Tall, Duke, and Dangerous (Hazards of Dukes #2) - Megan Frampton Page 0,8

curls, bound only by a simple silver ribbon. Her figure was lush, and curved, and he would have sworn his hands knew how she felt. Or more accurately, his fingers itched to touch her.

Her skin wasn’t the moonlight pale of most of the ladies in the ballroom; it was touched by gold, as though the sun had claimed a bit of her loveliness as well.

“Who is that?” he heard his grandmother say, distinct disapproval in her tone.

“I have no—” And then he froze, because he recognized the gentleman next to her, and he swallowed as he realized who she was.

“That is Lady Ana Maria Dutton,” he said.

“Oh!” his grandmother replied, sounding surprised. “She is the cousin to the Duke of Hasford, she is quite respectable.”

Her meaning was implicit in her words.

“Out of the question.”

“Why—?”

“No.” He tore his gaze away from her to face his grandmother. “Absolutely not.”

Because it was Ana Maria, and that meant he knew her, had known her for most of his life. Had cared for her, in his way. He would not subject her to his passions.

Not when he was terrified of losing control, and how could he not lose control when confronted with such a delicious package encasing a person he knew to be kind, warm, and intelligent?

And he nearly snarled when he met Thaddeus’s gaze, and saw Thad speak to her, and then both of them began to walk toward him, each step an increasingly agonizing reminder of who he was, and who he could be—if he didn’t keep himself tightly contained.

“Over there, it’s Nash,” Thaddeus said, no doubt trying to sound soothing.

He didn’t, of course, because she doubted Thaddeus had ever tried to soothe anyone in his life, but she appreciated the effort nonetheless. He took her arm again. “Let’s go speak with him.”

She nodded, simply because she couldn’t speak. She hadn’t expected to see him here. He seldom, if ever, attended these kinds of entertainments. For all she knew, he had a seraglio of women at home who enjoyed his brute-like manners and inarticulate noises that passed for conversation.

And that idea should not have caused a frisson of sensual awareness coursing through her, but then again, she was a walking oxymoron, so it did.

But he was here. And what was more, he was wearing apparel perfectly suited to the evening—not just a worn jacket that showed the strain at his broad shoulders. For goodness’ sake, he was even wearing a cravat. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him wearing a cravat.

Someone had managed to slick his hair back, and he’d gotten a shave more recently than a few days ago as well. He looked every inch, every foot, a gentleman, and she felt her breath hitch.

He should not be that handsome.

He should not be that commanding, as though his presence obliterated every other person’s appearance in the room.

He should not be the focus of so many of her thoughts, especially late at night.

Damn it.

She swallowed, attempting to regain her icy late-duchess demeanor. Difficult to do when one’s heart was pounding, and one was entirely, keenly aware of another person’s presence.

“Your Grace,” Thaddeus said, making both Nash and Ana Maria stare at him. “What?” he added, glancing between them both. “We are not who we were, we have different obligations now, and different obligations require different courtesies.”

Different obligations require different courtesies.

So perhaps she could just pretend she’d never met the Duke of Malvern before, and that this handsome behemoth in front of her was merely a new acquaintance.

That might work to take her mind off the absolute Nash-ness of him. If she could just think of him as another aristocrat who shared the same beliefs as all the others, beliefs that insisted that women like Ana Maria were only noticed because of their lineage and their wealth, not because of who they were. An aristocrat who would be horrified to learn that until six months ago, Lady Ana Maria had peeled potatoes and scrubbed pots and been treated as less than even the lowliest servant. Because the lowliest servant at least received a salary, whereas Ana Maria had gotten exhortations to do more because she was less.

“Ana Maria?” Thaddeus’s sharp tone pulled her out of her thoughts.

“Yes, Your Grace? Your Grace,” she added, nodding to Nash, whose handsome face twisted into a frown.

“My lady,” he replied, before scowling even more, turning his back to them. “Stop poking me,” he said, and Ana Maria peered around him to see an older woman sitting regally on