Tall, Duke, and Dangerous (Hazards of Dukes #2) - Megan Frampton Page 0,40

me,” Lady Beatrice said. “Thank you for the invitation, Your Grace. Your Grace.” She rose, giving the drapes one last look, and scurried out, relief in every line of her body.

Two down, one to go.

“I would love some tea, Your Grace,” Lady Felicity said. Her expression was that of a cat who had managed to snag all of the cream.

And he was the cream.

He did not want to be cream. Or to be snagged, for that matter.

This cat would be the most difficult to remove.

“As it happens, I have a meeting with my secretary to review some important things of importance.”

His grandmother glared. As she should; it was clear he was making up an excuse as he went along.

“I will see you soon, Your Grace,” Lady Felicity said in an overly sweet voice. Meow.

Nash had never been more grateful for paperwork in his life.

“We’ve found two more,” Robert Carstairs, his secretary, said as he held a piece of paper out to Nash, who was seated at his desk.

“My father was certainly busy. And quite fertile, apparently.” Nash reviewed the names and location of his recently found siblings. They were far north, likely conceived when the late duke went to visit his hunting box in Scotland.

“I’ve sent them the usual correspondence, asking if they need assistance or positions. One of them sent back a note asking for assurance that you are nothing like our father. The other one replied that she would be interested in a position and that she has worked as a governess.”

“I hope you told her we don’t have any children here.”

“I thought perhaps you might speak with the ladies at the Society for Poor and Unfortunate Children? You’ve given them quite a bit of money in the past few years.”

“Huh. I have?”

Robert nodded. “It was on the recommendation of Lady Ana Maria. I believe she takes an interest there as well.”

Of course she did. Wanting to help children who were born into bad situations, like she was.

“Can you write them, then?”

“I already have, and they say they can always use more hands, but that they cannot afford to pay her salary.”

Nash waved the paper. “So take care of that as well. And write that other one back and let her know I am nothing like my father.” At least he hoped so, even though he knew he was wrong.

“I have already done that also. And I’ve done something else,” he began, his expression oddly hesitant.

“What is it?”

Robert took a deep breath before speaking. “I’ve located your mother.”

Nash inhaled sharply before advancing on Robert, his hands curled into fists. “What?”

Robert didn’t move back, and the two men stood chest to chest, Nash’s gaze locked on his secretary’s.

Robert was one of the first of his father’s bastards Nash had discovered after their father had died. He’d been working as a clerk in a London shipping office, but had leaped at the chance to work for Nash, especially since it meant he could work on finding more of the duke’s offspring.

Thus far, Robert had found no fewer than a dozen—fourteen with these two new finds—and Nash had helped as many of them who wanted it, employing eight of them in his town house and sending regular funds to some of the others.

“I asked you to find our siblings,” Nash said. “Not my mother.” He felt the red mist of his anger rise in his vision. Push it down, don’t let it take over, never unleash it unless the person deserves it.

Robert did not deserve it.

He hated the inexorable feeling of violence—he was usually able to deter it with a fight fueled by justice, or some whiskey, but there were other times when the anger overwhelmed him, and he could not control himself.

Like his father. No matter what he did, no matter how many siblings he found, no matter how many wrongs he righted, he always returned to his father’s behavior.

You take after me. In every way.

No, he didn’t. He couldn’t.

He stared at Robert for another long moment, his half brother meeting his gaze squarely, no hint of fear in his eyes. Then Nash reached around Robert to snatch some sort of table decoration—a vase, a water pitcher, whatever it was—and raised it over his head, preparing to smash it against the wall.

Only to lower it slowly, the anger easing out of him as he recalled Robert’s expression—not as though Nash were about to punch him in the jaw, but as though he knew Nash’s turmoil, but also knew Nash wouldn’t