Tall, Duke, and Dangerous (Hazards of Dukes #2) - Megan Frampton Page 0,11

the rest of humanity—the non-grunting, not massive part—have?

Well. She should be able to answer that. She was going to forge ahead in her determination to find her purpose. What she longed for.

“It wasn’t fool—” she began, then stopped because the music stopped. Her voice floated out into the sea of people, thankfully not too loud, but loud enough that she winced to hear it herself.

Stop that, too. Stop embarrassment, and the potential for wincing, and anything that might indicate that you are not all you could be. That you are going to be.

“Hold on a minute.” His words, his command, made her freeze. His hand was still on her waist, and his touch there made it feel as though she were burning.

Ice and fire.

Making her turn into a lukewarm puddle.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I don’t want you to get trampled.” He nodded toward the flow of people leaving the dance floor, others walking eagerly to take their places. A gentleman jostled her, and he snarled.

She suppressed a giggle at the gentleman’s startled expression.

“Thank you for my dance, finally,” she said. She met his gaze, and she felt her breath hitch.

His eyes were dark brown, she knew that, she’d known that since the first time she’d met him, for goodness’ sake, and yet the deep mahogany depths of them, the intensity, made it feel as though she were looking into them for the first time.

First time dancing together. First time feeling the impact of his gaze.

Even though that was not true. She’d felt the impact of it earlier, when his eyes had traveled over her face, down her neck, lower down to her chest and lower still, ending up, eventually, at her feet.

Each of his looks had sent off a skittering of sparks through her whole body, as though his look was igniting her.

Fire.

She licked her suddenly dry lips, and he made another noise, a growl deep in his throat. A noise she’d heard many times from him, and yet this was the first time it had caused such a reaction, low and deep in her belly.

The first time for that, too.

The dancers—both arriving and departing—had found their spots, so they were standing on their own. There was no longer a need for him to hesitate, and yet he hadn’t moved.

Why hadn’t he moved yet?

“I’ll take you back to Thad.”

Why had she even thought about his moving? When she would have been perfectly happy to just stand there, burning and freezing all at the same time.

But he was walking. Even though it was so much more than that.

If there was a word for “confident, predatory walk” she wished it would pop into her brain right now. Because that was what he was doing, keeping her beside him, his arm holding hers, his every movement one of purpose and intent.

I’ll take you back to Thad.

And that was precisely, exactly, and efficiently what he was doing.

She shouldn’t wish he would want to spend more time with her. Unfortunately for her, she was an oxymoron, and so she very much wished he wanted to spend more time with her. Even though there were myriad reasons why she shouldn’t wish that.

All that this told her was that she needed to figure out her purpose, and quickly. She couldn’t very wall walk around wishing and not wishing, wanting and not wanting, when none of that—or all of that—would get her nowhere. Or somewhere.

Tomorrow. She’d get up tomorrow and go find something she longed for. Not a person, or a status. Some sort of goal that would carry her through this purgatory she’d found herself in, albeit a purgatory where she got to wear beautiful gowns.

She grinned at the thought.

Chapter Four

“I hope you received my flowers, Lady Ana Maria.”

Lord Brunley was pleasant enough, she supposed. Teeth and a general appearance of handsomeness. If that was what one wanted.

She was fairly certain she did not want that.

Perhaps she could take a poll in the ladies’ withdrawing room and find out what, precisely, other ladies were looking for. No, longing for. What—or who—were their goals?

Perhaps then she would discover her own.

“Ah, yes, thank you, my lord,” she said quickly when she realized she’d been hesitating too long.

He gave a satisfied smile. “My father, the earl, keeps a hothouse stocked all year. The temperature ensures that there are always flowers in bloom for when we require them. Which is all year,” he added.

Well, yes, because that is what a hothouse is for. The ability to procure flowers all year.

So she