“This one would be quite good for a wall,” Ana Maria said, unspooling some of the fabric from the bolt. “It’s durable and thick, but not so I think it won’t drape nicely.”
The two ladies and Jane were back in Ana Maria’s salon, where the fabrics she’d purchased were spread on the carpet, the lush colors creating a nearly blinding assault on the eyes. Purples warred with oranges, greens with fuchsias, while the room itself added its own flavor to the mix with its vibrant reds and pinks.
In other words, Ana Maria loved it.
“If you say so,” Octavia said in a bored tone. She’d initially been enthusiastic, but more recently had begun to complain of a headache caused, she said, “by all of this patterned exuberance.”
Ana Maria just laughed and rang for more tea.
“Why don’t you just come and make the decisions for me?” Octavia said. “It is not as though I have an opinion that would go against yours—I appreciate your aesthetic, even if it makes me faintly nauseated.”
“Thank you?” Ana Maria replied as Jane smothered a snort.
“And I do think the club needs to have a dash of panache.”
“This is more than just a dash,” Jane opined. Ana Maria glanced sharply at her, but the other woman’s expression was neutral.
“So you can do it, and I’ll pay you for it, just as I would any other contract worker. I’ll have to ask Henry what fees are standard.”
“Henry?” Ana Maria asked. Asking a banal question to deal with the fact that her heart just leaped into her throat with Octavia’s casual suggestion.
It was what she had told Jane she wanted to do. And here Octavia was just—offering it to her. Without hesitation.
“The bookkeeper. He also works to toss out unpleasant patrons—he was a boxer before working for us—but he is mostly our bookkeeper.”
“Extraordinary to have two such disparate skills in one individual,” Ana Maria said.
“Not so disparate—a bookkeeper is precise in calculations, and a boxer has to determine precisely where to launch a blow that will take care of his—or her,” Octavia said with a grin, “opponent. Plus it’s being able to add up one’s strengths and weaknesses—like income in and income out—to figure out if the end result is a net gain.”
Ana Maria laughed in response, but then began to think about what her friend had said. “So is it your belief that all things can be calculated so precisely? Figuring out if there is a net gain, even if there are some weaknesses along the way?”
Octavia raised a mischievous eyebrow. “Of course I do. Especially when it comes to achieving one’s goals. You have to invest something before you get your return on investment, after all.”
“I have no idea what you two are discussing,” Jane interjected, “but if it ends up with Lady Ana Maria getting something she wants, I think it is worth further pursuit.” Jane nodded firmly as she spoke, making Ana Maria keenly aware of how many champions she had that she hadn’t even been aware of.
Octavia looked knowingly at Ana Maria, whose cheeks started to heat under her friend’s pointed expression. Worth further pursuit. So instead of feeling mortified by today’s events, she should review them, and calculate whether or not she wished them to happen again.
Not that she would force her decision on Nash, of course; that would be wrong. But she could talk it out with him. If he truly did not want to teach her those kinds of things in addition to self-defense, perhaps he would assist her in finding someone who would.
And then there was the net gain Octavia herself had just offered.
“Do you really mean it?” Ana Maria asked. Octavia looked confused. “About the decorating of the club, would you trust me to handle it entirely by myself?”
Octavia’s expression cleared. “Yes, absolutely. Don’t tell me you hadn’t thought of it yourself.”
“She had.” Jane interrupted before Ana Maria could find the words. “She said she’d like to have a hand in decorating things, that she wants to be useful. Not like before, mind, she’s too much of a grand lady for that.” She accompanied her words with a quelling look toward Ana Maria, as though reminding her that yes, she was a grand lady, and Ana Maria had to be fine with that. “So your suggestion isn’t one she hasn’t thought of herself.”
Octavia looked bemused, which made Ana Maria want to laugh again, even though she also wanted to shake Jane. Two warring impulses, as suited her contrariness.
Wanting to kiss him while also wanting to punch him.
Though since the “him” in question was Nash, she wasn’t certain those were contradictions; she thought that Sebastian and Thaddeus might think the same, albeit replacing the kissing part with a “drink alcoholic beverages and get ribald with one another” part.
Nash was, as she well knew, worthy of both extreme loyalty and utter frustration.
But Octavia was speaking. It wasn’t the time to be thinking of Nash and his kisses and his fists.
Even though that seemed like all she could think about lately.
“And we’ll draw up a contract, and your fees, and your expenses,” Octavia was saying. “Henry will keep an accounting of what purchases you make, and we’ll need to agree on that amount, since it won’t do the club any good if we spend too much on its decoration. People really only want to gamble in a pleasant place that looks nothing like their own surroundings. At least in my experience.” She glanced around Ana Maria’s salon. “Well, that is, most people’s surroundings don’t look like this.” She accompanied her words with a delighted smile, turning what could have been understood as an insult into something quite the opposite.
Making Ana Maria feel valued for her differences as opposed to being vilified for them. Or her inability to hide the difference of her birth, being made to atone for her audacity in being born at all, since she wasn’t the result of the second duchess’s marriage.
That constant awareness of not being wanted had stayed with her, despite her attempts to fit in. To belong.
Because, ultimately, she didn’t belong. Not belowstairs as a scullery maid, and definitely not above, dreaming only of one’s future husband and how many gowns one could own.
Though she did admit to enjoying the gowns.
If she hadn’t known what it was like on the other side, however, she wouldn’t have gained the valuable perspective of what life was like for all sorts of people.
That oxymoron thing again—both belonging and not. Of two worlds while not being anchored in either one.
“Ana Maria?”
“My lady?”
Octavia’s and Jane’s voices came to her through the fog of her thoughts, and she shook herself free, of her own warring emotions when it came to herself and to him.
She did know one thing for certain. She was going to take Octavia’s commission and make herself—if nobody else—proud.
“What is it?” she asked, summoning the bland smile that had served her so well for all the years spent dealing with the duchess.
Only Octavia and Jane both frowned in response, and her smile faded, replaced by her own frown.
“You looked odd,” Octavia said bluntly. “But you’re fine now. Will you do it? Starting soon?”
Now Ana Maria’s smile was warm and genuine. “Yes. If you want me—and even if you didn’t—I will do it.”
“Excellent,” Octavia replied, her own mouth curling up into a pleased smile. “And then we will tackle your other project.”
Ana Maria swept her hand out to knock her teacup over before Jane could follow up her curious look with a question.
“What is the occasion?” Sebastian asked, drawing his watch from his pocket.
Nash put his palm over the watch face. “No occasion. And no consulting your watch. I know you are in love, but you have to ignore all that just for one evening.”
The two, along with Thaddeus, were in Nash’s library making preparations to go out. The library was Nash’s refuge, a room he’d kept determinedly closed to anyone who wanted him to make a decision. Or not drink and then punch someone.
It had been too long, what with Sebastian getting married, Thaddeus getting the dukedom, and Nash having to go be social. Nash had woken up with an urgent desire to return to the time when he could be out all night drinking and possibly brawling without any consequences.
Of course there would be consequences, he knew that, but he would ignore them until tomorrow.
“Miss Ivy’s?” Thaddeus said, taking a sip of his whiskey. Thaddeus sat on Nash’s sofa, the one specially tailored to fit Nash’s frame. Thaddeus was nearly as tall as Nash, but he didn’t take advantage of the sofa’s specifications to lounge; of course not, he was a former military man who would be horrified to find himself lounging.
Nash wondered what it would take to make Thaddeus lose his reserve.
Nash shook his head. “No, Sebastian would spend all the time mooning about his wife.”
“I would not!” Sebastian exclaimed.
Nash and Thaddeus both gave him pointed looks, at which point he held his hands up in surrender.
“We could just stay here,” Nash said, glancing around the room.
“Less chance for you to get into a fight. Unless you take umbrage with something Seb says,” Thaddeus remarked. “And it has been too long, I feel the need to forget about any kind of responsibility tonight.” He downed his whiskey, pouring himself another draft.
Nash and Sebastian both stared at him. Thaddeus was the most moderate of them, usually.
“Being a duke is a vast amount of responsibility,” Nash said. “All that having to make decisions, and provide for people—”
“Not every duke feels the need to provide for people as you do,” Sebastian said. He raised his glass toward Nash. “I salute your good deeds, even though you try to hide them.”
Nash felt an unaccustomed blush reach his cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He dashed some more whiskey into his glass, tipping it up and drinking most of it down in one big gulp.
Thaddeus made a noise of disbelief. “You cannot think we haven’t seen. Not only do you employ all of your half siblings, but you have an open hand for anyone who needs it.” Sebastian nodded in agreement.
“Shut up,” Nash growled. “This is supposed to be a night of ruckus and carousing, not of recounting things I’ve done.” He finished his glass. “A night where we spend time together as we used to, unencumbered—” By responsibility, by grandmothers, by emotion.
Sebastian made a motion to withdraw his pocket watch again, only to pause at Nash’s accusing stare. “Fine. Is it hard to believe I want to spend time with my wife?”
Nash felt an unaccustomed pang of envy at Sebastian’s fond tone. What would it be like to want to spend time with a wife?
The future he was planning for himself—that he knew was the only future he could allow—was the opposite of that. He wanted to find someone not to care for.
Damn it. There wasn’t enough whiskey in the house, let alone the world, to drown out the ache in his chest when he thought about it. But as his friends had noticed, he owned his responsibilities, and he would have to ensure the title didn’t fall into the wrong hands.
“Let’s go to one of those clubs you insisted I join,” Nash said abruptly, addressing Sebastian.
“They won’t let me in any longer, now that I’m not one of you lot.”
“But you are with us,” Thaddeus replied, unconsciously assuming a military posture.
“The bastard scapegrace who works at a gambling house?” Sebastian said in a dubious tone.
“The former scapegrace. You’re still a bastard, but at least you’re settled down,” Nash replied.
Sebastian shrugged. “Fine. And this way, if they argue about letting me in, you can begin to brawl, which I know you’re eager to do anyway. How long has it been since you’ve been in a fight?” He paused as he thought. “It must be at least a month. That is longer than you’ve ever gone, isn’t it?”
Right. They didn’t know about his punching Lord Brunley. Or the would-be assailant at the docks. And he wouldn’t tell them, since she’d said she could handle both situations on her own. Even though he knew she couldn’t have. He especially didn’t want any kind of scandal to erupt out of the Brunley incident—that would be the worst possible outcome.
“Mmph,” he grunted in agreement.
“To the club, then,” Thaddeus said, getting up from the sofa and placing his glass on the table.
That was what he had been longing for, Nash thought fuzzily. He stood on wobbly legs in his bedroom removing his clothing, shedding them where he stood.
Usually Finan would be assisting him, but he’d told him to get some sleep, since he didn’t know what time he’d be home.
His knuckles were satisfyingly bruised, thanks to some earl’s heir taking offense at Sebastian being at the club. The gentleman hadn’t put up much of a fight, and had apologized, but at least there had been some punching. Justified punching.
And he hadn’t thought about what he had to do, or her, or about his duties for nearly three hours.
But now he was home, rapidly getting naked, and it would all return tomorrow.
And, he had to admit, it wasn’t as satisfying as it was just a few months ago. Perhaps he was changing, as Finan had said. Making the choice to be a different person, as she was choosing who she would be.
But that was a thought for tomorrow also.
Right now he was just going to crawl into his bed and sleep, knowing he had done all he could that evening to return to who he used to be. Even though he knew, and was nearly grateful, that that person no longer existed.
“Nash is over there,” Thaddeus said as they entered the ballroom. As though she hadn’t immediately searched for him and knew precisely where he was.
Damn it.
Nash stood at the edge of the room, his grandmother seated beside him, her mouth pressed into a disapproving line. At least Ana Maria supposed it was disapproval; the Carlyles, who were giving the party that evening, were renowned for their excellent hospitality, so she didn’t think it had anything to do with the food and beverage.
As if on cue, a footman passed by carrying a tray of what looked to be the tiniest of finger sandwiches—pinkie sandwiches, actually—with a festive topping of a few pieces of green something and an olive.
She nodded when the footman met her gaze, and he handed her one of the treats on top of a small square of fabric. Thaddeus picked two of them up, popping one into his mouth and chewing efficiently. Of course.
The sandwich was even more delicious than it appeared—the bread was warm, as though it had just come from the oven, and the filling was a pȃté with a fig spread.
“Oh, that’s good,” she said, surreptitiously sticking her finger in her mouth to catch a drop of the spread.
She met his gaze across the room, and her eyes widened at the intensity she saw there. A hunger, as though she was a delicious sandwich herself, and he was starving.
Was he starving?
And if he was, why wouldn’t he feast? It wasn’t as though there was any pretense between them. She’d laid it all out for him. She’d said it wouldn’t mean anything. That he’d be helping her.
Except the small fact that she had thought about him in a certain way for a very long time and she’d never admitted it to anyone, not even herself.
So maybe there was pretense. But there didn’t have to be.
“I’ll go say hello to Nash and his grandmother,” Ana Maria said, wishing she didn’t sound so out of breath. So breathless.
“Excellent. I will be in the gaming room.”
Ana Maria looked at Thaddeus in surprise.
“Not gaming, of course. But I find the people I most wish to speak to are most often to be found in the gaming room. It makes logical sense. They are good at calculating risk, and so they like to prove their own competency.”
Ana Maria nodded, not quite understanding, but not needing to. Thaddeus did not like to dance at parties, didn’t seem to like parties very much in general, so it was to be expected he’d find the least party-like atmosphere possible.
Heaven help it when—or if—he fell in love. He’d have to deal with all sorts of illogical emotions.
“Well,” she said, suppressing a grin, “I will meet up with you later.”
“Yes.”
She turned to find the quickest way to reach him, still aware of his gaze on her, a gaze that hadn’t seemed to waver when she was speaking to Thaddeus. No wonder other young ladies hadn’t yet discovered his charm; he was thoroughly and entirely focused on her, which would dissuade anybody who even thought about deepening an acquaintanceship.
Perhaps that was more the problem than his general gruntiness.
She paused, wondering if she should share her insight with Thaddeus when a sharp, and not altogether altruistic, emotion bubbled up inside. If he was focused on her, then he’d be . . . focused on her.
Which was a pleasant thought. Or more than pleasant, actually. A surge of something she thought might be desire, might even be passion, coursed through her, making her feel warmer than she already was.
Oh dear.
“Good evening, my lady.”
Lord Brunley stood in front of her, making her draw up abruptly. He didn’t look at all as though their last encounter had included a fire poker, a large, brutish duke, and the spillage of what she presumed was excellent alcohol.
He looked—smug. As though she should be honored by his condescension.
Really. Were all men this clueless, or was it just her luck to know the especially clueless ones?
Whatever the answer was, it was not a good answer.
“Good evening, my lord. If you will excuse me—?” She hated that her voice rose up at the end, as if she were asking his permission.
“I spoke with your cousin, the Duke of Hasford, and he seemed to regard my courting you as a good thing.”
Lord Brunley was clueless when dealing with people of both genders. Very egalitarian of him.
“And I would like to begin again, if I may. I realize I might have seemed overly—”
“Aggressive?” Ana Maria blurted.
He looked annoyed. Which was better than smug, so she’d take it.
“Infatuated, I was going to say.” He frowned, giving her a sharp look of disapproval.
Fine. She’d take his disapproval and fling it back at him, coating him as thoroughly with it as she’d been coated with the spilled brandy.
“Might I ask for the honor of a dance?” He was already reaching for the dance card that dangled from her wrist.
She couldn’t refuse, not without causing a scene.
Why did polite Society have to be so . . . polite all the time?
She allowed him to scribble his name on one of the lines, hoping that particular dance wouldn’t be a waltz.
Her eyes found Nash again as she recalled waltzing with him the same night as the poker incident. How he looked at her, as though he were really seeing her for the first time.
The way he moved, strong and assured, as though he knew his body well and knew what it was capable of.
And now the room seemed even hotter.
“If you will excuse me,” Ana Maria said, this time not waiting for Brunley to respond.
She moved toward Nash, feeling how her breath was quickening, and how her body felt tight in her evening gown.
And how his gaze tracked her as she made her way through the crowd.
Nash tried to stop looking at her.
But he wasn’t very good at denying himself anything—when had he ever needed to?
He was a duke, after all. Dukes did not deny themselves. Even he, who wasn’t a particularly ducal duke, wasn’t told no, either by himself or anyone else.
But he’d told her no.
A decision that had him in agony. He wanted to kiss her again, do more than that, find out how responsive she’d be under his touch, share her laughter. Touch her golden skin.
But he couldn’t care for her—not more than he did already—and kissing her, and more, would intensify whatever feelings he already had.
“That duke’s cousin is coming toward us,” his grandmother remarked.
He nearly snapped at her that he already knew, but the dowager duchess had no idea of his current obsession. Or any of his past obsessions, honestly.
She didn’t know him. All she knew was that he was hopefully less bad than his father, which he had to prove by marrying and fathering an heir.
He could do this.
“I don’t understand why she isn’t under consideration,” the dowager duchess continued. “You are already acquainted with her, she doesn’t seem to dislike you, and she has good breeding, even if her brother turned out not to be the duke, after all.”
Excellent recommendation for a potential spouse: familiarity with one another, an absence of loathing, and a family that was listed in Debrett’s.
No wonder he found most of what was supposed to be his world so unexciting, if this was how they chose their marriage partners.
But she was nearly here. He clamped his jaw, willing himself not to let one speck of his desire for her emerge. That wouldn’t be fair to her, especially since she had kissed him. If it then seemed he was interested, despite his protestations from earlier in the day? And then rebuffed her again?
He’d be no better than those silly debutantes who blew hot and cold, making their potential suitors frantic with confusion.
Not that he’d experienced that himself; he hadn’t gotten close enough to any of those silly debutantes to gauge their emotional weather forecast.
Which was an odd way to put it.
And that kind of thinking was likely also why he was currently unattached, with no prospects for changing that. Except for the one woman he’d explicitly told no.
Excellent planning, Nash, he thought. If he could, he’d take himself to his boxing room and slap himself silly.
“Good evening, Na—Your Grace,” she said. Her cheeks were a delicious-looking pink, and her eyes sparkled. She glanced over toward his grandmother. “And good evening to you, Your Grace.”
His grandmother inclined her head very slightly. As always, subtly reminding anyone who came into her orbit that she was far better than they were. At least in her own mind.
“Good evening, my lady,” Nash said. His voice sounded rough, and he cleared his throat in a likely futile attempt to sound more like the other gentlemen in the room. Gentlemen who knew what to say and when to say it, who didn’t have crises of conscience when lovely young women they’d known all their lives suddenly kissed them.
It was unfortunate it was Sebastian’s sister he had kissed, because otherwise he could ask his much more experienced friend just what to do in this situation. But it was his best friend’s older sister, and he could not let anyone know how he truly felt.
“Lady Ana Maria is addressing you, Your Grace.”
He heard his grandmother’s words as though through a fog, a fog that was curvaceous and laughing, that made him want to feel things.
Which was truly dangerous. That kind of feeling fog could also make him feel far too much, which would inevitably lead to passion and desire and other darker emotions. Things like jealousy and lust and longing.
“Yes, my apologies, my lady.” He tried to use the tone his secretary, Robert, employed when he was letting Nash know he disapproved of something without actually saying it.
Her sparkling gaze dimmed for a moment, and he felt the rush of another intense emotion—self-loathing. Why couldn’t he do this without hurting the people he loved?
No. No, he didn’t love her. He cared for her, as the sister of his best friend, as a person he had known his entire life. He didn’t love her.
He couldn’t.
Because if he did, he would hurt her.
“I was remarking that I have a few open spots on my dance card,” Ana Maria said. She raised the card in question, and he noticed the only claimed dance was with Lord Brunley.
He heard a noise, and realized it was a growl. Coming from him.
She raised an eyebrow. “So from that, I understand that you would like to claim a dance?”
His grandmother cleared her throat in a meaningful way.
But damned if he could figure out the meaning. Did she want him to dance with Ana Maria because then he would be seen dancing, and therefore, possibly, more appealing to the ladies he would dare to court? Or did she want him to gently reject Ana Maria, because then it might be misconstrued that they were courting, and therefore he was not an eligible candidate for the ladies he would dare to court?
Yes, it was entirely ironic that he wished she had just spoken instead of making a noise. Ironic and also aggravating.
But Ana Maria was still looking up at him, a challenging expression on her face.
He took the small pencil she held in her other hand and scribbled his name next to the supper dance. It would mean spending more time with her than just the usual dance would require, but it would also mean that there was no possibility she would get stuck with some lord for all that time who was only hungry for her dowry and didn’t appreciate the woman attached to all that money.
“Thank you, Nash,” she murmured, taking the pencil back from him. She glanced behind him to where his grandmother sat. “Pardon me, Your Grace, I am going to find my cousin, the duke.” She returned her gaze to Nash. “I am looking forward to our dance. You should ask some other ladies to dance also, I am certain they would appreciate it.”
But her words didn’t match her expression, and now he couldn’t even figure out what words meant, not when the person speaking had such a different look on their face than what one would have expected.
“Uh, yes,” he said, feeling more and more like an idiot.
An idiot who was most definitely not in love with anybody and whose only strong emotions were for fisticuffs and whiskey.
Keep telling yourself that, a voice said in his head.
He gritted his teeth as she walked away, his eyes unable to keep from following the gentle sway of her hips.
“It is unfortunate you have deemed her not suitable,” his grandmother said in an acerbic tone. “Because she is the only lady I have seen you speak with that seemed to understand you.”
And that’s what made her so dangerous.