Tall, Duke, and Dangerous (Hazards of Dukes #2) - Megan Frampton Page 0,12

could add pleasantly intelligent, but not too much so, to the list of his attributes.

“That is lovely,” she murmured. The music was likely too loud for him to hear her, but he could see her lips moving, and she hoped that that would suffice.

This was all pleasant enough. It was just that she was tired from smiling, and making polite conversation, and reassuring Thaddeus that she was having a splendid time.

Lord Brunley was fine. He was absolutely fine.

She just wanted something more than this. She knew, for a certainty, that whatever goal she settled on would definitely be more than this.

“Would you mind, my lady, if we stop dancing?” Lord Brunley said, his mouth curled into a warm smile. A smile that ignited neither ice nor fire.

Just more lukewarmness.

She suddenly felt prickly, which made her feel awful, because it wasn’t this gentleman’s fault that this wasn’t what she wanted.

“Of course, my lord,” she replied.

He escorted her off the dance floor, walking not nearly as quickly as Nash, which conversely made her more irritated. Because she could keep up, damn it, and she wanted to be challenged, not kept up with.

He guided her to the table with refreshments, directing that friendly smile toward her again. “Something to drink?”

She nodded. “Please.”

Instead of getting her a glass himself, he gestured toward one of the passing footmen, then indicated the punch bowl.

Since he couldn’t possibly deign to dip a glass of punch for her himself?

She truly was irritated. But then again, if he was so snobbish that he wanted a servant to do something for him that he was perfectly capable of doing himself—well, that would seem to indicate all manner of things about him, none of which Ana Maria found appealing. Never mind the easy things like assist someone out of a carriage, or pluck an errant feather from a hat from an unsuspecting cheek; what about the things that Ana Maria knew perfectly well about, having spent most of her life in and amongst servants, who were far more blunt-spoken than their aristocratic counterparts?

Things like what happened between a husband and wife.

Not that she’d suspect he’d palm that duty off onto a footman, but she doubted he would be enthusiastic about it. And she knew, even though she had no idea what it would feel like, or if she would enjoy it at all, that she would require enthusiasm in that arena from any potential partner.

“Thank you,” she said as the footman handed her the glass. Whether she was speaking to Lord Brunley or the footman, she didn’t know.

“We should sit down somewhere. You look flushed.”

She wrinkled her brow. She didn’t feel flushed, certainly not as hot and also cold as she had been when waltzing with Nash; furthermore, it wasn’t precisely polite to comment on a lady’s appearance in any way that could be taken as disparaging.

But she wasn’t accustomed to arguing, so she allowed him to take her arm, place her barely touched glass of punch back on the footman’s tray, and escort her to one of the small salons at the edge of the ballroom.

The salon was tastefully decorated, and Ana Maria spent a moment taking in the clever use of hanging silk on the walls, swags of which were fastened together to spotlight some of the paintings. The paintings were of varying images, but they shared a color palette, and Ana Maria was nodding in approval before noticing the thing that most ladies would have picked up on immediately when entering a salon with a gentleman who was neither her husband nor her betrothed.

“The room is empty, my lord, we should return. My cousin is no doubt looking for me.”

Lord Brunley smiled again, that same easy smile, as he closed the door behind them.

If Ana Maria had been one of those “most ladies,” she might have felt a sense of trepidation at what was about to occur. About what he had planned in escorting her to an empty room.

But since she was Ana Maria the former drudge, she only felt annoyed. Or actually more annoyed, and prickly, and irritated, because this time she had actual cause rather than her own peevishness.

“I’d like to return to my cousin, the Duke of Hasford,” she repeated, this time in a stronger voice.

“And I would like to plead my case to you, my lady.” He twisted the lock on the door, making his intentions clear.

She folded her arms over her chest, tapping her foot at the same time. “What case? I cannot