Tall, Duke, and Dangerous (Hazards of Dukes #2) - Megan Frampton Page 0,77

she wanted to glory in the fullness of her emotions, even if the emotions themselves were ones she did not want to harbor all the time.

And that’s why she was so determined to see through whatever it was she was doing with Nash—she wanted to feel everything, she wanted to be in control and yet out of control all at the same time. Because she was Lady Oxymoron, she wanted to revel in all of it and make her own decisions.

“I’ll thank you two to stay out of my affairs,” she warned. “I’ll make my own decisions, and I presume Nash will as well.”

And she already knew he had decided that whatever they were doing together was not going to be permanent. And she knew she had already decided that it would never be permanent for as long as he kept himself hidden from her.

So all that was left was a temporary thing fueled by her passion.

That didn’t seem so bad, did it?

She burst into the training room as though she had a lightning storm propelling her through. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were wide and sparkling, and she wore that same dull-colored dress from before.

Glorious, from head to toe.

Nash swallowed at the sight. He certainly enjoyed it when she was dressed in her shimmering gowns and delicate slippers, but he felt more connected to her when she was wearing what he’d always seen her in—albeit now with a heightened sense of just how attractive he found her.

“Are you ready to be punched this afternoon, Your Grace?” she said in a teasing voice.

He grunted in reply.

“That’s the sound that means that you doubt I will punch you, but you are willing to tolerate my impudence.”

His eyes widened, because she was right.

“I have to wrap my hands first, correct?”

Another grunt.

“And will you need help with it? Last time I believe they were wrapped when I arrived, but now they’re not.”

She took his hands in hers, holding the palms up as she ran her fingers over his skin. “I’m surprised you don’t have more injuries, given how often you seem to engage in fighting.”

Nash scowled. “I always win.”

She gave him a mocking look. “Of course you do. You just punch them, growl, and then stalk off.”

“I do not,” he retorted. “Sometimes I tell them why I punched them as well.”

“A complete experience,” she said with a grin. She moved over to the chest of drawers at the corner. “The linens are here, if I recall correctly?”

“Mm,” he replied.

“Do we need Finan?”

He growled, at which she laughed. “I’ll take that as a no, then.”

She brought the linens out, the various lengths dangling over her hands. “You’ll have to show me how to do it properly. I don’t want you to get hurt when I punch you.”

“You won’t.”

She tilted her head to regard him. “I won’t punch you? Or I won’t hurt you?”

“Both.”

Her eyebrow rose. “Is that a challenge? Because if you teach me properly, I will know how to both punch and hurt you. Even if you don’t want me to. So if I am unable to, that is your failing.” She accompanied her words with a poke to his chest and a stern glare.

He liked it when she showed her fire. She had been smothered under her stepmother for so long he wasn’t certain it was there. But it was there all right, and he wanted to see it burn.

See her burn.

She took a deep breath, then met his gaze. “I know Sebastian and Thaddeus spoke to you.”

“Mm.”

She frowned. “What did you say to them?” She held her hand up. “No, wait, you probably just made muttering noises and didn’t tell them anything.”

He stiffened. “I told them you deserved to decide for yourself.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Oh!”

“They said that your other suitors got less of a chance with me hanging around. Not that I am one of your suitors,” he corrected hastily.

She rolled her eyes. “Of course not, we’ve established that.”

“They mentioned they all send you flowers.”

Her face was curious. “They do. And?”

He swallowed. “You like flowers.”

“I do.” Now her face held a quiet smile, as though she were indulging him in his line of questioning.

“What is your favorite?”

Her eyes got dreamy. “Tulips.” Not that he had the faintest clue what a tulip looked like.

“I don’t know anything about flowers.” He took a deep breath, then reached into his pocket, withdrawing the now sadly wilted flower she’d handed him a few days prior. “What kind is this?”

“It’s a daisy.” She