Tall, Duke, and Dangerous (Hazards of Dukes #2) - Megan Frampton Page 0,82

all your father’s by-blows, you know.”

Nash glowered at his friend, who grinned in an obnoxious way.

“I see it’s going very well. Fine, you might say.”

Nash’s hands curled into fists, which made Finan laugh. “No, no, you’ve done that too much today. You should develop another hobby. Some other way to relieve your tension.” He gave a knowing look. “Perhaps take your energy out in another way?”

Fight and fuck.

And then Nash felt himself start to get warm. Goddamn it, was he blushing? He did not blush!

Thankfully, he was already so sweaty that likely his reddened face would be attributed to the fighting, not the embarrassment.

Finan rose, tossing his towel into the basket to the side of the chest of drawers. “I’m going to go see what Cook has in the kitchen. Getting beaten up by you gives me one hell of an appetite.”

“Back at nine o’clock,” Nash called as Finan pushed the door open and walked out. His only response was a wave of Finan’s hand.

It was only seven o’clock, and he wasn’t hungry. What did he want to do?

Well, he knew what he wanted to do, but she wasn’t here.

A bath. He’d take a bath.

He strode out of his training room and down the hall to his bedroom, yanking the bellpull as he entered.

The room still didn’t feel like his. It had belonged to his mother, but his father had changed everything in it when his mother left. Nash refused to even consider using his father’s room—that room would be a spare bedroom in the unlikely event he’d ever have so many guests he’d have to use it.

What would it look like if he asked Ana Maria to help change it?

He didn’t think she’d insist on using those bright colors she preferred for her own rooms—she was too sensitive to what he might want for that.

He took the flower out of his pocket again, staring at it, thinking about what it meant to see something and to admire it. He had only ever felt a sense of triumph when he’d bested someone who deserved it.

He hadn’t found beauty in small things.

Except her, he thought with a chuckle.

But what would it look like if she could show him how to appreciate small things like a flower, or a pleasantly decorated room?

A tulip? A joyful dance? Or a gorgeously gowned woman?

It terrified him, the thought that if he allowed himself to find beauty and appreciate some things for themselves . . . then what? What if it never stopped? What if his emotions kept building and building until they—and he—inevitably exploded?

That was the whole point of choosing a wife who he would merely tolerate. If he could keep himself and his feelings in check, he would never run the risk of being so explosively violent he would hurt anyone.

But he was starting to feel.

He still held the flower. A few of its petals had fluttered to the ground, and he stooped to pick them up, cradling them carefully in his palm. Then he went to his dressing table and opened one of the small drawers at the top, the place where Finan kept combs and a mirror and other grooming implements Nash never needed.

He plucked one of his hellcloths from the dressing table, spreading it open and placing the flower and the petals in there, wrapping them all carefully so as not to crush them, then tucked it into the small drawer, all the way at the back.

He could not allow himself to feel. Not about her. He should be strong enough to separate out his desire for her with his feelings of friendship.

Even though a voice warned him that that was becoming impossible.

There was something he did appreciate about being a duke, he thought, as he leaned back in the tub.

He’d ordered it especially sized, since his height wouldn’t fit into a normal-sized bathtub.

It stood on a pedestal, close to one of the windows, so he could gaze out at the view while he bathed.

The water was hot, so hot he knew the servants had scurried to get it up to his bedroom. He’d have to give them some extra money on payday for their hot water diligence.

His muscles were sore from the time he’d spent with Finan—he hadn’t held back, he couldn’t hold back. Finan was the only person who could withstand what Nash delivered. Even the street fights Nash got into required him to hold back—most of the people he challenged were bullies, not accustomed to anyone actually calling