Tall, Duke, and Dangerous

by Megan Frampton

  She and Jane looked at each other as they heard a ferocious knocking on the door. So loud it penetrated the salon’s thick walls.

  Her heart leaped. It felt as though it could only be one person—after all, who else would try to punch a door?

  “That’s him,” Jane said, nodding. She rose, gathering up her mending. “I’ll take this upstairs, you can receive him here.”

  “How do you kn—?” Ana Maria said as there was a much quieter knock on the door.

  “My lady?” Fletchfield began, opening the door, only to be shoved aside.

  “I need to speak with you,” Nash said, sounding determined.

  “Pardon me, Your Grace.” Jane walked quickly out of the room, yanking Fletchfield out of the way as she left.

  And then there he was. Standing at the doorway, as tall and handsome as she’d remembered. Carrying a—bouquet of flowers?

  The contrast between his usual dark clothing and the bright burst of flowers made her want to laugh, but perhaps she was just hysterical.

  God, but she’d missed him. Even though it had only been a few days, which was ridiculous.

  But she also loved him.

  “I brought these for you.” He thrust the bouquet toward her, and she noticed that half of it was made up of tulips. “I don’t know which ones are the ones you like.” He took a deep breath. “I went to the market to speak with people.”

  His words came out awkward and stilted, as usual, but what he was saying was so different it took her by surprise.

  “You went to the market to speak with people?”

  He nodded, then exhaled in exasperation. “Sorry. Yes, I did. I went to the market to speak with people.” He sounded as though he was reciting a lesson.

  This was so clearly difficult for him, and yet, she would not accept anything less.

  “Look, could I come in?”

  Of course. He was still standing at the doorway, vast amounts of servants and possibly Sebastian and Thaddeus likely lurking around out of sight but in earshot.

  “Yes, please.”

  He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. And then stood there, staring at her, a hungry desperate look in his eyes.

  “Do you want to sit?”

  He shook his head, then gave another one of those sighs. “No, thank you. I think I need to say what I need to say while standing.”

  “Do you mind if I sit?” She gestured toward the chair.

  “No, please. Here,” he said, reaching to hold the back of the chair as if to assist her, even though the chair was already in the ideal position for her to settle into.

  She sat, folding her hands in her lap, regarding him with an expectant expression. “Well?”

  She was not going to make this easy for him. Even though every iota of her being screamed at her to do just that—no. It was no longer her place to make anyone comfortable about anything, particularly not the man she loved whom she suspected loved her back.

  If he couldn’t say or do what was necessary . . .

  But she wouldn’t think about that.

  He began to pace, his long legs only taking a few steps toward the edge of the room before having to turn around.

  “I have so much to tell you.” A pause. “First I think I need to tell you why I am such an ass.”

  She couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “I told you about my father. But not everything. I will tell all of it to you now.” That was remarkable for him to say. She was so proud of him.

  “He ignored me, for the most part. But there were times when he would notice my presence and insist I learn what it was to be a duke.” His face set into a grim expression. “He forced me to treat people as he did.” She didn’t need to hear him say it to know what he meant, but he said it nonetheless. “He told me I had to use violence if I wanted to make my point. He took me to boxing matches, ones that were fought to the death, and made me watch all the way through. He told me I would always be like him.”

  She inhaled sharply, feeling all the terror a child would at seeing that violence.

  “I didn’t want to learn that lesson, but I did—the only way I could express myself was with my fists.” He met her gaze, an anguished expression in his eyes. “I couldn’t trust that I would be able to hold myself back.”

  He kept his gaze locked on hers. “I couldn’t help but believe him, that I would be just like him. Inevitably. Eventually. That I would end up hurting you.”

  Her eyes widened. “That you’d hit me? You would never do that!”

  He shook his head. “You don’t know that, Ana Maria.” He took more steps before speaking again. “That is, you didn’t know that. Nor did I. But now I do.” He turned to look at her, then went and knelt by her chair, putting his hand on the arm. “Once you showed me what it was like to feel, once you gave me the joy of your joy, I knew I couldn’t keep myself shut down any longer. You told me I had a choice. It terrified me, but I knew I had to express everything I was feeling. To choose to be the man I wished to be.”

  She nodded slowly. “But why didn’t you say anything after—?” After he’d shown her how it felt to be loved. After he’d loved her with his body, though not his words. After she had begged him to.

  “I don’t know.” His words were desolate. “That is why I am an ass—I knew what I had to do, and I didn’t do it. That’s what I’ve been doing since that night, however; talking to everyone and anyone I can find, telling them how I feel and asking them how they feel.”

  He reached to take her hand.

  “And now I have to tell you, the most important person in my life, how I feel.”

  Oh.

  He took a deep breath. “Ana Maria, I want to spend my life trying to see things through your eyes. Every remarkable color, every flower, every gorgeous gown you put on your beautiful body. I want to live, not just survive. I want you to be by my side as I discover what it means to say how I feel. I want to tell you everything, including how much I love you.”

  She bit back tears as she regarded his handsome, earnest face.

  “I want you to help me find the good parts of being who I am, of using who I am to do better for everyone. Joyfully. You and I, we’re both of two worlds—me, who never wanted to be a duke, and you, who didn’t have a choice about who you were, whether you were scrubbing kitchen grates or dancing in ballrooms. I want us to be together to create one world—one world in which two people love one another.”

  She saw him swallow. “And I want to know if you would—if you could possibly feel the same wa—?”

  “I love you, too. Now shut up and kiss me,” she replied, placing her fingers on the back of his head to draw his mouth closer to hers.

  He laughed softly before complying.

  Nash felt as though he was going to explode from all the emotion. Just seeing her had made his heart actually hurt, and now he was kissing her, and that was all he ever wanted to do for the rest of his life.

  Her lips were so soft, and he tried to kiss her tenderly, but then she opened her mouth, sliding her tongue into his mouth, her fingers gripping the back of his head tighter.

  He deepened the kiss with a groan, putting his hands at her waist, twisting so he was kneeling directly in front of her. She spread her legs to accommodate his body, and he pressed against her, his torso against her mound, his chest against hers.

  He felt her hands at his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders, and he quickly removed his arms from the sleeves, then tore at his cravat to take that off, too. All without breaking the kiss.

  He would not take the time to point out how remarkably talented he was.

  Because he was kissing her. And she was kissing him back. Fiercely.

  She slid her hands over his shoulders, down his chest, tugging at his shirttails to pull the cloth out from where it was tucked into his trousers.

  And then she drew back as she yanked the shirt up over his head, a satisfied expression on her face as she regarded his bare chest.

  �
�Do you suppose we should lock the door?” he said in a ragged tone.

  Her lips curled into a wicked smile. “I am tempted not to, but I don’t want us to be interrupted.”

  He nearly grunted in response, then spoke. “I will see to it,” he said.

  She trailed her fingers over where his erection tented his trousers, and he stifled a groan as he rose, making quick work of the lock and returning to her.

  She had risen from her chair, and she smiled at him, then turned and presented her back. “Undo me, please.”

  His fingers fumbled at the buttons, and she shot him a few impatient glances over her shoulder. Finally, however, he was able to slide her gown off, and she stepped out of it, clad only in her chemise and corset.

  And then it was just her chemise.

  And then he had his hands at the hem of her chemise and was drawing it up, over her luscious curves and then her head, flinging it past her shoulder to land on one of the tables that flanked the doorway.

  He knelt back down, holding his hand up to assist her. She took it, sliding her naked body down to sit beside him.

  “Thank God you appreciate the use of carpet,” he said.

  She laughed, which lit up her entire face. Then one eyebrow rose and she gestured toward him. “How is this at all fair? Get yourself unclothed, Ignatius.”

  He grinned, his hands going to the placket of his trousers. He undid them, then lay flat on the carpet, pulling the trousers down until they snagged at his boots.

  Damn. He’d forgotten he was wearing them.

  He sat up, undid them, then tossed them with an audible thunk to the edges of the room. That obstacle out of the way, he quickly removed his trousers and smallclothes, leaving them both naked.

  In a locked room.

  “Ana Maria,” he said, feeling the emotion well up yet again, “I love you. You understand that, don’t you?”

  She nodded, her hand reaching toward his chest, her fingers gliding over his skin, her eyes lit up with curiosity and desire.

  “Since we are in agreement, I want to know if I have your permission to entirely compromise you?”

  Her eyes met his. “Please do.”

  An hour later, they emerged from the salon, looking only slightly more disheveled than when they had entered it.

  Only to stop in surprise as they faced Sebastian, Thaddeus, and Jane, with several interested faces peeking from around corners and abovestairs.

  “Well?” Thaddeus said, folding his arms over his chest.

  Ana Maria glanced at Nash. “He deserves me.”

  Nash took her hand, raising it to his lips to kiss. “I do.”

  An Excerpt from A Wicked Bargain for the Duke

  Keep reading for a sneak peek at

  A Wicked Bargain for the Duke

  The next book in the Hazards of Dukes series by Megan Frampton

  Coming soon from Avon Books

  Chapter One

  Ducal Duties

  (to be accomplished within a year of assuming the title)

  1. Learn the names of the upper staff. Learn the names of the lower staff within a year and a half.

  2. Survey the properties and assess their efficiency.

  3. Acquire a civilian wardrobe. No pastel colors.

  4. Make connections in Society. Avoid any who seem to require a set strategy for dealing with them.

  5. Secure the dukedom with the addition of a suitable wife and subsequent heir.

  Thaddeus Dutton, Duke of Hasford, leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest, glaring with dissatisfaction at the list he’d written.

  Not that it was the list’s fault; it was his entirely. The list was proper, in correct order, and comprehensive. Disciplined.

  Like him.

  Boring, his cousin Ana Maria had once said in reaction to his respectable wardrobe—she would far prefer he wear fashionable pastels, for example—but he knew her opinion went beyond that at times. Particularly when he was managing her.

  He felt his lips curl into a rueful smile and drew out another sheet of paper, plucking a pen from the surface of his built-entirely-for-efficiency desk. He’d ticked off all the proper items on the list; he had hopes that accomplishing #5 would invigorate both himself and his life. He put the pen to paper and began writing quickly.

  A Suitable Woman will:

  1. Be unassuming in looks and manner. Be pleasant to look at.

  2. Come from a respectable family. Her relatives must be as well-bred in blood and behavior as she.

  3. Have a general knowledge of all topics but not be too obsessed by any one of them. Her first priority should always be her husband and, eventually, their children.

  4. Be able to immediately handle her duties as his duchess. Running the household(s), appearing with him at Society events, and comporting herself with the utmost honor and respectability.

  He took a deep breath before quickly scribbling the last item on the list.

  5. Engage satisfactorily in sexual congress.

  That was a daring line item, and one he cared deeply about, although of course there was no way to verify the candidate’s ability until after marriage.

  The only surprising thing about him lately, he thought exasperatedly, was his becoming a duke in the first place, when it was discovered that his cousin Sebastian’s mother had secured the dukedom for her son through illegal means. His cousin, the former duke, was now plain Mr. de Silva, while Thaddeus had left his command in Her Majesty’s Army to take up command in Her Majesty’s Aristocracy.

  Being a duke was not dissimilar to being a military officer.

  There was the general ordering about of things and people; the awareness that you were the most important person in the area, unless you happened to be keeping company with royals or generals; and there was the knowledge that if you made a misstep, you could cause the loss of lives or livelihoods for thousands of people.

  It was the last bit that made him snap awake at night, nearly as much as he had when navigating a tricky battle strategy.

  But with a wife he would have a second-in-command, someone who would assist him with the general ordering about of things and people.

  Who would be his equal in the bedroom, giving as much pleasure as she got.

  He felt himself stiffen, though not just in that way, and hastily balled the paper in his fist, stuffing it into his top desk drawer, which he locked immediately. He was sitting in the library, which he used as his office. Although there were comfortable chairs and plush carpet in the room, Thaddeus only ever sat in one of the two straight-backed wooden chairs behind a solid wooden desk.

  Like him.

  “Melmsford!”

  Why he raised his voice to yell when he knew his secretary was likely hovering just outside the door was beyond him.

  “Your Grace?”

  Melmsford was, if possible, even more efficient than Thaddeus. A tall, slender man with prematurely thinning hair, Melmsford’s chief attribute was his encyclopedic knowledge of anything to do with the Hasford holdings. He’d been Sebastian’s secretary, whom Thaddeus had inherited along with the rest of Sebastian’s staff.

  It had been Melmsford who had helped Thaddeus navigate the first few perilous months of his taking the title, and Melmsford who even now guided him through the more delicate minutiae of his new role.

  If he and Melmsford ever spoke even once about anything not pertaining to business, he might even say he was a friend. But they had not, so he could not.

  He should add Converse with Melmsford about something besides business to his list.

  “Yes, come here.” Thaddeus gestured toward the front of his desk. “Sit down.”

  Melmsford folded his long frame into the chair as he regarded Thaddeus with the proper mixture of deference and awareness.

  “It is time to approach item number five,” Thaddeus announced. Melmsford looked confused; of course, he hadn’t seen Thaddeus’s latest list. “A wife.” Melmsford’s eyes widened, but he didn�
�t speak. “I wish to attend events where there is the greatest opportunity to meet suitable candidates.”

  “Of course, Your Grace.” Melmsford rose to gather a sheaf of papers from the small desk he used. “I have several invitations in hand.” He sorted through them, a frown creasing his brows together. “Might I suggest the Baron Raddleston’s party? It is being thrown in honor of Mr. Percy Wittlesford, a novelist. He will be doing a reading, I believe.”

  “Novelist, hmm?” Thaddeus said with a snort. He gestured to the bookshelves behind him and on each of the walls in the library. Books that had yet to be touched by him. “There’s no time for reading for pleasure, there’s too much to be done.”

  “If I might, Your Grace,” Melmsford interrupted gently, “Mr. Wittlesford’s latest book is the current favorite of a certain group of young ladies, young ladies who would seem to fit your requirements.” He cleared his throat. “I believe the books are of a certain type?”

  Thaddeus frowned in confusion. “A certain—oh!” he exclaimed, realizing Melmsford’s usual discretion was even more discreet. At least the reading would not be boring. Or disciplined, for that matter. “In that case, I will attend the Raddlestons’ party.”

  “Excellent, Your Grace.”

  And if he was fortunate, he would meet a lady of excellent birth, a quiet demeanor, of a pleasing appearance, who was also sexually adventurous.

  And while he was at it, he might try to find a black cat in a coal cellar, a needle in a haystack, and a duke who both did his job well and wasn’t entirely dull.

  “Vinnie, how can you possibly get away with it?” Jane’s expression was horrified, her lovely eyes wide, her perfect mouth making a perfect O.

  Lavinia nodded toward Percy, who sat in the corner of the drawing room, one lock of dark brown hair falling elegantly over his brow. He was the epitome of the tortured author—a pen in his hand, smudges of ink on his strong chin, papers scattered all over the table at which he sat.