Tall, Duke, and Dangerous

by Megan Frampton

  Although to be fair, it wasn’t as though he would be able to react even if they were the only two people in the room. He didn’t do emotion very well. That was where his fists came in handy.

  So to speak.

  “Thank you,” he said at last. “I hope I can live up to your expectations.” Even if I can’t live up to mine because I won’t allow myself to.

  What would it look like if he did allow himself to?

  He didn’t dare. That thought was too tantalizing, too close to what he was starting to dream of.

  She patted his arm, for once not using her cane for emphasis. “You will, Duke. You will.”

  Lord Brunley remained remarkably humble for the remainder of their dance together. Perhaps she should enlist Nash to punch all her suitors into submission—it would make her own interactions with them far less combative.

  He had just escorted her off the dance floor to where they’d last seen Thaddeus when Nash appeared at her elbow, startling her into a shriek that she managed to tamp down to a mere yelp.

  Lord Brunley tilted his head back in open appraisal. Which made Nash rise up to his full height. And made Ana Maria roll her eyes.

  So much for behaving more humbly. She glanced between them; neither spared a glance at her, both of them too engrossed in staring at one another.

  Honestly. It was as though she wasn’t here, as though the two of them were going to masculine one another into submission.

  “It is time for our dance, my lady,” Nash said, sounding almost like a regular lord, and not an inarticulate duke.

  Probably because he was desperately trying to best Lord Brunley in whatever this particular contest was.

  She sighed, placing her hand in his outstretched one. She had been looking forward to this dance all night, but not if he was going to be all fussy about it. Besides which, it wasn’t any of his business who she danced with or spoke with. He’d made that clear enough.

  “I will see you tomorrow, my lady,” Lord Brunley said, addressing his remark to Nash.

  Nash snarled in reply.

  Wonderful. Why didn’t they just go and mark their territory while they were at it? It would be far more direct, and she wouldn’t have to be involved at all.

  And why hadn’t she told Lord Brunley no? She was too kind. She knew full well he would likely try to press his suit if given the opportunity. She’d said yes because it was easier than saying no, and she wanted to see Nash’s face when he found out.

  But it would mean she’d have to go driving with Lord Brunley.

  She was an idiot.

  “That cur. He is taking you out tomorrow?”

  Nash swung her onto the dance floor, and she allowed herself a moment to revel in his brute strength. But only a moment—he was being an ass, after all. Even though his reaction was all she could have hoped for. Idiot, idiot, idiot.

  “And how is Lady Felicity?” She didn’t like how sharp her tone was. Then again, she didn’t like how bossy and manlike he was being.

  “Fine,” he replied shortly. “Where is that oaf taking you?”

  Never let it be said the Duke of Malvern could be deterred from his line of questioning.

  “To see his horses.”

  He made a noise that managed to convey disgust, annoyance, and dismissal all at once. Impressive.

  “And Lady Felicity?” she said again. Two could play that “won’t be deterred” game.

  “I’m taking her . . . driving.”

  The pause before he said the final word made her head spin with all the possibilities. Taking her . . . to his boxing room to show her his moves? Taking her . . . to the church to declare his intentions? Taking her . . . in his arms?

  “Ah. Driving. Where she will see your horses. Sounds pleasant.” She spoke in a stiff tone of voice. His grip on her tightened, as though he had a reaction he couldn’t quite suppress.

  “Look, it’s—” he began, then shook his head.

  She stopped dancing, making a few of the other couples bump into them and glare.

  “Let’s talk,” she said, taking his arm and beginning to drag him through the ballroom. She spotted a few scandalized glances, but she would deal with scandal rather than have all this whatever it was built up between them.

  He was supposed to be her friend. Her brother’s best friend, someone she could count on. Not someone to whom she had to edit her conversation. The whole point of being friends with a taciturn gentleman was that one got to say whatever one meant.

  But now, now that there was all of this, started by the kiss, or even earlier, when they’d first danced the night she’d appeared in her silver gown, when it seemed as though he’d finally noticed her, and not as the best friend’s sibling.

  Now there was discomfort, and awkwardness, and she’d be damned if she let it continue.

  “Onto the terrace,” she said, edging her way through the crowd. There were far too many people, however, and after a few moments he took the lead, barreling through anybody who dared to stand in their way.

  Showing his arrogant brutish self in all its glory.

  Something she should not admire, given how arrogant and brutish he was behaving now, but she absolutely did.

  Darn her, and darn her contradictory ways.

  As soon as they were on the terrace, she took the lead again, moving past the couples in conversation to a nook with a large tree whose hanging branches afforded more privacy. She headed for the bench on which they had sat before, although as she saw it again, it didn’t look large enough to accommodate—

  “Oof,” she said as he sat down beside her. He had his legs spread out, as though to keep himself from falling off the edge of the bench, and she suppressed a laugh. She did not think he would want her to laugh at him.

  “What is it?” he grumbled. “Why did you drag me off the dance floor? I just want to know what the rotter plans to do with you.”

  “And that is the problem,” Ana Maria replied, nudging him sharply with her elbow. He made a surprised noise, then fell onto the stone terrace.

  That couldn’t have been comfortable.

  He didn’t get up, just sat there glowering at her. Far less effective when he was on his arse on a terrace looking up rather than scowling down. She should remember that for the next time they argued.

  “You don’t have a say in what I do. Or if you do, then you need to tell me precisely why you have a say in what I do. If I choose to go look at Lord Brunley’s wretched horses, I will and can choose to do it.” She lifted her chin. “I told you before”—when we kissed—“that what I do is my decision alone. I have decided that I will be in charge of what I do. Even if I make mistakes,” and she froze as she realized how he might take that, “and I will, but they will be my mistakes. It’s just what you do, isn’t it? Make your own decisions all the time? It’s the privilege of being a duke, after all.”

  It felt good, to unleash her frustration on him. He didn’t deserve all of her ire. That would only be deserved if all the gentlemen who’d sent her flowers while craving her dowry were in attendance as well.

  “I admire that about you,” he said slowly. “Sometimes it feels as though my choices aren’t made by me, but by who I am—a duke, my fath—” He stopped speaking abruptly, and she wished more than anything that he had kept talking.

  And then he started talking again, only now his tone had changed.

  “So you want to do precisely what you want to do? With nobody telling you otherwise?”

  His lips were twisted into a faint smile, as though he was aware of what he was saying—and what he might actually be saying.

  She took a deep breath. “You said we shouldn’t—”

  He cut her off before she could finish. “I don’t want that. Not unless you do. It’s your choice, Ana Maria.” He was still on the ground, his hands flat on the terrace behind him, leaning back as though it was a perfectly comfortable place to sit.

  It made it look as though he was a supplicant asking her for somet
hing. For that.

  It was a heady power, making it feel as though she had drunk a strong alcoholic beverage, one that slid through her with an insidious speed, making her light-headed and fearless and wanting all at once.

  Her body felt tingly, as though he were touching her.

  It’s your choice, Ana Maria.

  He’d touched her breast before. She craved that again. And more.

  She stood suddenly, holding her hand out to him. “Come,” she ordered.

  He took her hand and rose, standing still as though awaiting further instruction.

  Heady power.

  She turned and led him further down the terrace, toward where she assumed there were stairs leading out to the gardens. It was dark here, and she felt along the wall, the cold stone a welcome relief to her heated fingers.

  Her other hand was in his strong one as she led him down the stairs, turning abruptly so that they were against the wall but on the other side, effectively hidden from the other guests.

  She could hear the sounds of the party, but overhead all she could see were the tree branches and the distant smattering of stars.

  “What now?” he asked. He was so very close to her, his hand still in hers.

  “Now,” she said, tugging at his hand. “Now I want to kiss you.”

  It was deliberate, not asking him to kiss her but telling him she wanted to kiss him. It was powerful to put it that way, to make it her choice rather than something he had put upon her, no matter how much she wanted it herself.

  He planted his hand on the wall over her head, his large body looming over hers. The large body she, deliciously enough, seemed to be in charge of at the moment. Doing her bidding even though he could take what he wanted.

  She placed her fingers on his lapel, sliding them along the fabric down to his waist. Drawing him closer as she lifted her face to his.

  And then his mouth was on hers and her hand had found its way to the small of his back and his big body was pressed against hers, and she opened her mouth as she’d done before, her tongue exploring and meeting his, the contact making her feel as though her body was melting against his.

  The hand that wasn’t propping him up against the wall was at her waist, gripping her tight. As though she was precious and he had to hold on to her.

  And then his fingers slid up, slowly, so slowly she could stop him if she wanted, but she didn’t want, she wanted his big hand on her, on her breast, on all the parts of her that ached.

  There.

  And there.

  And there.

  His fingers curled around the curve of her, sliding under the neckline of her gown, making her gasp.

  His kiss was intense, his tongue questing inside her mouth, the faint noise of the music from the ballroom the only sound.

  It was as though they were in their own private world, one where only they belonged, where none of this mattered, where they could do what they wanted.

  She wanted this. She wanted him.

  She wanted to kiss him. Even though both of them knew nothing could happen between them. Nothing more than this, at least.

  She knew. And he knew. And here they were. Knowing.

  Her mouth was so soft and warm, her kisses already more confident than before. She had her palm pressed against the small of his back, pulling him against her body, which all of him liked. Especially his cock.

  He was hard, his whole body screaming at him to yank her skirts up and take her against the wall, the possibility of discovery adding a soupçon of danger to it all.

  But then that would mean he would miss caressing her breast, as he was doing now. Sliding his fingers into the bodice of her gown and finding her nipple, which was stiff against his skin. He put his whole hand inside, covering her breast, rubbing the erect nipple against his palm. She made a soft noise in her throat, and he caressed her breast, awkward though it was to plunge his hand down her gown.

  She was moving against him, almost as though she didn’t know what she was doing. She must be aching. He wished he could assuage her ache.

  Her hand had slid down to his arse, and she was rubbing her palm over it, cupping the lower part where his buttock met his leg. That movement only pushed their bodies closer together, and now his cock was wedged between them, thrust up against her lower belly. She had to know what was happening.

  And still she kissed him, and touched him, and moaned as he stroked her soft skin and licked the warmth of her mouth.

  They heard a burst of laughter, as though someone was standing just above them on the terrace, and they broke apart, both breathing rapidly.

  He put his hand over her mouth and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Be still, they won’t know we’re here if we’re quiet.”

  She made a huff of annoyance, as if to say she knew that, but of course she couldn’t say it aloud for fear of discovery.

  He chuckled against her skin. Lowering his mouth, he placed his lips on her shoulder and kissed it softly. He carefully withdrew his hand from her gown, smoothing the fabric, then placed his palm—still tingling from where he had touched her—onto the back of her neck, trailing kisses from her shoulder to her neck to her ear.

  Her head was thrown back, and she was arching her back, thrusting her breasts into his chest.

  “I think I like when we argue,” he murmured, his lips brushing her ear.

  She shuddered, and he felt the movement throughout his entire body.

  “I like it, too,” she whispered back. “And I cannot wait to get to actually fight you again. Preferably without Finan in the room.” Her words were a dark promise.

  He wanted her. The problem was, of course, that he wanted her. Which meant he could not and should not have her.

  “What?” she said.

  He drew back, his eyebrows narrowed into a frown. “What what?”

  “You changed. Just now. You thought of something.” She poked him in the chest. “You should stop thinking. Isn’t all this enough?”

  It’s more than enough. It’s everything.

  But he knew it couldn’t last because he wouldn’t let it.

  “Let me escort you back to Thaddeus,” he said, stepping away from her and holding out his arm.

  She exhaled an exasperated breath, but she took his arm without comment.

  They didn’t speak as he led her through the crowd to where Thaddeus stood.

  “I’ll come in a few days,” she said as he bowed. It was not a question, and he felt a visceral reaction at her commanding tone.

  He wanted to hear her tell him what to do some more. He wanted it very much. Because it was her choice.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The rest of the party passed in a whirl, mostly because Ana Maria couldn’t stop thinking about it. All of it: his mouth on hers, her hand on him, how he’d sounded when he’d whispered in her ear.

  How exhilarating it had felt to know that just above them were people who would be shocked, horrified, and also likely titillated if they knew what was happening in the garden below.

  She woke at dawn, lying in her luxurious bed, the bed she still slept to one side of because she hadn’t yet gotten used to the size of it compared to her earlier bed, staring out the window at the various chimneys, clouds, and the faintest hint of sun.

  She felt completely and totally in control—able to do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted.

  The feeling might not last, but she needed to take advantage of it while it did.

  Springing out of bed, she went to her wardrobe and drew out one of her new day dresses, a blue gown that looked like it had been dipped into the sea. It wasn’t too difficult to button up, thank goodness, although she knew most ladies would insist on assistance for every little item they might put on.

  But she wanted to be alone to savor how remarkable she felt.

  It wasn’t just the kissing, though the kissing helped; it was that she had stated what she wanted, both to herself and to him, and she had acted on her wants.

 
Today she was going to begin her new venture, whatever that might look like. She’d go to Miss Ivy’s and consult with Octavia, then go to his house for more lessons in fighting.

  Not a euphemism, though she hoped that there would be other non-fighting activities as well. Which she had told him straight-out.

  From now on, she was going to say what she meant. If she could figure that out precisely. Because of course she was still conflicted, still oxymoronic, about what it was she actually desired.

  Though she knew definitely she desired him.

  “My lady!”

  Jane burst through the door holding a tray, glancing quickly at the clock in the corner and then back at Ana Maria with a startled expression. “It is so early, what in goodness’ name are you doing up?”

  Jane set the tray down on the low table to the right of the bed, then approached Ana Maria and took hold of her shoulders, twisting her so her back was to Jane. Ana Maria shook the other woman’s hands off as she felt them at her buttons.

  “I did those already,” she said in a terse tone as she spun back around.

  “I just wanted to check,” Jane replied.

  Ana Maria glared at her friend, who just kept regarding her with a skeptical look.

  “You have to let me do some things,” Ana Maria continued, this time in a less peevish tone.

  “I know it’s hard for you, adjusting to all of this,” Jane said softly as she gestured to the room. “But we all want you to succeed, and it will be more difficult for you if you can’t stop thinking of yourself as a servant.”

  “I don’t.”

  Ana Maria was taken aback herself by how quickly she spoke. But she didn’t feel like a servant. Not anymore. She felt like an entire person, one who had the benefit of a title and wealth, but one who was also adept at making her own decisions—something she wasn’t certain other more traditionally raised young ladies knew how to do.

  “Good,” Jane said. “So you’ll be choosing your own husband and settling into your own household.” She made it sound like an inevitability, and Ana Maria felt herself recoil.

  “No!”

  Jane’s eyebrows rose. “But I thought you didn’t want to be dependent on your cousin forever?”