Tall, Duke, and Dangerous

by Megan Frampton

  Of course she was anxious. She had no idea who he was, who he’d turned into. What if he was like his father?

  You take after me. In every way.

  “A pleasure,” his mother’s husband said, extending his hand. He spoke in a French accent, and bowed slightly as he touched Nash’s hand.

  Nash took it with a nod. Unable to speak.

  “Could I—could I perhaps sit down?” she asked, a tiny smile tugging at her mouth.

  He exhaled, gesturing toward the sofa. She met his gaze, nodding, then went and sat, removing the enormous bonnet from her head and placing it on the cushion beside her.

  “Pierre, perhaps you could see to the carriage?” his mother said, addressing her husband. Her words and expression were warm, and Nash felt a flare of gratitude that it seemed that her second husband was far better than her first.

  “Of course. Your servant, Your Grace,” Monsieur DeCalles said, nodding.

  Nash sat down in the chair opposite her as Monsieur DeCalles left the room, shutting the door softly behind him.

  For a moment they just regarded one another.

  “I understand if this is a shock—”

  “No. I mean, yes, but no.” Nash took a deep breath. “I wanted to find you. So badly. It is good to see you.”

  His mother’s expression cleared into a relieved smile. “I was grateful to receive Mr. Carstairs’s letter.” She paused, meeting his gaze. “It is good to see you, too, son. I am so sorry.” She took a deep breath. “I wish I could have come earlier. So much earlier.”

  Nash’s throat got thick, and he was startled to realize his eyes were starting to tear. He did not cry, damn it.

  Except it seemed he did.

  He reached toward her, but the distance was too great, so he got up and moved his chair closer, then took her hand. Keeping his gaze on their fingers rather than looking directly at her—he didn’t know if he would be able to speak otherwise.

  No, he knew he wouldn’t be able to speak. That was him, that was who he was. The person who couldn’t say anything, who could only do things.

  You take after me. In every way.

  Was it true, though?

  He had so much to tell her. And it didn’t matter that he might not find the right words. He would get his meaning across somehow.

  “Mother, I—” he began.

  “Oh my goodness!”

  Ana Maria couldn’t help but gasp as she and Octavia walked into the ballroom. The hosts had decorated the room as though it was underwater, with blue silk hanging from the walls and papier-mâché fish and other aquatic animals dangling from the ceiling. The male servants were dressed like pirates, while female servants wore mermaid garb.

  “I wonder who did their decorating,” Octavia said in a sly tone.

  “I am envious,” Ana Maria said, gazing at the splendor.

  The room was halfway full, and the dancing hadn’t begun, although there was music playing—Ana Maria could see the musicians at the far corner behind a fishing net. The guests were wandering about, mostly examining the various decorations or exclaiming at the servants’ costumes.

  “Your gown lives up to all of this,” Octavia said in an admiring tone.

  Ana Maria looked down at her gown, which was as beautiful on as it was off. Its colors set off her coloring, and the cut and drape augmented her curves, making her look more sensual than was usually approved of in Society.

  “Thank you,” she said at last. “I feel as though I’ve finally decorated myself in a style I am comfortable with.” Even though parts of her revealed sensuality made her feel all prickly and uncomfortable, albeit in an exciting way.

  The two ladies paused to look around the room, Octavia waving at a few people she recognized. Ana Maria didn’t recognize anyone, which made her breathe a tiny sigh of relief.

  The people looked more like the customers at Miss Ivy’s than the usual Society gathering; there was a looser feeling here than Ana Maria was accustomed to. It felt comfortable, as though this was the place she could be both Ana Maria of belowstairs and Ana Maria the duke’s cousin.

  Lady Oxymoron, as usual.

  “Good evening, Miss Octavia.” A couple stood in front of them, the pair fashionably dressed, though something about their demeanor suggested they were wealthy rather than aristocratic.

  “Good evening,” Octavia replied. She gestured toward Ana Maria. “This is Lady Ana Maria Dutton, and these are the Marchfields. Mr. Marchfield has interests in several ventures. I believe you are finding funding for a railway at the moment?”

  Mr. Marchfield’s mouth eased into a twinkling smile. “Don’t give away my secrets,” he said, wagging his finger censoriously, but speaking in a humorous tone. “In fact, it is because of that venture we wanted most particularly to speak to you.”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Marchfield said, “we have a presentation room where we receive potential investors, and we want to make it look as appropriate and professional as possible, and we were hoping you might help us, since Miss Ivy’s looks so good?”

  Octavia beamed. “The person responsible for that is actually my friend here.”

  “Oh!” the Marchfields exclaimed.

  “Do you take commissions?” Mr. Marchfield asked.

  Ana Maria gazed in shock at them for a moment before Octavia replied. “Of course she does, I will send her information round to you tomorrow. But be prepared—her work costs a pretty penny.”

  Mrs. Marchfield shrugged in dismissal. “If the results do what we think they will, we won’t have a concern about that.” She waved her hand over her head. “Dorcas! You are here!” She turned to her husband. “Come, dear, we need to speak with Dorcas immediately, her husband has expressed an interest. Do excuse us,” she continued, speaking to Octavia and Ana Maria.

  “Of course,” they murmured.

  Octavia nudged Ana Maria. “Look, didn’t I tell you? You’ll be able to do all the good works you want and make money. Not that you need to make money—”

  “But having a purpose beyond standing in ballrooms is definitely gratifying,” Ana Maria added. “Oh, goodness, that is so exciting!”

  If she could truly do something with what she enjoyed she thought she might be as happy as either of the two sisters who ran Miss Ivy’s, both of whom crackled with an electricity that had to have come from finding purpose in their lives.

  And she could, as Octavia said, help redecorate some places to aid them in their search for funds.

  “Now that you might have a purpose in life, shall we walk around and see if we can find your other purpose? Your behemoth?” Octavia asked.

  “He’s not my—oh never mind,” Ana Maria replied, taking her friend’s arm and beginning to walk.

  “I don’t see him. Someone that large would surely stand out?”

  “It’s fine if he isn’t in attendance,” Ana Maria said airily. As if she weren’t lying through her teeth. “The evening is not for me to see him. It is to spend time with you.”

  “Liar,” Octavia teased.

  “Fine. Yes. I don’t know anymore. I just know—”

  “What?”

  They paused at the corner of the room, turning so they could survey the crowd. It felt so much more comfortable for Ana Maria to be here than to be in and among all of Society’s best people.

  Perhaps she could find some level of comfort. Maybe there would even be a gentleman who would understand her conundrum, a gentleman who wasn’t terrified of being aligned with her who she was also intrigued by.

  “If only you weren’t looking for him. Because guess what is over there?” Octavia grinned and pointed toward where Nash stood, all toweringly tall handsomeness of him, at the entrance to the ballroom.

  Ana Maria smacked her friend’s hand down, feeling her face heat. “Stop that!”

  “What? It’s not as though he hasn’t already seen you.”

  Ana Maria tried to casually move her gaze around the room so her focal point wouldn’t be too obvious. Except
that when she did look at him, he was staring right at her, so intently it felt as though he was branding her.

  “Oh,” she said on an exhale.

  Octavia waved her hand in front of her face. “It has gotten awfully heated in here, don’t you think?”

  “Stop teasing me!” Ana Maria spoke in a sharp whisper.

  “But it’s so much fun!” Octavia exclaimed. “Your face turns all pink, and you start looking everywhere but at him. Oh, and here he is.”

  Ana Maria drew her gaze up from the floor, mentally preparing herself. After all, the last time they’d seen one another he’d promised to teach her how to—well, all of that. And she didn’t want to not do that, but she also had to admit she was terrifyingly exhilarated by the prospect. Emphasis on the terrified part.

  “Lady Ana Maria, it is a pleasure to see you.” His low tone sent shivers down her spine. “Can I get you a refreshment?”

  “I’m thirsty, too,” Octavia interjected, a sly grin on her face.

  “Uh—” he began, only to be interrupted by Octavia again.

  “I am just teasing. You two go ahead, I will see what trouble I can get into here.”

  Ana Maria glanced at her friend, wondering just how serious Octavia was about getting into trouble. And then wondering if there was any way she could possibly stop her if trouble was what she had in mind.

  “Can I take your carriage home? Later on, when it’s time to go?” Octavia said with a wink.

  Ana Maria rolled her eyes. “Yes, but do check the room to see if I am still here. And don’t tell your sister about anything.”

  Octavia nodded. “Of course, I wouldn’t want anybody to face the wrath of the fearsome Sebastian.” Her light tone belied her words. “And if you’ll excuse me, I see someone I would like to have ask me to dance.” She sped off, leaving them alone.

  Alone in a crowd, but essentially alone nonetheless.

  “We need to talk—”

  “Let’s go—”

  They spoke simultaneously, then stopped and stared at one another. Ana Maria’s heart felt as though it were going to burst out of her chest, and his fiercely intense expression made it appear as though he were equally affected.

  “Fine,” she said, taking his arm. “Let’s go.”

  Seeing her tonight felt somehow even more revelatory than usual. Not only because of what they’d discussed that afternoon, but of course because of what they’d discussed that afternoon.

  And the conversation with his mother.

  A tiny glimmer of hope flickered inside him.

  You take after me. In every way.

  No, I don’t. I choose not to.

  She looked even more glorious than usual, her unusual patterned gown making her look like a rare vision among all the other ladies.

  “You look—” he began, then shook his head.

  They were walking swiftly through the crowd, him not knowing for certain where they were headed. She seemed to be leading the way, and she wasn’t walking toward the door.

  “I look—what?” she prodded.

  He wished he could find the words. “Like a goddess,” he said at last.

  “Oh,” she replied, sounding startled.

  “Is that an insult? I don’t want to insul—”

  “It’s not an insult at all,” she said, squeezing his arm. “Thank you.”

  He stopped abruptly, turning to look at her beautiful face. “My mother’s back,” he said in a raw tone.

  “What?” Her eyes widened, and then she wrapped her arms around him in a fierce hug. “That is wonderful.” She drew back, giving him an intense gaze. “Is it wonderful?”

  He exhaled. “It is.”

  She squeezed his arm. “Oh, I am so glad. You’ll have to tell me all about it.”

  “I will,” he promised. “But I can’t now.” He made a vague gesture, which she seemed to understand. She always understood him. Even if he didn’t always understand her. “Now just come with me.”

  They walked out of the wide doors onto the terrace, both walking instinctively toward the darker areas that were shadowed by the large trees whose branches hung overhead.

  “Terrace shenanigans,” he murmured.

  “Indeed. I remember the last time we were on a terrace—” she began, her voice getting all low and breathy.

  That was a good sign.

  He and his cock remembered, too. Remembered how tempting it was to pull up her skirts and kneel in front of her, burying his mouth in her soft warmth.

  He’d have to make certain to teach her that as well—while not technically fucking, it was definitely something she would want to know.

  And he wanted to teach her.

  “What do you remember, Ana Maria?” His voice was rough with passion. “How we kissed just out of sight of everyone on the other side of the wall? How my fingers slid down your gown to caress your breast? How close we came to—”

  “Stop,” she said in a ragged tone. “Not if you’re not going to do anything about it.”

  His lips curled up into a slow grin. “I can do something about it,” he said. “Didn’t I promise?” He stretched his hand out to her, and she placed her fingers into his palm. “Come with me.”

  He led her down three small steps to the back garden, the sound of the party ebbing as they walked into the night.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Well, I’m not taking you to my boxing room, so I think we have only one option for where to go. Somewhere we can fu—”

  “Nash!”

  He shook his head. “You and everyone else are always urging me to speak more. And yet when I do, you tell me to be quiet.”

  She laughed, the sound unloosening something in his chest. He had to admit he was anxious—it wasn’t as though he was suave like Sebastian or commanding like Thaddeus.

  He just wanted her desperately, and he wanted to ensure her pleasure.

  “You are right, I am entirely contradictory,” she said, sounding amused. “You might say it is one of my defining characteristics.”

  He grunted in reply, leading her further into the dark. He knew there had to be a gazebo or other type of building nearby—all of the London town houses he’d been to had some sort of backyard nonsense—and he was rewarded by the sight of a small enclosed pagoda.

  “In there,” he said, tugging her forward.

  The door swung open easily, and they found themselves in a circular room, benches against the wall, scattered cushions on top of them. There were a few lanterns placed to the right of the door, and Nash leaned over to grab one, hanging it up on a hook from the ceiling and pulling out his tinder to light it.

  The candle flickered to life, the warm golden light making her look even more sun-kissed than usual, the colors of her gown shifting with her every move.

  “Damn it, Ana Maria, but you are so lovely.” Far too lovely for the likes of him.

  He wanted to tell her how he felt, what he was starting to feel, but the words choked in his throat.

  He’d have to show her.

  “Can I kiss you?” he asked, his words emerging slow.

  “I was hoping you would ask,” she replied, stepping close to his body and tilting her face up to his. She slid her hands up his arms to link behind his neck, and she nudged him so his mouth was a breath away from hers.

  “Kiss me, Nash,” she said, placing her mouth on his.

  This wasn’t the brusque Nash she knew; this Nash was gentle, asking for her permission before doing anything.

  It made her feel as though she was in control. As though she could guide what would happen between them, ensuring her comfort as she ventured into unknown territory.

  Although that wasn’t entirely correct; she knew what happened between people—she had just not done any of it herself. Until him.

  And she wanted to do more of it. With him.

  She opened her mouth to his, their tongues clashing as he growled deep in his throat. Now she could add another Nash noise to her lexicon
—sexual growl that meant he was barely holding himself back.

  Because she could feel his hands grasping her waist, his fingers flexing as though wishing they could move other places.

  She broke the kiss, whispering softly toward him. “Touch me, Nash. Everywhere.”

  It was as if she had unleashed a fury with her words; his mouth captured hers again, his palm went to her breast to squeeze her, and his other hand slid down to grasp her skirts, slowly sliding the fabric up her legs.

  The cool evening air made her skin prickle.

  And then he stopped everything, and she had a moment of panic—did he want to stop?—but instead he was frantically removing his jacket and his cravat, tossing them onto the cushions, tugging his shirt from his trousers, raising it over his head and tossing that off, too.

  His chest was made of marbled muscle, and she felt her mouth water as she regarded him in the candlelight.

  He was Hephaestus. He was a god come to life, here to savage his way through her defenses.

  And he’d called her a goddess. She felt like one, too, so powerful she could make this man hunger for her.

  Before she realized what he’d done, he’d seated her on the cushions and was kneeling on the floor in front of her, his hands on the bottom of her gown. He kept his gaze locked with hers as his fingers raised the hem.

  Up past her shins. Past her knees.

  Then onto her thighs.

  He licked his lips as he stared at her, and it was as though she could taste his hunger. How could he make her feel so alive just by looking at her?

  Not to mention raising her gown scandalously high as they were alone together in a secluded house.

  So perhaps it wasn’t so surprising.

  She smothered a giggle, then gasped as his fingers touched the bare skin of her leg.

  They followed the same path the fabric had taken—first shins, then knees, then thighs. And then to the place he’d touched in the carriage, when it had felt as though she’d seen stars.

  His clever fingers. Telling her more than his words how he felt about her.

  Her eyes widened as he lowered his mouth to her knee, kissing it softly as his fingers pushed at her inner thighs, making her spread wider. Open for him.