, as though touched by fire.
It was truly impressive, even though Nash knew Sebastian had taken it for granted and Thaddeus sincerely wished it wasn’t his.
Nash could sympathize with both points of view.
The door swung open, as though someone was waiting for them, and the butler stepped out. “My lady, Your Grace,” he called.
Nash and Ana Maria ascended the stairs to the front door, him holding his hand out toward her in case she stumbled.
Something he wasn’t aware of doing. Just that he always did that sort of thing around her.
Why hadn’t he noticed that before? He drew his hand back as though he’d touched a flame.
Goddamn it. She was the flame. And he would not allow himself to get burned by the fire that was sparking within.
He waited until she was safely inside, then turned to go, but paused as he heard Thaddeus call his name.
He hoped to God Thad wasn’t about to warn him away from Ana Maria. Because he was warning himself away well enough, he sure as hell didn’t need his friend to add to it as well.
“Thank you for escorting her home,” Thad said in a gruff voice. “I am not accustomed to worrying about her being out. I will ensure she has adequate protection when she leaves the house.” He shook his head. “I could use a drink, how about you?”
Nash grinned. “Of course,” he replied.
So this was to be a social visit, one where Thad groused about his new pampered life and Nash agreed and drank Thad’s excellent whiskey.
Tall, Duke, and Dangerous Page 7