Tall, Duke, and Dangerous (Hazards of Dukes #2) - Megan Frampton Page 0,16

meant with his fists.

“I don’t want to be rescued.” She spoke in a soft voice, but she hoped he heard the truth of her words.

He didn’t say anything. She could hear him breathing, see the rise and fall of his broad chest under that crisp white shirt. But he didn’t speak. Instead, he reached out and took her hand in his.

He bent his head over her glove, undoing it quickly and then clasping her fingers. His hand was so warm. And so big. She felt the impact of his touch through her entire body.

“I wanted to take this off when we were dancing,” he said in a low tone that made her shiver.

She started to speak, to rush past the importance of this moment. She couldn’t let him know what she felt about it—he was merely comforting her, even though she didn’t need comfort. “I got brandy all over my gown. Some of it even splattered onto my face.” She knew she was saying whatever popped into her head to avoid saying what was in her heart—thank you for caring. Thank you for not judging me. For being as imperfect as I feel.

“Where?”

She brushed at her face, feeling the stickiness of the brandy. “I think mostly on my cheeks and my nose.”

And then he was touching her face, sliding his finger over her skin, pausing as he found a sticky spot, then trying to wipe it away.

Her chest tightened. “It’s fine, I will take care of it in a moment.”

“I will do it,” he began in his naturally assertive tone.

“Hush,” she replied, putting her index finger to his lips. They were surprisingly soft. She emitted a gasp, dropping her finger as though it had been burned. Scorched.

“I won’t apologize,” he said in a much stronger tone. “He deserved it. Whether it was from you or me.”

She drew back in surprise. “I wouldn’t have punched him.”

“Maybe you should have.” He made it sound as though it was a reasonable suggestion. And to him it was.

“Ana Maria!”

She turned at the sound of Thaddeus’s stentorian tone, pulling her fingers from his hand. Feeling guilty, even though nothing had happened.

He touched me. My skin. My cheek, my nose, my fingers.

I touched him. His skin. His palm, his mouth.

So don’t pretend nothing happened. Even though he likely thinks it was nothing.

She stepped out from under the tree, unconsciously straightening her shoulders.

“There you are.” Thaddeus’s gaze narrowed as he saw Nash emerge also. “And you.” His tone was accusatory.

Ana Maria felt her cheeks start to heat—please don’t make this into anything, she begged inside her head. He is my friend, we are all friends.

“Nash.”

Nash nodded in reply. Of course, taciturn Nash spoke with his fists, and his nods, and his expressions.

“The carriage is waiting.”

Thaddeus held his arm out and Ana Maria took it, wishing it was Nash’s arm. She glanced back behind her, where he still stood, all the broad massiveness of him. His expression set, his gaze shuttered, and she nearly went back, to see if she could break him open, to understand him, but Thaddeus must have sensed it, since he put his other hand on hers to hold her more firmly to him. “The carriage, Ana Maria,” he said in a low tone. “We need to go.”

The door to the carriage had just shut when Thaddeus spoke. “What happened?”

We held hands, he wiped brandy off my face.

“With that lout Brunley.”

Oh. Right.

“It’s nothing, I don’t want either you or Nash to bother about it.”

“Was that what Nash was doing? Bothering about it?” He sounded disapproving, and she felt herself get defensive on his behalf.

“He only meant to help.”

Thaddeus sighed. “Which means there was violence involved.”

She couldn’t refute that, so she said nothing.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands. A very uncharacteristically casual Thaddeus pose. This must be serious.

“Nash isn’t—you know, never mind about that.”

Drat. She generally disliked Thaddeus’s reticence, but never more so than now.

“The important part is that Lord Brunley informed me the two of you are engaged.” A pause. “Is that true?”

Ana Maria’s mouth dropped open.

“Absolutely not! He did make a proposal”—of sorts, by cornering me in an empty room and then threatening me—“but I declined.” And then Nash declined even more forcefully.

The thought should not make her warm inside—after all, she’d rebuked him for treating her as a damsel in distress—but she had to admit there was something thrilling about all that strength focused on protecting her.

No wonder early cavemen were able to find mates.