Tall, Duke, and Dangerous (Hazards of Dukes #2) - Megan Frampton Page 0,84

at least as far as Nash could tell. Her clothing was nearly as colorful as anything he’d seen Ana Maria in, while her head was covered by a bonnet with what seemed to be a ridiculous amount of ribbons and flowers and some other ruckus.

Nash’s head felt as thick as if he’d guzzled an entire bottle of brandy. His chest was tight, his breath was short, and he could only stand there and stare at her.

She looked like him. Or more accurately, he looked like her: dark hair, though hers was sprinkled with gray. Dark eyes and a strong, straight nose. She was taller than the gentleman beside her, so perhaps his height came from her as well.

“Ignatius,” she said again, her voice constrained, “allow me to present my husband, Monsieur DeCalles.” The woman—his mother—gestured to the older gentleman she’d arrived with, an anxious expression on her face.

Of course she was anxious. She had no idea who he was, who he’d turned into. What if he was like his father?

You take after me. In every way.

“A pleasure,” his mother’s husband said, extending his hand. He spoke in a French accent, and bowed slightly as he touched Nash’s hand.

Nash took it with a nod. Unable to speak.

“Could I—could I perhaps sit down?” she asked, a tiny smile tugging at her mouth.

He exhaled, gesturing toward the sofa. She met his gaze, nodding, then went and sat, removing the enormous bonnet from her head and placing it on the cushion beside her.

“Pierre, perhaps you could see to the carriage?” his mother said, addressing her husband. Her words and expression were warm, and Nash felt a flare of gratitude that it seemed that her second husband was far better than her first.

“Of course. Your servant, Your Grace,” Monsieur DeCalles said, nodding.

Nash sat down in the chair opposite her as Monsieur DeCalles left the room, shutting the door softly behind him.

For a moment they just regarded one another.

“I understand if this is a shock—”

“No. I mean, yes, but no.” Nash took a deep breath. “I wanted to find you. So badly. It is good to see you.”

His mother’s expression cleared into a relieved smile. “I was grateful to receive Mr. Carstairs’s letter.” She paused, meeting his gaze. “It is good to see you, too, son. I am so sorry.” She took a deep breath. “I wish I could have come earlier. So much earlier.”

Nash’s throat got thick, and he was startled to realize his eyes were starting to tear. He did not cry, damn it.

Except it seemed he did.

He reached toward her, but the distance was too great, so he got up and moved his chair closer, then took her hand. Keeping his gaze on their fingers rather than looking directly at her—he didn’t know if he would be able to speak otherwise.

No, he knew he wouldn’t be able to speak. That was him, that was who he was. The person who couldn’t say anything, who could only do things.

You take after me. In every way.

Was it true, though?

He had so much to tell her. And it didn’t matter that he might not find the right words. He would get his meaning across somehow.

“Mother, I—” he began.

“Oh my goodness!”

Ana Maria couldn’t help but gasp as she and Octavia walked into the ballroom. The hosts had decorated the room as though it was underwater, with blue silk hanging from the walls and papier-mâché fish and other aquatic animals dangling from the ceiling. The male servants were dressed like pirates, while female servants wore mermaid garb.

“I wonder who did their decorating,” Octavia said in a sly tone.

“I am envious,” Ana Maria said, gazing at the splendor.

The room was halfway full, and the dancing hadn’t begun, although there was music playing—Ana Maria could see the musicians at the far corner behind a fishing net. The guests were wandering about, mostly examining the various decorations or exclaiming at the servants’ costumes.

“Your gown lives up to all of this,” Octavia said in an admiring tone.

Ana Maria looked down at her gown, which was as beautiful on as it was off. Its colors set off her coloring, and the cut and drape augmented her curves, making her look more sensual than was usually approved of in Society.

“Thank you,” she said at last. “I feel as though I’ve finally decorated myself in a style I am comfortable with.” Even though parts of her revealed sensuality made her feel all prickly and uncomfortable, albeit in an exciting way.

The two ladies paused to look