Tall, Duke, and Dangerous (Hazards of Dukes #2) - Megan Frampton Page 0,71

come and see what they had and buy it before it went into their shop.

“I expect to be redecorating more than a few of Thaddeus’s rooms and Miss Ivy’s. It is my hope that I can consult with other ladies who want to make their homes more reflective of them. Not of their mothers, or stepmothers, or husbands.” She paused in her fabric-browsing to think more about it. “We seldom get the opportunity to express who we really are.” She gestured to her gown. “In fact, the only way we are even offered the chance is in how we dress. And even then if what we’re wearing doesn’t suit what someone might think about us, we’re disparaged for our choice.” She shrugged. “If I can help a few ladies realize their own potential, even just through the choice of their wall hangings, it will make me happy.”

“You’re a veritable fabric Joan of Arc,” he remarked.

“Don’t make light of it. That’s what people always do when ladies express an opinion.” She was surprised to find she was angry. She so seldom was.

“I didn’t mean to make light of it,” he said, sounding humble. He put his hand on top of hers, which was resting on a length of blue-green silk. “I think I made a joke because your words resonated with me, and I don’t always know what to do with my emotions.” He paused. “Which is putting it mildly.”

“Is that why you’re so determined to keep yourself distant from anyone you might care for?”

And where did this angry, honest woman come from?

He reeled back, as though her words had physically struck him. “I don’t keep myself distant.” He sounded defensive, and by his expression, she could tell he knew that, too.

This wasn’t the place for this discussion, she knew that. And yet she couldn’t seem to stop herself. “You care for people, but you present them with a wall of grunts and implacable strength. Nobody can ever be as strong as you are, or as privileged, or as alone, which is how you appear to want it. But Nash—Ignatius—nobody should be alone.” She took a deep breath, knowing that she was about to speak on something that would be entirely inappropriate. “You can’t marry that Lady Felicity.”

“Why not?” It sounded as though he were asking an honest question, not being combative. For once.

“She won’t care for you. She won’t ever care for you. She is pleasant enough, and obviously beautiful, but there is something lacking in her.”

“Like there is in me.”

He spoke as though it was decided. As though there was no hope for him.

And her heart hurt for him all over again. “I promise you,” she continued, her voice throbbing with emotion, “that you can find everything you think that is missing from yourself if you just give yourself the chance.” Give me a chance.

“My lady,” Mrs. Lee said, walking toward them with her arms full of fabric. “I’ve just found what I consider to be the best of the lot.” She dumped them all onto a rough wooden table in front of Ana Maria, the colors a riotous jumble. “We will have to start moving the boxes out soon, so if you could—?”

“Yes, of course, I will get to work straightaway.”

“My emotions aren’t lacking,” he said through gritted teeth.

They were back in his carriage, bolts of fabric surrounding them, making them sit so closely their thighs were touching. The fabric of her skirts were tangled up with his legs, and she’d had to remove her hat since it kept hitting him in the head.

“I didn’t say that.”

“I can’t—I have them, I just can’t express them. If I do—”

“If you do—what?” she asked.

He twisted his head to look at her, his hands coming up of their own volition to cup her face. “If I do, then this happens.”

He lowered his mouth to hers, branding her with his lips, feeling forceful and powerful and yet utterly at her mercy.

She met him with just as much power and force, her hands clasping his arms, reaching around to knot themselves around his back, pulling him into her.

He groaned against her mouth, losing himself in her taste. Her tongue tangled with his, her hands unclasping from around his back to reach to his chest. She placed her fingers at his cravat, undoing the casual folds and pulling the fabric away from his neck.

He put his right hand at her waist, splaying his fingers so that they were just under her glorious, full breast.

He