sir,” she said in an effusive tone.
Generous on top of everything. As she’d anticipated.
“So why is she here?”
He took a long swallow instead of answering.
“My heir.”
That wasn’t helpful. “What about your heir?”
Another drink instead of a reply. “Like my father.”
“Oh.” She knew about his father, of course. Not all of it—Nash was even more taciturn when it came to his own private matters—but she knew there was a reason a young Nash was suddenly at their house all the time, sometimes sporting unexplained bruising.
Sebastian had pleaded with Nash to let him help, but Nash had refused. They were both so young at the time, and how could they possibly go up against a grown man? A duke?
“And how does your grandmother come into it?”
“Says I have to get my own heir.”
Which meant— “Oh! So you’re planning on getting married?”
Goodness, why did her voice have to squeak at the end like that?
“Have to do it eventually.”
“Ah.” She took a sip of her ale instead of responding, which was probably for the best, since her first emotions were disappointment, jealousy, and envy. None of which she precisely understood, or would allow herself to understand, but were there nonetheless.
“And your grandmother is here to . . . assist you in finding a bride?”
He grimaced. Which answered her question.
“So that is why you were at the ball the other evening.” Dressed like every other gentleman, looking impossibly handsome and dangerous all at the same time.
A grunt of agreement.
“If I can help—” But he was already shaking his head before she could finish her sentence.
“No help.”
She drew back in her chair. “So you can demand that I take lessons in fighting from you, but you won’t let me help in finding someone to marry?”
“Not your concern.”
This time, there was only one emotion. Anger.
“I know that you are entirely self-sufficient,” she said in a low, furious tone, “but can’t you see how unbalanced it is to help me without allowing me to help you?”
“And what will you do?” His fierce tone startled her. “You’ll tell me which young lady seems to be the least terrified of me? Or which one is the most desperate for a husband?” He snorted. “I can figure that out by myself, and if I can’t, my grandmother will apparently be doing it for me. I don’t need your help.”
Her chest tightened in response. That he thought so little of himself, that he was refusing a genuine offer of help, that he was so obviously reluctant to embark on marriage, but was determined to do it to stave off a potential reprisal of his father’s behavior.
All things that made her concerned for him, angry at him, and proud of him all at the same time.
“I should be getting home.” She couldn’t speak all the words in her heart, she wouldn’t dare to, so she should get herself out of his vicinity until she had composed herself.
Which might mean she would next see him when she was eighty years old.
By which point he would have gotten married, so that would be taken care of.
So there was a bright side to being conflicted.
“I’ll take you home.” He rose, holding his hand out to her in assistance. She glanced at his hand, the strength of it, marveling that he was so willing to help others but not take any help himself.
What would it look like if he did?
What kind of help could she offer?
And why did that question raise so many fascinating thoughts?
They walked in nearly companionable silence back to Thaddeus’s house. It was a long walk, and at first he’d wondered if her delicate lady feet could handle so much walking, but then he recalled that prior to a few months ago, she’d been doing all the duchess’s most unpleasant work.
Albeit not in her delicate lady slippers.
“Are your feet comfortable?” He sounded so awkward. No wonder he never spoke.
“My feet?” she replied, sounding surprised.
“Yes. The walking. We could hail a cab, if you’d like.” Or he could just carry her.
“I am fine,” she replied, sounding vaguely offended. So he wouldn’t offer to pick her up. Likely a good thing, what with all those soft curves in his arms.
“Why would you worry about my feet?” she asked after a moment.
He shrugged.
“That’s not an answer. I appreciate the concern, but I can walk all by myself, Your Grace. I can dance and speak and defend myself.”
“No you can’t.” He tilted his head back toward where they had come from. “Your idea of defense is to whack