Tall, Duke, and Dangerous (Hazards of Dukes #2) - Megan Frampton Page 0,15

where he reveled in his temper. He would flatten this gentleman, who was clearly no gentleman, and he would save the day. Save her.

“Nash, it’s fine,” she said, sounding exasperated. “I have it handled.”

But he ignored her, unable to stop moving forward, his clenched fists itching to make contact with the lord’s face. Nearly as much as his fingers had itched to touch her skin while they were dancing.

And where had that thought come from? His righteous anger seldom allowed for any other thoughts.

Thwack! His fist connected with the man’s jaw, sending him flying, sprawling onto the carpet. Landing with a soft, unsatisfying thud. Just like the broken chair, though this miscreant deserved it.

“Now look what you’ve done.” She dropped the poker, scurrying over to the now-unconscious man. She began to actually touch the blackguard, loosening his wretched hellcloth.

“What? I took care of things.”

Wasn’t that what his temper was for? The swift dispersal of justice? God knew it wasn’t for unleashing on loved ones. If it wasn’t useful for anything, then there was just no point to being him.

“You punched him.”

He frowned in confusion. “Yes. As I said. I took care of things.”

She yanked off the cur’s neckcloth, snapping it out and dabbing at the man’s face.

He did not want her dabbing at anybody’s face.

The man moaned, moving his head from side to side, his eyes fluttering open. “He hit me.” He said it as though it were a complete surprise, which was baffling to Nash; after all, he’d been the one to be seen pinioned by a poker, so it stood to reason there would be retribution.

“He did, my lord.” She leaned over the man, assessing his situation. “You will be fine in a moment or two.”

“I need some brandy.”

“I think that is the last thing you need,” she replied tartly, rising to her feet. “I will send someone to assist you, my lord.” She advanced toward Nash, grabbing his lapel between her thumb and forefinger. “You should come with me.”

Nash allowed himself to be removed from the room, wondering why she seemed so piqued when all he had done was help her.

That was what he always did—help people. And most of the time, his helping people meant that other people got sprawled onto carpets, or flattened on the street, or brought unwillingly to the authorities.

But it seemed she didn’t want that, which made him wonder just what she did want.

Chapter Five

She wished she weren’t so conflicted.

But wasn’t that the story of her life now? Lady Ana Maria Dutton, Conflicted Oxymoron.

Yes, it was redundant. No, she didn’t care.

She pulled Nash by his jacket out the door and into the ballroom, moving swiftly to the edge of the room and heading straight for the doors that led out onto the terrace.

“Ah, terrace shenanigans,” she heard him murmur.

“What?” she said, startled. “No, on second thought, never mind.”

There were a few people out on the terrace already, and she turned so she couldn’t make eye contact with any of them, taking Nash to a bowed-out nook that was home to an enormous potted tree.

They wouldn’t be seen, but more importantly, they wouldn’t be heard.

She let go of his lapel, unable to keep herself from smoothing it down. She would never rid herself of the need to tidy things up, would she? Another reason she and that flattened lord would be a terrible match—he’d be appalled whenever she tried to do something for herself, whereas she was appalled he couldn’t.

But she didn’t want to spend any more time thinking about him. She needed to make this right, to see if Nash could understand.

She spotted a footman, making eye contact with him as she gestured with the hand not holding on to Nash. “Could you go in there and see to the gentleman?” she asked.

Nash snorted.

“He is in need of assistance,” she added. The footman nodded, moving toward the room where Lord Brunley was likely still moaning.

And now she had discharged her duty, she had to get him to hear her.

“Don’t do that,” she said at last.

His eyes were dark and intense in the moonlight. She couldn’t look away.

“Do what? Rescue a damsel in distress?”

She shook her head. “I am neither a damsel, nor was I in distress. Didn’t you hear me say I had it handled?”

“But I can handle it so much more quickly. I always can.” He spoke as if it were a hard fact, which it was, she supposed. He was renowned for his ability to handle things quickly, which mostly