She gave a derisive snort. “The one lady you refuse to even consider marrying. You’ll forgive me if I don’t think that should be taken into consideration.” She rose from her chair, stepping close to him. “Do you want your cousin to inherit?” She thumped her cane on the floor. “You need to take this seriously, Duke.”
“I’m not that old,” he grumbled.
“Old enough to father a child,” she retorted. “The sooner you do that, the sooner all of us who know what could happen can breathe comfortably.”
His own breath felt tight, as though his chest—his responsibilities—were squeezing in on him.
He wished, not for the first time, not for the hundredth time, that someone else, anyone else, had been in line to inherit the title.
If he had just been plain Nash. Not even a “Mr.” starting his name. He could live his life as he chose. He wouldn’t have to funnel his anger into street fights. He could be with the people whom he most enjoyed—people who worked hard, drank hard, lived hard.
Of course, a voice reminded him, those people also don’t have a choice about how they live. Many of them are poor and have to work even if they are in ill health.
He scowled.
“It’s not the worst thing that could happen to you,” his grandmother said, reacting to his expression. “The worst thing would be to die knowing you are allowing people you care about to suffer. I will be gone by then, but what about the other people in the family?”
“I don’t suppose we could persuade my cousin not to be violent?” he said.
She clamped her lips together and glared at him.
“Right. If you will excuse me, I need to—” He walked off without finishing his sentence, desperate to get out of the crowded room filled with people he knew he wouldn’t like. And who wouldn’t like him.
Not that he’d give them a chance.
He was able to take a deep breath as soon as he saw her. She was seated on a terrace bench, the farthest one from the door, looking as though her thoughts were entirely elsewhere.
Was she thinking of him?
She shouldn’t be. She should be thinking of anybody else, not surly men who kissed her passionately in one moment, told her it was an enormous mistake the next.
God, but she looked beautiful. Her dark hair was swept up into some complicated style, with some sort of spangly ribbon intertwined throughout. She wore a gold-and-white gown with enormous skirts that spilled out onto the stone of the terrace. Her gloves were white, while a small pendant hung at her throat.
Her skin gleamed in the moonlight. Her dark eyes were luminous in her face, those perfect lips tilting into a slight smile.
He hoped she was thinking of him. Even though he didn’t.
She turned her head toward him, as though she was as aware of his presence as he was of hers. Her smile broadened, and she patted the bench beside her. “Come,” she said.
He strode toward her, remembering the last time they were on a terrace together. “Terrace shenanigans,” he murmured.
A terrace would be awfully uncomfortable for an intimate moment, and yet it was staged perfectly for one: darkness surrounding them, the light from the ballroom spilling out in golden beams, the faint whisper of the trees as the wind stirred them.
Her, on her knees on the bench, holding on to the wall of the terrace. Him behind her, her skirts flipped up to reveal her shapely arse. Him grasping her around the waist as he thrust slowly into her soft warmth.
Damn.
He should not be thinking about that. This was Ana Maria, the one woman he could never desire in that way.
Although he was coming to realize that there might not be another woman he would ever desire that way.
“Nash?” she said in a questioning tone as he sat down at the edge of the bench. Nearly falling off, since it was a narrow bench, and he didn’t want to risk his body touching hers.
“Why are you out here hiding?” He spoke abruptly, but he knew she wouldn’t take offense. One of the few women who wouldn’t.
Scratch that. The only woman who wouldn’t.
“I’m not hiding, I’m—” she began, then nodded her head. “I’m hiding,” she admitted. “I came out for a chat with Ivy, but she had to leave. I only have two dances claimed thus far—yours and Lord Brunley’s—and honestly I don’t feel like dancing at all, so I guess I am staying out here to avoid any more dances.”
She paused. “What are you doing out here?”
Looking for you.
“Shouldn’t you be inside charming all the ladies who might marry you?” Did he imagine her aggrieved tone?
“I don’t think any of them want to. Except for perhaps Lady Felicity, and I’m fairly certain she’s thinking how she can successfully avoid me after we’re married.” Which would suit him, of course, but it did not appeal at all.
“Oh,” she said in a faint tone. “So it’s to be Lady Felicity?” She picked her dance card up and rubbed where he had written his name. “I don’t want to make things more complicated—you don’t have to dance with me.”
He reached out to grasp her wrist, stilling her hand. “Stop. I want to dance with you.” He was speaking the absolute truth, wasn’t he?
Or not. The absolute truth would be that there was so much more he wanted to do with her. Things that involved her mouth, his body, her hands, his tongue.
And now his cock was stiffening in his trousers, and he didn’t want to stand up, but sitting next to her only meant the problem would grow. So to speak.
She nodded in agreement, but her mouth was pressed together as if she was unhappy.
He wanted to make her happy.
No, Goddamn it, he didn’t. He couldn’t.
“Well,” he said after a moment. “I—my grandmother demands, and I agree with her. I will see you for our dance.”
He rose, nodded briefly, then made his way back to the ballroom, intent on doing anything but the one thing he wanted to most, which was stay with her.
Chapter Thirteen
My lady, I hope you received my bouquet?
My lady, do you prefer roses or lilies?
My lady, what kind of flowers will it take to get you to agree to marry me? So that I might also marry your dowry?
Fine. So the last conversation was entirely imagined, but she knew full well what these gentlemen wished they could say.
She’d returned to the ballroom with only two dances asked for, but now she’d been astonished to discover her dance card was entirely full. Gentlemen—with anxious-looking mamas at their backs—had approached her over the course of just a few minutes, each one asking if he might have the honor, etc., etc.
Her, not truly caring one way or the other.
Not because she was going to settle for one of them, of course. She wasn’t a complete ninny. But because she would not settle for any of them. Not if it meant being in a loveless marriage where the most important relationship was with her money.
Nash had a reason to get married, she knew that. But fortunately for her own situation, there was no reason she had to, beyond wanting all of that happily ever after nonsense.
Which she did. But given the current flowers-equals-romantic-interest code currently being tossed at her, she didn’t see herself achieving that anytime soon.
Especially since the one person she’d like to explore that with was so determinedly against it.
If she could just persuade him to be open to it—there was no guarantee they’d suit. But shouldn’t they at least try to see if it would at all work out?
According to him, no.
She sighed, glancing at her dance card for the hundredth time. The supper dance was only in a few more dances. She just had to get through a dance with Lord Brunley of the Will Not Accept a Rejection Brunleys, and then another dance with some gentleman who’d looked terrified she might refuse his request.
She had felt bad for that fellow, even though she also knew that pity was no basis for a relationship.
&nbs
p; “My lady.”
Lord Brunley arrived right as she was pondering what it would take for a non-Nash gentleman to win her heart.
Nothing less than a perfect dedication to her happiness, a wish to see her fulfilled in some sort of creative work, and a face that could launch a thousand ships, if the ships were crewed by sailors who were motivated by such things.
In other words, no one.
She shrugged as Lord Brunley led her out to the dance floor.
At least she knew she looked good enough to waste flowers on—her gown this evening was white shot through with gold thread, making her look as though she literally shimmered.
Jane had done her hair up in a simple, classic style, winding a gold ribbon through her curls. She wore topaz earrings and a matching topaz necklace, a gift Sebastian had given her when she’d turned eighteen. He had been sixteen then, and had carefully saved his allowance to purchase her a gift, since he’d known she wouldn’t get anything from anybody else.
Sebastian. She smiled just thinking about him and Ivy.
“Can I hope your smile is for me?” Lord Brunley said in what she could only categorize as a smug tone. Because she was not above being judgmental, especially when the gentleman of judgment had attempted to trap her in a room alone.
Thank goodness for fireplace tools, she thought to herself.
She didn’t answer, merely allowed her smile to dim a fraction. While he would weather the whole room-entrapment scandal handily, especially if they were to become engaged as a result, she could not even dare to seem as though she was not having the time of her life with him. She would be seen as snobbish, or condescending, or not knowing her place.
Any of which were just phrases designed to keep ladies from expressing their true emotions.
“I have a new pair of chestnuts,” Lord Brunley said, spinning her around. At least he was an excellent dancer, even if he was a not-so-excellent life partner. “I would very much like to show them to you. Perhaps tomorrow?”
Not “Would you like to see them?” or even “I wonder if you like horses as much as I believe you like flowers?”
No, it was all about him showing her his new possession.
Like he’d show her to everyone if she said yes.
She probably should just go toss her head in the punch bowl to cool herself off. At this rate, she’d end up making some sort of fractious scene because nobody cared to ask what she wanted.
I want to kiss you.
Which it seemed he’d wanted as well, but then he’d decided, himself, what was best for both of them.
Humph.
“My lady?” Lord Brunley now sounded . . . hesitant. Not a tone she was accustomed to from him.
She must’ve let some of her aggravation onto her face. That was one aspect of being a lady she didn’t think she would ever master—it seemed ladies who were bred for their parts since they were born were far more adept at masking what they thought.
Whereas she was likely always making a face.
Maybe she shouldn’t go gambling at Miss Ivy’s—the other players would be able to spot right away when she was bluffing.
But she never bluffed. And that was the problem, wasn’t it? She never tried to persuade anyone of something that might not actually occur because that was too close to lying, and she also did not lie.
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him she had an engagement tomorrow, but then she remembered she did not lie. Drat.
“Please?” he added, sounding nearly humble. “I would like to prove to you that I can be the gentleman you deserve.”
The gentleman she deserved.
Not the gentleman she wanted.
She would not settle if she couldn’t have the latter. But she could go drive with Lord Brunley—after all, it wasn’t as though he would ever ask her to go out for a drive. And Lord Brunley seemed to want to make amends for his behavior.
Besides which, she wouldn’t mind seeing his face when or if she told him she would continue to keep Lord Brunley’s acquaintance. Even though that was entirely petty, and she should not think that way.
But she did.
“Thank you, my lord, that would be . . . fine,” she said. “Yes,” she added, as he looked entirely confused.
“Splendid,” he replied in a relieved tone.
There would be time to take herself on her own adventure, no men required, one where she could be free to explore all of her creativity.
Except in love.
In that arena, she was destined to be thwarted.
But it was better than settling.
“Your Grace.” Lady Felicity was an adequate dancer, and Nash had to admit she looked pleasing this evening. Her blond hair was atop her head in a riot of curls, and her appropriately white debutante’s gown managed to convey sensual innocence, even though he knew those two were opposites. Weren’t they?
He grunted in reply.
“Your grandmother, the dowager duchess, is a charming woman.”
He bit back the urge to stare at her in shock. His grandmother was many things—some of which he even admired—but he did not think she was charming.
“She mentioned that she is here to assist you in certain matters.” The lady’s coy tone made it clear she knew perfectly well what matters the dowager duchess referred to.
He grunted again. What was he to say, anyway? Yes? And then that agreement would lead her to speak more on his terrible situation, and he would have to figure out just what to say to dissuade her while also making certain she was not entirely dissuaded?
Not that he wanted to marry her, but that was the point, wasn’t it?
That he find someone he didn’t especially want to marry?
And since he didn’t especially want to marry her, perhaps he should.
His head was spinning worse than when Finan managed to deliver a powerful punch to his jaw. But he’d rather take the punch.
“Your Grace?” Apparently the lady required more than a grunt.
A scowl? He could manage that. A frown? That might be possible, too.
He took a deep breath, trying to figure out what would be both appropriate and noncommittal. His father had skipped that part of ducal training when he’d raised Nash.
Skipped most all the training, in fact. Only demonstrating how not to be a duke, which wasn’t helpful when one was trying to be a duke. For the first time ever.
“Yes, my grandmother is in town.”
Which wasn’t a response. Or, rather, it was a response. It just wasn’t the correct one.
But judging by how Lady Felicity graciously inclined her head, it would do.
Was that all it took? A few words that meant nothing and said less?
Perhaps he should have been speaking all this time, after all.
Or perhaps it was that Lady Felicity was so desperate to become the current duchess that she was willing to overlook his inability to form complete, cogent sentences.
Ana Maria wasn’t willing to overlook anything. She would challenge him, but she also was able to understand him.
He felt his chest tighten as he thought about it. She understood him. Not entirely, obviously; if she understood him entirely, she’d run in the other direction rather than toward him.
Whereas he did not understand her at all. But he wanted to.
If that made a difference.
Which it could not.
Because if he did understand her, and she him, she would know who he was. And who he could be.
For a man who did so little talking, he was doing far too much thinking. He should just focus on solving his immediate problem, not wondering if a certain lady could ever know him.
“Lady Felicity,” he began, noting the look of relief on her face. Because he’d spoken? “I am wondering if you would care to”—Goddamn it, what would she possibly care to do?—“allow me to take you for a drive in the park?”
“It would be a pleasure, Your Grace,” she replied immediately. He didn’t miss the not
e of triumph in her tone.
He might as well succumb to his not-caring-for-anyone-at-all fate. The alternative was far too terrifying to contemplate.
Not caring wasn’t an option when he saw her dancing with that blackguard Brunley. Hadn’t she learned her lesson? But no, she was smiling and dancing as though he hadn’t had her trapped in a room determined to make her say yes.
If it hadn’t been for his timely arrival—well, she would be betrothed to the lout by now.
Even though she’d said she had it handled. But she hadn’t. That cur would have yanked her sad excuse for a weapon from her hand and had her compromised before the fire needed tending if he hadn’t arrived.
“Duke. I see you danced with Lady Felicity.” His grandmother sounded complacent. Which made him want to rebel, to tell her in no uncertain terms how little he cared about the lady.
But the dowager duchess herself wouldn’t care about that either. All she cared about was that he marry, and soon.
“Yes.”
“And—?” She sounded impatient.
“And I’m taking her for a drive tomorrow.”
“Ah. So soon?”
What the hell? he wanted to say. First she was urging him to waste no time, and now he was moving too quickly?
“We will meet tomorrow morning to review appropriate behavior.”
Nash felt his hands twitch. Appropriate behavior? As though Lady Felicity would balk at anything short of his howling at the moon while wearing nothing but a sailor’s hat. And even then he thought she might find some accommodation for his behavior if he made her a duchess.
“Appropriate behavior?” he said in a low, deadly tone. “Appropriate for a duke, you mean to say?” He took a deep breath, knowing he should stop, but unable to keep himself contained. “Appropriate behavior is beating your wife and child. I will not do that.”
“I know,” she interrupted, sounding far more fragile than usual. “I want you to be proud of who you are, of the man you can become.”
He felt his throat tighten. Was she choosing now of all times to show empathy toward his situation? Now, when they were in the middle of a ball filled with people he didn’t know? When he couldn’t react?
Tall, Duke, and Dangerous Page 14