Tall, Duke, and Dangerous (Hazards of Dukes #2) - Megan Frampton Page 0,17

And the idea of Nash clad only in a scanty fur was rather appealing.

“Good,” Thaddeus replied in satisfaction. “I know you are a sensible woman, Ana Maria, but I also know that you are newly arrived to Society, and you might not be able to see through some of these more charming gentlemen’s subterfuges.”

Ana Maria felt her hackles—and her eyebrow—rise.

“Are you saying I am too naive to realize when someone is being sincere and when someone is trying to use me?”

“Uh—” Thaddeus said. He sounded uncertain. Good.

“Because you should not worry, cousin. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I am not—nor will ever be—a damsel in distress.” The vehemence of her tone matched the vehemence of her emotions.

Men.

“I see that, of course I see that, but I just wanted to let you know that I—that we—that Sebastian made us promise to take care of you.”

She was not mollified. Because who had taken care of Sebastian for the first eighteen or so years of his life? Had she been incapable then?

“Ana Maria?” He sounded anxious, and she suppressed a smile. That was precisely what she wanted, even as she wanted someone to protect her—she wanted both protection and the assurance that nobody would vault in to do something she was perfectly capable of.

Oxymoron.

“I know you have my best interests at heart. As does Nash. I assure you, I can take care of myself.”

“Good. Because if I had to call that Brunley my cousin I’d probably swallow my tongue.”

She laughed at how forceful he sounded. Thaddeus, the most honest and forthright man of her acquaintance. The one she knew would leap to her defense, even though he didn’t seem to understand her. The one who’d insisted his home would remain hers, who had been generous with his money, who’d given her the freedom to do what she wished.

“Thank you.”

“Well, so that’s that, then,” he said, sounding awkward. She smothered another smile and watched him turn away from her gaze, as though embarrassed at his emotion.

Nash stepped back into the cover of the tree after Thad and Ana Maria left the terrace. He far preferred being in the shadows to being in the spotlight during normal times, and this wasn’t a normal time. It was far, far worse.

His palm tingled where he’d held her fingers. He raised his hand to his mouth, smelling the slight scent of brandy on his fingers from where he’d touched her skin. He licked his finger, licked the sticky sweetness off.

Goddamn it. He shouldn’t be thinking about her that way, shouldn’t be wondering where else he could lick brandy off her. He was supposed to be searching for a woman who wouldn’t make him feel anything, not discover one who could make him feel everything.

If he let her.

He wouldn’t let her.

He couldn’t. He’d promised himself not to hurt anybody he was determined to protect, and he’d hurt her if he let her into his heart. You take after me. In every way.

“Duke!”

The command came from his grandmother, who was peering out of the doorway. The lights of the ballroom shone behind her, outlining her slight form, making him realize just how frail she was in body, if not in spirit.

Her damned cane was there, too, and she stuck it out of the door onto the terrace, her expression hesitant.

“Over here,” he said, walking out from under the tree to the door. “Don’t come out, it’s dark, I don’t want you to risk falling.”

“Don’t you worry about me,” she snapped back. Sounding much like another lady of his acquaintance. “I came out here because you are not inside meeting anybody. What are you doing skulking about?”

He took her arm, turning her so she was facing back into the ballroom. “You said it yourself. Skulking.”

“Humph,” she muttered. “We won’t get anywhere with this if you refuse to engage with any young lady.”

But I have. Of course he couldn’t say that to her; she would leap to the next logical conclusion and wish him to make an offer for her. She definitely wouldn’t understand if he told her he couldn’t marry her because he actually liked her.

The sooner he found a lady he didn’t care for the sooner she would be out of his house. He should be focusing on that, not on the taste of brandy from Ana Maria’s skin.

His grandmother was still talking.

“What?” he said, interrupting her.

She planted her cane down on his foot. “Not ‘what,’ it’s ‘pardon.’ ‘What’ makes you sound like a commoner.”

I wish