Tall, Duke, and Dangerous

by Megan Frampton

  Ana Maria shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t have even dreamt of suggesting it if you weren’t so open to the change.”

  Octavia shrugged modestly. “I am always open to change. That is the mark of a good business person.”

  Ana Maria chuckled softly as she scrutinized the new hangings. She should adopt Octavia’s attitude of being more open to change, especially given that Octavia never seemed to regret anything, and was likely the type of person to ask a gentleman to kiss her if she wanted him to.

  And it meant a lot, then, that Octavia had taken her suggestions, since Ana Maria had no doubt her friend would say something if she disagreed with the decision. The magenta and dark blue made the room look even more sumptuous than before, and Octavia had unearthed some gold sconces to place on the walls, taking down some of the paintings her sister had initially chosen for decoration.

  “It’s early, so we can spend some time together before I have to start work. Come through here,” Octavia said, tugging Ana Maria’s arm and guiding her toward the other end of the room. She swept aside a curtain, opening a door that led into Octavia’s personal rooms.

  She led her toward the room that was the club’s storage space, holding a desk for business and supplies for the club.

  “Why here?” Ana Maria said in surprise. The other times she’d visited, they’d taken tea in the small salon between the bedrooms.

  Octavia rolled her eyes. “Because your brother and my sister absconded with all the liquor except for the whiskey Ivy tucked into this drawer.”

  Ana Maria’s eyes widened. “So we’re having whiskey?”

  Octavia grinned. “Of course, we have to toast to your success!”

  Ana Maria allowed her friend to guide her to the chair in front of the desk, then waited as Octavia poured two glasses of the brown liquid.

  Had she ever had whiskey before?

  She took the glass from Octavia’s hand, sniffing it gingerly. It smelled powerful.

  Octavia held her own glass up, waiting for Ana Maria. “I want to thank you for your work, and I know this is just the beginning of your future.”

  Ana Maria felt a warmth kindle inside her, and she hadn’t even had any alcohol yet. It felt so good, and so unusual, to be appreciated for something she’d done. She’d accomplished many things in her life—notably household chores and the occasional capture of runaway poultry—but nobody had ever noticed or thanked her.

  “I didn’t do much, honestly. I just chose the fabrics. Anybody could do that.”

  Octavia gestured with her glass toward Ana Maria. “Anybody could have done it, but only you could have done it so well.” She gave Ana Maria an assessing glance. “And speaking of only you could have done it so well, I do admire your gown.”

  Ana Maria glanced down in pleasure. The gown was another frothy confection that made her feel like a decadent dessert, encased in layers of pink tulle and satin and augmented with darker pink ribbons at the bottom. Jane had made that face when Ana Maria had asked her to bring it out of the closet, so she knew it must look stunning on her. Jane obviously didn’t want to say so, but clearly she thought Ana Maria was too naive to negotiate Society and would be tempting danger by looking too fabulous.

  She’d accessorized it with ruby earrings Sebastian had given her, one of the many gifts he’d bestowed on her as soon as he’d inherited the title. Making up for lost time, he’d said, even though Ana Maria thought it was entirely unnecessary.

  Still, it was nice to have nice things. And, she’d discovered, she did like to look fabulous. If only for her own satisfaction.

  “Thank you,” she said at last, “and thank you for the kind words about the hangings.”

  “Words that are well deserved. Come on, now,” Octavia commanded, “drink up! The club will start to fill up in about an hour. I want you to see its full splendor.” Octavia downed her glass, wiping her mouth as she finished drinking.

  The liquor burned her throat, and Ana Maria couldn’t help but cough. As soon as that was over, however, she felt a delicious warmth flowing through her body, her mouth tingling from the sting of the whiskey.

  “Good, isn’t it?” Octavia said, pouring more into their glasses.

  “I don’t think I should have any more,” Ana Maria said, clearing her throat.

  Octavia squinted at her. “Because you don’t want any more or you think you shouldn’t have any more?”

  Ana Maria tilted her head as she considered it. “Fine. One more, but then that’s it.”

  The second drink went down smoother than the first, now that she knew what to expect, and that delicious warmth only increased, making her feel as though she were encased in soft cotton.

  “Is this what it feels like to be drunk? All happy and floaty?” she asked, frowning at her friend.

  Octavia shook her head. “It’s just a little bit of whiskey. I think you’re feeling proud and confident in your work.”

  “Perhaps,” Ana Maria conceded. She did feel proud of what she’d done, of what she was planning to do. “Should we go back to the club? I want to see how your customers react to the new decorations.”

  “Don’t expect them to say much,” Octavia warned. “They’re mostly interested in how much money they think they can win.”

  “I want to gamble, too,” Ana Maria announced, getting to her feet. She gripped the arm of the chair she’d been sitting in, steadying herself. She smiled widely at Octavia, who returned the smile. “I think I like choosing what I want to do. And pink gowns and whiskey,” she added, giving her friend a wink.

  Octavia laughed as they left the office and made their way back to the club.

  Nash strode in to Miss Ivy’s with one goal: to get a drink. Certainly he could have stayed at home and accomplished the same thing, but here he was surrounded by people who were not his half siblings. He knew that most of them were grateful to have been rescued by him, but he did not want to be treated as though he had done anything beyond what should be done, even if nobody else had done it.

  He blinked as he tried to figure out his own reasoning.

  Stuff it, he wanted to leave the house, he could leave the house, and so here he was. Thirsty.

  And she had mentioned Miss Ivy’s, which had made him wonder if she would be here as well. Not that that was why he had come out. But it had reminded him that he did like it here.

  “Welcome, Your Grace.” The burly gentleman who’d nearly tossed Sebastian out the first time Nash brought him in greeted him with an expression of guarded respect. Likely because they were the only two men in the room who knew they could best everyone else in the room. Though that had yet to be put to the test.

  Nash grunted in response, threading his way through the crowd to the small bar at the right-hand side of the room. There weren’t too many customers there, and most of them quickly glanced away when they met Nash’s eyes, which gratified him. He liked coming to Miss Ivy’s because there were people of so many different types here, ranging from clerks and merchants to country squires in town for some fun to what appeared to be some housekeepers and governesses. The rule in Miss Ivy’s was that anyone could enter as long as they could pay for their play.

  And their drinks.

  Nash sat down at the bar, waiting for the server to notice him.

  “Good evening.”

  He turned slowly at the sound of her voice, startled out of his fervent desire for a drink. Something only her presence could accomplish.

  “You’re here,” he said, sounding incredibly stupid to his own ears. “Gambling?”

  “I’m here for the decorations,” she replied, gesturing grandly toward the wall. He frowned in puzzlement, then glanced toward the wall, which did appear different from the last time he’d been here, not that he could figure out what had changed. Right. She’d mentioned something about redecorating, but he hadn’t paid too much attention. He’d been too focused on wanting to toss Lord Brunley and his perfectly coiffed head onto the ground.

  “I
didn’t do the work myself,” she explained, speaking in what sounded like a deliberately exaggerated tone of voice, “but I chose the fabrics.” She poked him in the shoulder. “From that place I was leaving when that man accosted me!” she exclaimed.

  “When you tried to subdue him with some cloth?” Nash said in a skeptical tone.

  “Yes! And that is when you decided I should have self-defense lessons. Not that you’ve taught me much yet,” she added.

  No, because the only time he’d tried, they’d ended up kissing. And then he had ended up regretting, and feeling horrible, and caring too much for her, and then he had gone and done it all again. Although she had been the one to want to do it again. He had just obliged her. Happily.

  “Do you like them?”

  Nash stared at the wall for a few moments, trying to form some sort of opinion. He usually avoided having to choose things, because choosing things would mean that he cared about something, and the only things he wanted to care about were ensuring his father’s bastards were provided for, his ability to hit someone who deserved it, and his whiskey.

  Not in that order.

  “I like the colors,” he said at last.

  She rolled her eyes. Clearly he had not done a very good job of expressing an opinion.

  “Let’s try something easier.”

  The server came to stand in front of them, and Nash pointed to the whiskey in relief.

  “I’ll take one of those, too,” she said to the server, who nodded.

  “You?” he asked in surprise.

  She gave a vigorous nod of her head. “I had some with Miss Octavia, and I think I like it. But I need more experience to know for certain.”

  Ah. That explained why she seemed so vivacious. The server placed two glasses in front of them, pouring whiskey into both and leaving the bottle on the bar.

  “You might not want any more,” he warned as she went to pick up her glass. “You’ll have a devil of a head tomorrow if you drink to excess.”

  “You drink to excess, don’t you?” She frowned. Which honestly made her look completely adorable. “Besides, it is my choice.”

  He took a deep breath. He didn’t think he’d ever been in the position of being the reasonable one in a situation, and yet here he was, having to dissuade a young lady from drinking too much whiskey.

  Because too much whiskey would leave her vulnerable to—well, to gentlemen like him who might see her literal high spirits as an opportunity for inappropriate behavior.

  But she wanted to kiss me—twice—when she was completely sober.

  Never mind that.

  “Tell me about the fabrics,” he said, trying to change the subject. “Speaking of choice, how did you come to choose those particular colors?”

  There. That was a question that was more than a yes or no question, and if he could get her talking about something she was obviously enthusiastic about, perhaps she would forget she was asking him about alcohol. And how much she could drink and how much he did drink.

  She picked up her glass and grinned at him as she tapped it against his, holding it up in front of her face, then taking a sip and setting it down.

  So much for forgetting about alcohol.

  At least she hadn’t drunk all of it.

  “Do you really want to know?” she asked, sounding suspicious. “Because I don’t think you’ve ever thought about color choice before.”

  He tried not to look guilty. “I don’t know that I have, but I think I should,” he said. He’d never allowed himself to think about colors, about anything other than muting his world. But now he wanted to learn. From her. “And who better to teach me than you what the best choices are?” He gestured toward her gown. “It’s obvious you care what you present to the world, what with your silver and pink gowns.”

  Her cheeks turned pink to match her gown. “You noticed that gown?”

  How could I not? You looked like starlight.

  “Uh, it’s just that it was so different from what the other young ladies were wearing.” I couldn’t help but notice. I notice everything about you nowadays, from how you blush when you’re flattered, to how you challenge me when I try to rescue you, to how you can understand what I’m saying when I don’t say anything.

  “Well, thank you,” she said, raising her chin. “I never got the opportunity for fine clothing before, and it is such a pleasure to look as good as you know you can.”

  He rather thought that she might look as good as she could if she were entirely naked and in his bed, but he knew this was not the time to say that. Never was the time to say that, and he needed to remember that. Even though that was getting increasingly difficult every time they kissed.

  “But as I was saying,” she continued, oblivious to his imagination, “the magenta—that’s the dark purplish red fabric there—has a certain richness I thought would suit Miss Ivy’s, and the dark blue adds a certain stateliness, so the two combined are reflections of Miss Ivy’s clientele.”

  “Rich and stately?” he said.

  She beamed at him as though he were her prize pupil. “Precisely. Or that they wish to be perceived that way, and they want their surroundings to reflect that.”

  “Huh.” He poured more whiskey into his empty glass.

  Two more customers sat at the bar, and while Nash was usually determined to ignore everyone around him, it seemed she did not feel the same way.

  “Mrs. Lee!” she exclaimed, then leaned over to see the other person next to the lady she’d addressed. “And Mr. Lee!”

  “Good evening, my lady,” the woman Ana Maria had called Mrs. Lee replied. She was a middle-aged woman with brown hair and a modest demeanor, wearing a gown in a very similar hue to the dark blue on the wall.

  The man beside her was Chinese, also of middle age, wearing a dark suit and a much more intricately tied hellcloth than the one Nash had allowed Finan to put on him.

  “We came to see the fabric ourselves,” Mrs. Lee said, glancing nervously toward Nash.

  “And isn’t it lovely? Oh, allow me to introduce you. This is the Duke of Malvern,” Ana Maria said, placing her hand on Nash’s shoulder, “and these are the Lees. I’ve found their fabric shop to have the widest selection in London.”

  “Oh, thank you, my lady,” Mrs. Lee replied. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace,” she added.

  Nash nodded toward both of them.

  “We have a new shipment coming in next week,” Mr. Lee said, his tone much less hesitant. “I would be glad to give you the first look at it, if you think there is something you might want.”

  Ana Maria looked at Nash with an excited expression. “Isn’t that wonderful?” She turned back to the Lees. “Of course I would like to. Just send a note and I’ll pop over immediately.”

  “Not without me,” Nash growled.

  The Lees jumped at his words, while Ana Maria frowned. “It’s not necessary,” she said, but then immediately held her hand up in defeat. “But I know not to argue with you, so I will allow you to come.”

  Nash was more than relieved he didn’t have to argue with her about it, because he’d be damned if he’d let her traipse around London again, what with being so attractive. And insistent that she could protect herself with random items like fireplace pokers and bolts of fabric.

  Not to mention he hadn’t actually given her much self-defense training.

  Because he’d given her training in kissing.

  It seemed he was incapable of thinking straight when he was near her. And yet he couldn’t stay away.

  “Today I’ll show you how to throw a punch.”

  He’d woken up resolved to give her some of the training he’d promised—and not that type of training.

  So, to that end, he’d told Finan he would have to stay in the room with them, and had asked her to come by at noon, but only until he had to go meet with Robert at one o’clock. Not enough time for boxing room shenanigans. Similar to terrace shenanigans, only with more punching.

&nb
sp; He’d wrapped her wrists for her, and she stood in the middle of the floor, her hair pulled back, wearing that same old gown she’d had on earlier.

  “Finally,” she replied, giving him a sly look. As though he had been the only one to delay the proceedings.

  He ignored the provocation.

  “First, curl the tips of your fingers into your palm. Like this,” he said, demonstrating.

  She imitated his action.

  “Then place your thumb on top of those fingers. It’s very important not to go the other way around. Your thumb could get injured that way.”

  She nodded.

  “Now,” he continued, “plant your feet so you have a steady base.”

  She squinted at him in confusion. “A steady base? What does that mean?”

  “Uh—” he began.

  “Show her,” Finan urged, an amused tone in his voice.

  Of course the blackguard had to try to cause trouble.

  “Right, well, some of the force of the blow comes from your legs. You’ll be punching with your whole body, not just your fist.” He set himself in position, widening his stance as he dropped his right leg back. “Like this.”

  “Ah,” she replied, her eyes narrowed in concentration.

  He watched as she set herself as he had, feeling a tug of admiration at her determination to learn from him, even though she hadn’t wanted this training in the first place.

  “When you punch someone, the power all comes from the arm. Not the fist. So you want to shoot it out like an arrow. Like this,” he said, demonstrating the action.

  “Oh I see,” she replied, sending her fist into the air.

  “Now that’s set, you should punch him,” Finan urged.

  She laughed in response.

  “No, but you should,” Nash said. “It’ll give you the feel of how it would really be.”

  “I find punching him greatly relieves my indigestion.”

  Nash shot a quick glance over his shoulder at his friend. “You’re not helping.”

  Her eyebrows arched. “My stomach has been a bit unsettled lately.”