“So we’re decided,” Ana Maria said. “The magenta for the main wall, the dark blue for the others.”
Octavia nodded as she looked down at the fabric samples laid on top of one of the green gaming tables. “You have an excellent eye, I never would have thought of putting those two colors together, but they work perfectly.”
Ana Maria smiled in response. “And then we will re-cover the chairs in that purple later on.”
“When we can afford it,” Octavia said with a grimace. “The club is still doing well, but Ivy is so conservative with money.” She gave an exasperated sigh. “I wish she would just leave everything to me—she could spend more time with Sebastian, but she just can’t seem to let go.”
“I suppose she enjoys having a purpose.”
“Besides kissing your brother?” Octavia said with a sly grin.
Ana Maria made a face. “I do not want to think of my brother doing that, even though I know he does.”
“She does like working, I know that. I believe Sebastian presented her with some sort of option that would require her leaving the club, but she said no.”
Being able to say no to something like that—that was what she wanted. That was what she was going to take.
As long as she could also say yes.
“And what now?” Octavia said, interrupting her decidedly inappropriate thoughts. “The Duke of Malvern’s house?” Her eyebrows rose.
Ana Maria’s cheeks flushed. “Not today, although—”
“You don’t have to say anything,” Octavia interrupted, holding her hand up. “You don’t have to, it’s all over your face.”
“He is teaching me self-defense,” Ana Maria said. Defensively.
“And he’s still teaching you other things, judging by your blush.” Octavia folded her arms over her chest and regarded her friend with a skeptical expression. “I want you to blush for all the right reasons. Just—be careful.”
“Of course I will.” It was an automatic response, one borne out of always agreeing with the other person. Something she needed to stop. “But why be careful?”
Octavia shrugged. “I’ve heard he is on the market for a bride, and I did not hear your name mentioned.”
Ana Maria’s stomach twisted. “Let me guess—Lady Felicity?”
Octavia nodded. “Yes—we have a betting book in the club, and right now she’s at 2–1 odds to land him.”
“People bet on that kind of thing?” Ana Maria said, appalled.
Octavia laughed. “People will bet on all kinds of things. Miss Ivy’s just facilitates their foolishness.”
“I’ll be careful, I promise.” Her eyes widened as she had a thought. “Is there a betting book on my marriage?”
Octavia winced. “Uh—yes, actually.”
“Tell me.”
Octavia shook her head. “You do not want to know. Just let me tell you that your self-defense instructor is at very long odds.”
Oh. So even random gamblers thought it was a long shot.
Not that she wanted to marry him, of course, since he was so firm in his resolve not to marry her. And a host of other inarticulate annoyingly irritating reasons. But she didn’t want to seem to be not wanted.
Because that was how she’d spent the first twenty-seven years of her life, except for Sebastian, Thaddeus, and—him.
“Instead of waiting until your next . . . lesson,” Octavia said with a wink, clearly changing the subject, “why don’t you come here this evening when we are open so you can take a risk yourself?”
Risks, lessons, and commands, Ana Maria thought in satisfaction as she left Miss Ivy’s clutching her fabric samples.
She was going to do what she wanted, regardless of anyone else.
She was not doing what she wanted.
The afternoon was perfect—it was the rarest of days in London, temperate, sunny, with just a slight breeze.
The horses were, as Lord Brunley had promised, attractive in their equine way. Not that Ana Maria had the slightest idea of what made for an attractive horse, but she did smile when she saw their long faces.
She’d worn a new afternoon dress that made her especially happy—it was pale blue, the color of the sky right now, with sprigs of tiny flowers all over the skirt. She had a shawl in a complementary blue shade, and her bonnet was festooned with blue ribbons.
If she weren’t seated next to Lord Brunley, she would be doing precisely what she wanted.
She made a mental reminder to ask Thaddeus about purchasing a carriage suitable for her to take out on her own.
“Did my flowers arrive?” Lord Brunley asked as he and Ana Maria nodded to the other couples currently driving in the park.
“I’m certain they did,” Ana Maria replied. “I got an enormous delivery just the other day.” Fletchfield had curated the flowers so that the ones she liked best were in her bedroom, and the others were in the salon.
“An enormous delivery, hm?” Lord Brunley said, sounding displeased.
Of course. She wished she could smack herself on the head. It sounded as though she were bragging about her popularity, when really she was just reporting what had happened. Not that Lord Brunley couldn’t be taken down a notch, but it felt mean to do it deliberately.
“I suppose some of the flowers came from the Duke of Malvern?”
Ana Maria repressed a snort. “No, Nash isn’t the flower type.” He’d be more likely to send her boxing gloves, or perhaps a poker especially made for thwarting aggressive suitors.
She would not mention that to Lord Brunley.
“Ah.” Lord Brunley sounded pleased, which irked Ana Maria.
She wished she weren’t so easily irked by him, but really, he was so smug it was impossible.
“Speaking of the duke, there he is. With Lady Felicity, if I’m not mistaken.” Oh, now he sounded even more smug.
And there they were. Her eyes went to him first, noting his immaculate cravat, his well-fitted jacket, and how tall he appeared in the carriage seat next to the dainty Lady Felicity.
She was also perfectly garbed, wearing a pale yellow gown and a delightfully festive bonnet strewn with flowers that made Ana Maria both admiring and envious.
Perfect for Lady Oxymoron.
“Good afternoon, Your Grace, my lady,” Lord Brunley said, slowing his horses.
Nash’s lips clamped into a thin line as he saw who was greeting them, and he barely met Ana Maria’s gaze before glaring at Lord Brunley.
“Good afternoon,” Lady Felicity called, taking the opportunity to place her hand on Nash’s arm in what Ana Maria knew was a deliberate show of ownership.
Had he proposed already? Despite what had happened between the two of them so recently?
Her gut churned with jealousy and worry; jealousy for obvious reasons, worry because no matter what happened between them, they were friends, and she just didn’t think he would be happy with someone like Lady Felicity.
But perhaps that was the point? Maybe he didn’t want to be happy?
“The day is splendid, isn’t it? I wanted to show Lady Ana Maria what my new pair could do, and I cannot imagine a better venue for it.”
Lord Brunley even seemed to take credit for the pleasant weather. His former humility was apparently something he’d discarded in the bright light of day.
“It is.” Nash spoke in a curt tone. He still had barely looked at her.
That was not to be tolerated.
“Your Grace,” she said, making his eyes snap to hers, “I wonder if you are planning to visit Miss Ivy’s soon? I understand they are making changes to the interior.”
He looked entirely confused. Of course, since she was asking him about a gambling house and engaging him on the topic of interior design, for goodness’ sake.
“Miss Ivy’s,” Lord Brunley said. “That is the place that anyone can go, is it not?”
Lady Felicity sniffed.
“Yes,” Ana Maria replied. “It is owned by my sister-in-law, actually.”
“Ah, I’d forgotten.” Lord Brunley gave her hand a condescending pat. The snob.
“I have not been there,” Lady Felicity said, turning to Nash. “Perhaps you would take me sometime? I don’t always mind rubbing elbows with just anybody,” she added, with a quick glance toward Ana Maria, as if Ana Maria could possibly misconstrue the barb.
Nash grunted in reply, making Lady Felicity preen as if he’d said yes.
But Ana Maria could have told the lady that that particular grunt was a noncommittal “I don’t think so, but it’s not worth my time to argue” type of response.
Lady Felicity clearly did not speak inarticulate Nash.
“Well, we should be going. I don’t want to make my horses stand around any longer,” Lord Brunley said. He tipped his hat toward Lady Felicity. “We will see you both soon,” he added, making Ana Maria want to smack him. His words made it seem as though he and Ana Maria were a “we,” when they most certainly were not.
And there were no pokers at the ready in a carriage. She should have brought something in case he decided to plead his case again.
“Goodbye,” Lady Felicity said, shooting one more superior look toward Ana Maria.
Ana Maria’s only consolation was that Nash looked as uncomfortable and miserable as she felt.
If he married Lady Felicity, he would continue to be uncomfortable and miserable. She would have to broach that subject with him sometime, warn him about his future, since she knew neither Sebastian nor Thaddeus would think to.
Men.
“It’s beautiful!”
Ana Maria stepped into Miss Ivy’s, her eyes wide with wonder at the sight. The workmen Octavia had hired had done wonders, completing the task of re-covering the walls in only a few days. Spurred on, no doubt, by Octavia’s charm and promise of extra payment if the work was done quickly.
Octavia beamed at Ana Maria’s compliment, taking her friend’s arm and leading her toward the walls. “It looks marvelous, and it is all thanks to you.”
Ana Maria shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t have even dreamt of suggesting it if you weren’t so open to the change.”
Octavia shrugged modestly. “I am always open to change. That is the mark of a good business person.”
Ana Maria chuckled softly as she scrutinized the new hangings. She should adopt Octavia’s attitude of being more open to change, especially given that Octavia never seemed to regret anything, and was likely the type of person to ask a gentleman to kiss her if she wanted him to.
And it meant a lot, then, that Octavia had taken her suggestions, since Ana Maria had no doubt her friend would say something if she disagreed with the decision. The magenta and dark blue made the room look even more sumptuous than before, and Octavia had unearthed some gold sconces to place on the walls, taking down some of the paintings her sister had initially chosen for decoration.
“It’s early, so we can spend some time together before I have to start work. Come through here,” Octavia said, tugging Ana Maria’s arm and guiding her toward the other end of the room. She swept aside a curtain, opening a door that led into Octavia’s personal rooms.
She led her toward the room that was the club’s storage space, holding a desk for business and supplies for the club.
“Why here?” Ana Maria said in surprise. The other times she’d visited, they’d taken tea in the small salon between the bedrooms.
Octavia rolled her eyes. “Because your brother and my sister absconded with all the liquor except for the whiskey Ivy tucked into this drawer.”
Ana Maria’s eyes widened. “So we’re having whiskey?”
Octavia grinned. “Of course, we have to toast to your success!”
Ana Maria allowed her friend to guide her to the chair in front of the desk, then waited as Octavia poured two glasses of the brown liquid.
Had she ever had whiskey before?
She took the glass from Octavia’s hand, sniffing it gingerly. It smelled powerful.
Octavia held her own glass up, waiting for Ana Maria. “I want to thank you for your work, and I know this is just the beginning of your future.”
Ana Maria felt a warmth kindle inside her, and she hadn’t even had any alcohol yet. It felt so good, and so unusual, to be appreciated for something she’d done. She’d accomplished many things in her life—notably household chores and the occasional capture of runaway poultry—but nobody had ever noticed or thanked her.
“I didn’t do much, honestly. I just chose the fabrics. Anybody could do that.”
Octavia gestured with her glass toward Ana Maria. “Anybody could have done it, but only you could have done it so well.” She gave Ana Maria an assessing glance. “And speaking of only you could have done it so well, I do admire your gown.”
Ana Maria glanced down in pleasure. The gown was another frothy confection that made her feel like a decadent dessert, encased in layers of pink tulle and satin and augmented with darker pink ribbons at the bottom. Jane had made that face when Ana Maria had asked her to bring it out of the closet, so she knew it must look stunning on her. Jane obviously didn’t want to say so, but clearly she thought Ana Maria was too naive to negotiate Society and would be tempting danger by looking too fabulous.
She’d accessorized it with ruby earrings Sebastian had given her, one of the many gifts he’d bestowed on her as soon as he’d inherited the title. Making up for lost time, he’d said, even though Ana Maria thought it was entirely unnecessary.
Still, it was nice to have nice things. And, she’d discovered, she did like to look fabulous. If only for her own satisfaction.
“Thank you,” she said at last, “and thank you for the kind words about the hangings.”
“Words that are well deserved. Come on, now,” Octavia commanded, “drink up! The club will start to fill up in about an hour. I want you to see its full splendor.” Octavia downed her glass, wiping her mouth as she finished drinking.
The liquor burned her throat, and Ana Maria couldn’t help but cough. As soon as that was over, however, she felt a delicious warmth flowing through her body, her mouth tingling from the sting of the whiskey.
“Good, isn’t it?” Octavia said, pouring more into their glasses.
“I don’t think I should have any more,” Ana Maria said, clearing her throat.
Octavia squinted at her. “Because you don’t want any more or you think you shouldn’t have any more?”
Ana Maria tilted her head as she considered it. “Fine. One more, but then that’s it.”
The second drink went down smoother than the first, now that she knew what to expect, and that delicious warmth only increased, making her feel as though she were encased in soft cotton.
“Is this what it feels like to be drunk? All happy and floaty?” she asked, frowning at her friend.
Octavia shook her head. “It’s just a little bit of whiskey. I think you’re feeling proud and confident in your work.”
“Perhaps,” Ana Maria conceded. She did feel proud of what she’d done, of what she was planning to do. “Should we go back to the club? I want to see how your customers react to the new decorations.”
“Don’t expect them to say much,” Octavia warned. “They’re mostly interested in how much money they think they can win.”
“I want to gamble, too,” Ana Maria announced, getting to her feet. She gripped the arm of the chair she’d been sitting in, steadying herself. She smiled widely at Octavia, who returned the smile. “I think I like choosing what I want to do. And pink gowns and whiskey,” she added, giving her friend a wink.
Octavia laughed as they left the office and made their way back to the club.
Nash strode in to Miss Ivy’s with one goal: to get a drink. Certainly he could have stayed at home and accomplished the same thing, but here he was surrounded by people who were not his half siblings. He knew that most of them were grateful to have been rescued by him, but he did not want to be treated as though he had done anything beyond what should be done, even if nobody else had done it.
He blinked as he tried to figure out his own reasoning.
Stuff it, he wanted to leave the house, he could leave the house, and so here he was. Thirsty.
And she had mentioned Miss Ivy’s, which had made him wonder if she would be here as well. Not that that was why he had come out. But it had reminded him that he did like it here.
“Welcome, Your Grace.” The burly gentleman who’d nearly tossed Sebastian out the first time Nash brought him in greeted him with an expression of guarded respect. Likely because they were the only two men in the room who knew they could best everyone else in the room. Though that had yet to be put to the test.
Nash grunted in response, threading his way through the crowd to the small bar at the right-hand side of the room. There weren’t too many customers there, and most of them quickly glanced away when they met Nash’s eyes, which gratified him. He liked coming to Miss Ivy’s because there were people of so many different types here, ranging from clerks and merchants to country squires in town for some fun to what appeared to be some housekeepers and governesses. The rule in Miss Ivy’s was that anyone could enter as long as they could pay for their play.
And their drinks.
Nash sat down at the bar, waiting for the server to notice him.
“Good evening.”
He turned slowly at the sound of her voice, startled out of his fervent desire for a drink. Something only her presence could accomplish.
“You’re here,” he said, sounding incredibly stupid to his own ears. “Gambling?”
“I’m here for the decorations,” she replied, gesturing grandly toward the wall. He frowned in puzzlement, then glanced toward the wall, which did appear different from the last time he’d been here, not that he could figure out what had changed. Right. She’d mentioned something about redecorating, but he hadn’t paid too much attention. He’d been too focused on wanting to toss Lord Brunley and his perfectly coiffed head onto the ground.
“I didn’t do the work myself,” she explained, speaking in what sounded like a deliberately exaggerated tone of voice, “but I chose the fabrics.” She poked him in the shoulder. “From that place I was leaving when that man accosted me!” she exclaimed.
“When you tried to subdue him with some cloth?” Nash said in a skeptical tone.
“Yes! And that is when you decided I should have self-defense lessons. Not that you’ve taught me much yet,” she added.
No, because the only time he’d tried, they’d ended up kissing. And then he had ended up regretting, and feeling horrible, and caring too much for her, and then he had gone and done it all again. Although she had been the one to want to do it again. He had just obliged her. Happily.
“Do you like them?”
Nash stared at the wall for a few moments, trying to form some sort of opinion. He usually avoided having to choose things, because choosing things would mean that he cared about something, and the only things he wanted to care about were ensuring his father’s bastards were provided for, his ability to hit someone who deserved it, and his whiskey.
Not in that order.
“I like the colors,” he said at last.
She rolled her eyes. Clearly he had not done a very good job of expressing an opinion.
“Let’s try something easier.”
The server came to stand in front of them, and Nash pointed to the whiskey in relief.
“I’ll take one of those, too,” she said to the server, who nodded.
“You?” he asked in surprise.
She gave a vigorous nod of her head. “I had some with Miss Octavia, and I think I like it. But I need more experience to know for certain.”
Ah. That explained why she seemed so vivacious. The server placed two glasses in front of them, pouring whiskey into both and leaving the bottle on the bar.
“You might not want any more,” he warned as she went to pick up her glass. “You’ll have a devil of a head tomorrow if you drink to excess.”
“You drink to excess, don’t you?” She frowned. Which honestly made her look completely adorable. “Besides, it is my choice.”
He took a deep breath. He didn’t think he’d ever been in the position of being the reasonable one in a situation, and yet here he was, having to dissuade a young lady from drinking too much whiskey.
Because too much whiskey would leave her vulnerable to—well, to gentlemen like him who might see her literal high spirits as an opportunity for inappropriate behavior.
But she wanted to kiss me—twice—when she was completely sober.
Never mind that.
“Tell me about the fabrics,” he said, trying to change the subject. “Speaking of choice, how did you come to choose those particular colors?”
There. That was a question that was more than a yes or no question, and if he could get her talking about something she was obviously enthusiastic about, perhaps she would forget she was asking him about alcohol. And how much she could drink and how much he did drink.
She picked up her glass and grinned at him as she tapped it against his, holding it up in front of her face, then taking a sip and setting it down.
So much for forgetting about alcohol.
At least she hadn’t drunk all of it.
“Do you really want to know?” she asked, sounding suspicious. “Because I don’t think you’ve ever thought about color choice before.”
He tried not to look guilty. “I don’t know that I have, but I think I should,” he said. He’d never allowed himself to think about colors, about anything other than muting his world. But now he wanted to learn. From her. “And who better to teach me than you what the best choices are?” He gestured toward her gown. “It’s obvious you care what you present to the world, what with your silver and pink gowns.”
Her cheeks turned pink to match her gown. “You noticed that gown?”
How could I not? You looked like starlight.
“Uh, it’s just that it was so different from what the other young ladies were wearing.” I couldn’t help but notice. I notice everything about you nowadays, from how you blush when you’re flattered, to how you challenge me when I try to rescue you, to how you can understand what I’m saying when I don’t say anything.
“Well, thank you,” she said, raising her chin. “I never got the opportunity for fine clothing before, and it is such a pleasure to look as good as you know you can.”
He rather thought that she might look as good as she could if she were entirely naked and in his bed, but he knew this was not the time to say that. Never was the time to say that, and he needed to remember that. Even though that was getting increasingly difficult every time they kissed.
“But as I was saying,” she continued, oblivious to his imagination, “the magenta—that’s the dark purplish red fabric there—has a certain richness I thought would suit Miss Ivy’s, and the dark blue adds a certain stateliness, so the two combined are reflections of Miss Ivy’s clientele.”
“Rich and stately?” he said.
She beamed at him as though he were her prize pupil. “Precisely. Or that they wish to be perceived that way, and they want their surroundings to reflect that.”
“Huh.” He poured more whiskey into his empty glass.
Two more customers sat at the bar, and while Nash was usually determined to ignore everyone around him, it seemed she did not feel the same way.
“Mrs. Lee!” she exclaimed, then leaned over to see the other person next to the lady she’d addressed. “And Mr. Lee!”
“Good evening, my lady,” the woman Ana Maria had called Mrs. Lee replied. She was a middle-aged woman with brown hair and a modest demeanor, wearing a gown in a very similar hue to the dark blue on the wall.
The man beside her was Chinese, also of middle age, wearing a dark suit and a much more intricately tied hellcloth than the one Nash had allowed Finan to put on him.
“We came to see the fabric ourselves,” Mrs. Lee said, glancing nervously toward Nash.
“And isn’t it lovely? Oh, allow me to introduce you. This is the Duke of Malvern,” Ana Maria said, placing her hand on Nash’s shoulder, “and these are the Lees. I’ve found their fabric shop to have the widest selection in London.”
“Oh, thank you, my lady,” Mrs. Lee replied. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace,” she added.
Nash nodded toward both of them.
“We have a new shipment coming in next week,” Mr. Lee said, his tone much less hesitant. “I would be glad to give you the first look at it, if you think there is something you might want.”
Ana Maria looked at Nash with an excited expression. “Isn’t that wonderful?” She turned back to the Lees. “Of course I would like to. Just send a note and I’ll pop over immediately.”
“Not without me,” Nash growled.
The Lees jumped at his words, while Ana Maria frowned. “It’s not necessary,” she said, but then immediately held her hand up in defeat. “But I know not to argue with you, so I will allow you to come.”
Nash was more than relieved he didn’t have to argue with her about it, because he’d be damned if he’d let her traipse around London again, what with being so attractive. And insistent that she could protect herself with random items like fireplace pokers and bolts of fabric.
Not to mention he hadn’t actually given her much self-defense training.
Because he’d given her training in kissing.
It seemed he was incapable of thinking straight when he was near her. And yet he couldn’t stay away.
“Today I’ll show you how to throw a punch.”
He’d woken up resolved to give her some of the training he’d promised—and not that type of training.
So, to that end, he’d told Finan he would have to stay in the room with them, and had asked her to come by at noon, but only until he had to go meet with Robert at one o’clock. Not enough time for boxing room shenanigans. Similar to terrace shenanigans, only with more punching.
He’d wrapped her wrists for her, and she stood in the middle of the floor, her hair pulled back, wearing that same old gown she’d had on earlier.
“Finally,” she replied, giving him a sly look. As though he had been the only one to delay the proceedings.
He ignored the provocation.
“First, curl the tips of your fingers into your palm. Like this,” he said, demonstrating.
She imitated his action.
“Then place your thumb on top of those fingers. It’s very important not to go the other way around. Your thumb could get injured that way.”
She nodded.
“Now,” he continued, “plant your feet so you have a steady base.”
She squinted at him in confusion. “A steady base? What does that mean?”
“Uh—” he began.
“Show her,” Finan urged, an amused tone in his voice.
Of course the blackguard had to try to cause trouble.
“Right, well, some of the force of the blow comes from your legs. You’ll be punching with your whole body, not just your fist.” He set himself in position, widening his stance as he dropped his right leg back. “Like this.”
“Ah,” she replied, her eyes narrowed in concentration.
He watched as she set herself as he had, feeling a tug of admiration at her determination to learn from him, even though she hadn’t wanted this training in the first place.
“When you punch someone, the power all comes from the arm. Not the fist. So you want to shoot it out like an arrow. Like this,” he said, demonstrating the action.
“Oh I see,” she replied, sending her fist into the air.
“Now that’s set, you should punch him,” Finan urged.
She laughed in response.
“No, but you should,” Nash said. “It’ll give you the feel of how it would really be.”
“I find punching him greatly relieves my indigestion.”
Nash shot a quick glance over his shoulder at his friend. “You’re not helping.”
Her eyebrows arched. “My stomach has been a bit unsettled lately.”
Nash grunted, then gestured toward his chin. “Come on, then.”
He braced himself for it, wanting her to know how it felt to connect, not just to toss her hand into empty space. She would need the experience if she was to properly defend herself. He didn’t want her to be unprepared.
Even though he had no intention of letting her go anywhere without him.
Her fist shot out, connecting with his jaw, making his head fly back as he staggered to maintain his footing.
He shook his head clear, hearing Finan howling in laughter just behind him. And her shocked face in front.
“It’s fine, I told you to. How did it feel?” he asked, rubbing the spot she’d hit with his hand.
“Powerful,” she replied. “Did it hurt? I am so sorry.”
“It’s fine.” He worked his jaw back and forth to ease the pain out. It wasn’t the worst hit he’d received—that had come from Finan, of course—but it was strong, and so he was proud of the hurt, knowing that he’d done something to protect her.
“I think you should try again,” Finan said.
“Goodness, no,” she blurted. “I didn’t expect it to be so intense.”
Which could describe this moment as well as any time he touched her. Placed his mouth on her full lips, ran his fingers down her curves.
And here he was back again, thinking about her in ways he should not possibly think about her. Although now she would be able to defend herself against anyone who might want to put their hands on her.
“Oh, I forgot to mention it. The Lees sent a note. It’s to be tomorrow at the docks.” She grinned up at him. “Although now you’ve taught me this, perhaps you don’t need to bother coming?”
He growled.
She rolled her eyes. “Fine, I’m not certain precisely what time. I will send a note later.” She bounced on her toes, an exhilarated expression on her face. “This is nearly as much fun as—” And then her eyes got wide, shifting quickly to Finan, clearly aware of what she’d nearly almost said.
He smothered a chuckle, regretting he couldn’t finish this training session with a training kiss.
“You’re going to the docks wearing that?”
Ana Maria raised an eyebrow at Nash’s startled tone.
He stood in her salon, hands behind his back, obviously pacing as he waited for her to arrive. They’d agreed he would pick her up at eleven o’clock, and it was barely forty-five minutes past ten. She was secretly delighted he was so early. Did it mean he was eagerly looking forward to being with her?
Although the same could be said of her, so they were paired in that sentiment.
“Are you an arbiter of fashion now?” she asked, reaching forward to tug on his sloppily tied cravat. “And what is wrong with what I am wearing?”
She glanced down, unable to resist smiling at her gown. It was made of spring green fabric, with little daisies embroidered all over it. The gown had no fewer than four flounces at the bottom, and the fichu she wore draped around her shoulders was a sheer green color also, giving a nod to discretion, but also revealing some of her bosom underneath.
“You’re—it’s—well, you look too good.”
The other eyebrow rose. “I look too good? Goodness, Nash, you will overwhelm me with compliments!” She bit her lip to keep from giggling at his obvious discomfiture.
“You will be with me, and I am certain you will deter anybody who attempts anything because I ‘look too good.’”
He rose up to his full height, drawing his arms from behind his back to fold them over his chest.
“You won’t intimidate me, Nash. Remember, we know each other too well.” Her eyes widened as she realized that what she said could be construed in a few ways, not all of them respectable.
“We do.” His gaze slid over her, a nearly tangible thing that made her shiver.
Reminding her that only a week or so ago he’d had his hand on her breast, caressing her nipple. That he’d spoken delightfully naughty things in her ear as he touched her.
“Stop that,” she said. “We won’t ever leave if you insist on looking at me that way.”
He stepped forward, unfolding his arms. “Maybe we shouldn’t leave.”
“Nash . . .”
“Call me by my name,” he said hoarsely. “Ignatius.”
She blinked. “Ignatius.” It was such an odd name for Nash; it sounded as though it belonged to a wizened old man who spent his days in his study.
He grimaced. “Yes, I know it’s ridiculous.”
“It’s not!” she exclaimed. “Just—just that I didn’t know your name. Ever.” She paused. “Do Sebastian and Thaddeus know?”
He shook his head slowly. “No. You’re the only one I’ve told.”
His admission made her warm inside, made her feel as though he did truly value her in his life. To share something with her he’d never told his closest friends meant something. Especially from “I don’t speak when I could grunt” Nash.
She patted his lapel, looking up into his handsome face. “Thank you for trusting me with that. Ignatius.”
He looked at her with an expression of such vulnerability, so different from his usual expression, that she had to swallow hard to keep herself from tearing up.
“So,” he said in his usual tone, “we had better leave so you don’t miss seeing the new shipment. I don’t want to be responsible if you lose out on purchasing more fabric to beat potential assaulters over the head with.”
She chuckled, giving his lapel one last caress.
“Yes, Ignatius, we should leave.”
He didn’t know what had made him tell her. Not that it was a deep secret; it was a name, for goodness’ sake. One that anybody could discover, if they cared to. But he hadn’t used it, not since his mother had left. She was the only one who’d called him by it, and after she left, he became Nash.
Until Ana Maria.
He escorted her out to his carriage, nodding to the coachman and the additional footmen he’d insisted come along.
He knew he could take care of Ana Maria himself, but he wanted extra protection just because.
Because she was a precious thing that should never get hurt.
Because he cared for her far more than he should.
Because he wanted her to feel safe and protected anytime she was with him.
Except when he was kissing her—then he wanted her to feel wild and dangerous. Like he did.
He was falling, he knew that. And yet he couldn’t seem to stop.
And it would only end in heartache.
“Are you all right?”
Her soft tone brought him out of his thoughts.
“Mm,” he replied. He turned to meet her eyes, their warm brown depths making him feel safe, oddly enough.
He was safe with her. She would respect his opinions, challenge him when he needed it, and listen to him on one of the rare occasions he spoke.
“Why do you want so much fabric?” he asked. “You’ve redecorated the salon, I can tell that much.”
She leaned back against the seat cushion, giving him an affronted look. “You don’t like how I redecorated?”
“I didn’t say that. It’s very—it’s very colorful.”
“That sounds nearly as complimentary as telling me I look too good,” she said with a chuckle.
He frowned, knowing she was being lighthearted, but also keenly aware of his inability to communicate how he felt.
“It’s very you,” he said at last. “When I think of you, Ana Maria, I think of joy. Of color. Of being happy, even when things seem to be miserable.”
“Oh!” she said in a startled tone. “That is—that is one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me. Thank you. Ignatius.”
“Mm,” he replied, completely embarrassed.
“When I think of you, I think of possibility,” she said.
He raised his eyebrows in question.
“By possibility I mean that you have so much within you, things I don’t think you recognize yourself. Things like kindness and empathy and power.”
“I’m powerful enough,” he retorted. The many fights he’d gotten into—and won—were testament to that.
“I don’t mean power in your brute force, though that is certainly impressive.”
He shouldn’t feel proud of that compliment, but he did.
“I mean power in what you can do for people.”
“Because I’m a duke, you mean?”
She shook her head. “Not just that, although of course you are able to do so much because of your position. I mean power in who you champion. I don’t know if you realize how much you mean to Sebastian and Thaddeus. How much you mean to me.”
He wished he could vault out of the carriage so he wouldn’t succumb to all the emotion swamping him. And yet he still wanted to hear more.
“I wouldn’t have survived without Sebastian and Thaddeus,” he said in a gruff voice. “I was so hurt, and they let me just be with them, not having to talk about it.”
“Do you want to talk about it now?” she interrupted.
He took a deep breath. “Yes.” His answer was surprising even to himself.
“Tell me,” she urged.
Ana Maria’s chest tightened as she listened to Nash pouring his heart out—about his father’s violence toward his mother, toward him. About his mother’s eventual escape, her sobbing as she left her only son behind.
“Do you know where she is?” she asked. She squeezed his hand, which she’d somehow taken hold of during his recitation.
He nodded his head slowly. “I do. I didn’t dare before, but I think I should at least make sure she is safe.”
“Always the protector,” she said with a smile.
“I used to resent her, especially right after she left.”
“Of course, you were so young, you couldn’t understand.” And Ana Maria didn’t know what decision she’d make in that situation—to stay and face more brutality, but be with your only child? Or run, knowing you might never see your child again?
Her heart hurt for Nash’s mother.
“So have you contacted her yet?” She held her breath for his answer.
He shook his head. “No. I should—I think about it. I just don’t know what I would do if I discovered she was—she was unhappy, or worse.”
She turned to look at him. His face—usually set in resolution—was so vulnerable she wanted to cry.
“You should. I’ll be there no matter what you find out.”
“And what if I can’t help her?”
She gave him a disbelieving look. “You’re a duke, Nash. You can use all that power and privilege to get anything done, if you want to. Don’t you have some smart siblings lying around your house who could assist you?”
He winced. “You know about that?”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course I do. Servants talk, remember? And until six months ago, I was a servant. They all know who your employees are. It’s hardly a secret belowstairs.”
“It was the least I could do, given my father’s . . . proclivities.”
“And I admire you for it.”
He gave a slight nod, as though reluctant to accept praise. The usual Nash. “It was Robert, my secretary, who found her.” He paused. “And when he told me, I wanted to hit him. I didn’t. I didn’t even break the vase I grabbed.” He shook his head. “But it was close.”
Ana Maria gasped. “That must have been frightening,” she replied.
He opened his mouth to contradict her, then realized she was correct. It was frightening. It was a feeling he didn’t want to have anymore—that loss of control, that worry he would do something like his father.
But he hadn’t done anything, had he, even though his temper had risen? He’d put the vase back, which would not have happened before—just ask the chair he’d destroyed when his grandmother arrived.
“But I didn’t,” he continued slowly. “I’ve been thinking about what you’ve been saying. About choice. About deciding how you want to present yourself to the world.”
“So you’ll be wearing pink and silver gowns?” She accompanied her words with a soft smile.
He chuckled as he shook his head.
“Are you going to contact her?” she asked in a gentle tone.
He nodded. “I am.” Even though that terrifies me, too. But he could not continue avoiding the things that might bring him joy or pain.
“I will be there to support you.”
He reached over to take her other hand. “Thank you.”
They sat in silence, holding both of the other’s hands, until they pulled up at the docks.
“You never did say why you need so much fabric,” he said, standing beside her in the ship’s hold.
The Lees were also there, going through boxes of their shipments, pulling out bolts they thought would be of interest to Ana Maria. She liked how they worked together—neither speaking much, just working efficiently side by side. It seemed like an ideal partnership, although of course she imagined there were hiccups along the way. It couldn’t have been easy for either one of them to be married to the other, much less run a business together.
And yet here they were, clearly doing well enough to order in quantity, enough so that a curious young lady with a penchant for bright colors could come and see what they had and buy it before it went into their shop.
“I expect to be redecorating more than a few of Thaddeus’s rooms and Miss Ivy’s. It is my hope that I can consult with other ladies who want to make their homes more reflective of them. Not of their mothers, or stepmothers, or husbands.” She paused in her fabric-browsing to think more about it. “We seldom get the opportunity to express who we really are.” She gestured to her gown. “In fact, the only way we are even offered the chance is in how we dress. And even then if what we’re wearing doesn’t suit what someone might think about us, we’re disparaged for our choice.” She shrugged. “If I can help a few ladies realize their own potential, even just through the choice of their wall hangings, it will make me happy.”
“You’re a veritable fabric Joan of Arc,” he remarked.
“Don’t make light of it. That’s what people always do when ladies express an opinion.” She was surprised to find she was angry. She so seldom was.
“I didn’t mean to make light of it,” he said, sounding humble. He put his hand on top of hers, which was resting on a length of blue-green silk. “I think I made a joke because your words resonated with me, and I don’t always know what to do with my emotions.” He paused. “Which is putting it mildly.”
“Is that why you’re so determined to keep yourself distant from anyone you might care for?”
And where did this angry, honest woman come from?
He reeled back, as though her words had physically struck him. “I don’t keep myself distant.” He sounded defensive, and by his expression, she could tell he knew that, too.
This wasn’t the place for this discussion, she knew that. And yet she couldn’t seem to stop herself. “You care for people, but you present them with a wall of grunts and implacable strength. Nobody can ever be as strong as you are, or as privileged, or as alone, which is how you appear to want it. But Nash—Ignatius—nobody should be alone.” She took a deep breath, knowing that she was about to speak on something that would be entirely inappropriate. “You can’t marry that Lady Felicity.”
“Why not?” It sounded as though he were asking an honest question, not being combative. For once.
“She won’t care for you. She won’t ever care for you. She is pleasant enough, and obviously beautiful, but there is something lacking in her.”
“Like there is in me.”
He spoke as though it was decided. As though there was no hope for him.
And her heart hurt for him all over again. “I promise you,” she continued, her voice throbbing with emotion, “that you can find everything you think that is missing from yourself if you just give yourself the chance.” Give me a chance.
“My lady,” Mrs. Lee said, walking toward them with her arms full of fabric. “I’ve just found what I consider to be the best of the lot.” She dumped them all onto a rough wooden table in front of Ana Maria, the colors a riotous jumble. “We will have to start moving the boxes out soon, so if you could—?”
“Yes, of course, I will get to work straightaway.”
“My emotions aren’t lacking,” he said through gritted teeth.
They were back in his carriage, bolts of fabric surrounding them, making them sit so closely their thighs were touching. The fabric of her skirts were tangled up with his legs, and she’d had to remove her hat since it kept hitting him in the head.
“I didn’t say that.”
“I can’t—I have them, I just can’t express them. If I do—”
“If you do—what?” she asked.
He twisted his head to look at her, his hands coming up of their own volition to cup her face. “If I do, then this happens.”
He lowered his mouth to hers, branding her with his lips, feeling forceful and powerful and yet utterly at her mercy.
She met him with just as much power and force, her hands clasping his arms, reaching around to knot themselves around his back, pulling him into her.
He groaned against her mouth, losing himself in her taste. Her tongue tangled with his, her hands unclasping from around his back to reach to his chest. She placed her fingers at his cravat, undoing the casual folds and pulling the fabric away from his neck.
He put his right hand at her waist, splaying his fingers so that they were just under her glorious, full breast.
He lowered his other hand down her leg toward the floor, grasping the fabric of her gown and bringing it up slowly, letting his fingers trail against her leg encased in soft silk stocking.
He went slowly, waiting for her to call a halt to this. But she didn’t; instead, she flattened her palm against his chest, sliding it down to his waist, then tentatively lower still.
And then her hand rested on top of his aching cock, separated only from her skin by his clothing. He wished they weren’t in a moving carriage, or he’d shuck everything and urge himself into her hand, teaching her how to stroke him.
She made a soft, muffled noise of pleasure in her throat, her mouth open wide to let his tongue in, her fingers sliding back and forth on top of his erection.
Her skirts rested just above her knees now, and he reached below them to find the soft skin above her stocking.
His fingers were on her thigh, caressing her as his other hand moved further up to clasp around her breast. Its fullness filled his hand.
He hadn’t seen her breast yet.
He wanted to suck and lick her nipple, make it stand proudly for his attention. He wanted to kiss his way from her neck down to her toes, lavishing attention on every single delectable part of her.
He wanted to thrust inside her soft wetness, hear her moans of pleasure as he took his time to discover what pleased her the most.
She broke their kiss, and he braced himself for the inevitable refusal. After all, he’d done the same to her.
“Touch me,” she said instead, wriggling the leg he was holding.
That was not what he’d expected.
“You want me to—?”
She nodded. Her face was flushed, her lips were already red and swollen. She looked so desirable he felt as though he might explode.
“Touch me there. I want to feel it.” She put more pressure on his cock. “Just as I want to feel you.”
He groaned at her touch. “You’ll have to stop that if you want me to pay attention to what I’m doing to you.”
“You’re not doing anything yet,” she teased. “Go ahead. I’m waiting. Do it.”
He grunted, sliding his fingers further up her thigh, finding the crease where her leg met her body. Moving to the right to the soft curls, entwining his fingers and petting her, preparing both of them for what was to come next.
Which was hopefully her.
He lowered his mouth to her ear, kissing the skin just below. “I’m going to put my fingers inside you, Ana Maria,” he said in a husky voice. She shivered. “I want to feel your climax. To feel your pleasure. If you want that, too.”
“Oh,” she said in a breathy tone. “Oh, Nash. Yes, please.”
He couldn’t resist her. He slid his fingers down, already feeling how wet she was. “Have you ever touched yourself?” he asked.
She nodded.
“I’d like to see that. But first, I need to touch you myself.” He rubbed her clitoris with his thumb as he slid his index finger inside her. She moaned, and he began a gentle rhythm, responding to how she moved and sighed, adjusting his movements with every little shift of her body.
His cock was throbbing inside his trousers, almost unbearably painful. In an agonizingly sensual way.
He didn’t have much experience with bringing ladies pleasure—he didn’t have much experience in general, if he were being honest with himself. He was better able to channel his urges through violence, although that idea paled now as he felt her riding his hand to her climax.
“Come for me, Ana Maria,” he said in a low, urgent tone.
She moaned, and then leaned forward to fasten her mouth on his neck, biting his skin as she began to come.
She tightened around his fingers, and he relished the involuntary shakes she was making, her entire body caught up in the pleasure of her orgasm.
“That’s it,” he crooned, and she sagged against him, panting. He stilled his fingers, then withdrew them gently, kissing her neck as he gave her breast one last delicious squeeze.
“Oh, Nash,” she murmured against him. “That was—that was wonderful.”
“You are wonderful,” he replied in an equally low voice.
This was the power he wanted. The power to bring her joy, the power to lure her into an intoxicating experience that would profoundly shake both of them.
Because he was shaken just as surely as she was.
He had never felt this intensely connected to anyone before. Not even when he was with his best friend, exchanging quips and reminiscences over whiskey.
This was power. This was—damn it, he couldn’t name it. Even though his mind whispered it: love.
And with that thought, he froze, incapable of not imagining what was inevitable afterward. Which was why he could not allow himself to acknowledge it, even though he knew it to be true.
How could his heart be broken when an orgasmic-spent woman was lying in his arms?
And yet here he was.
Goddamn it.
The carriage slowed to a stop at the worst possible time.
“Thank you for escorting me home. And—” Her cheeks were fiery red. Anybody looking at her had to know something had happened. But before he could react, the carriage door swung open, and one of Sebastian’s footmen was holding his hand out to assist Ana Maria out onto the sidewalk.
“Ana Maria!”
Thaddeus stepped out of the house, a bemused expression on his face as he saw all the bolts of fabric being unloaded from the coach.
“And Nash,” Thaddeus added, sounding less welcoming.
“Thad.”
“Thaddeus, Nash took me to the docks to see the Lees’ shipment, and I was fortunate enough to purchase all of these.”
Should he be irked that what had just happened in the carriage seemed to have entirely slipped her mind in her enthusiasm for fabric?
Not that he wanted her to possibly reveal any of what had happened—that would definitely raise some questions he did not want to answer—but he’d like it if she weren’t as excited about her fabric bolts as she was about her carriage orgasm. It seemed as though there should be a hierarchy of excitement, with the latter ahead of the former.
But he didn’t care about fabric, so what did he know?
“Took you to the docks?” Thaddeus repeated.
Sebastian stepped outside, too, his eyes narrowing as he saw Nash’s carriage and Ana Maria.
“So that is where you have been.” His sharp gaze seemed to peer inside Nash, making him want to shift in discomfort. Him. Nash. Shifting in discomfort?
That was not who he was.
She was changing him. Because of her he was changing himself.
“Would you excuse us, Ana Maria? I need to speak with Nash.”
“If you’re angry with him for taking me there, you shouldn’t be.” Ana Maria took Nash’s arm as she spoke. “I was going to go on my own, but he insisted so I would be safe. So you see, it is perfectly acceptable.”
“Why don’t you go sort your things out in one of the spare bedrooms upstairs?” Thaddeus said, making it sound less like a question and more like an order. “You can have a room for your projects, if you like.”
“I will, but promise not to rake Nash over the coals. He was there as protection,” Ana Maria said. She stooped to pick a yellow flower from one of the potted plants on either side of the steps, handing it to Nash.
“Thank you for a wonderful day,” she said in a low tone, one only he could hear. “Especially for—” And she met his gaze, her eyes warm and knowing.
“You are welcome,” he said, holding the flower. “Let me know when you can come over for more defense training.”
Her lips curled into a sly smile. “More defense training? Yes, I certainly will.”
She gave him one last look, then turned and ran up the stairs, already calling instructions for where to put her purchases.
“Inside, Nash,” Thaddeus said. This was definitely an order. And Nash knew whatever the two of them had to say would be said eventually, so he might as well get it over with now. He tucked Ana Maria’s flower into his pocket and strode up the stairs, knowing that whatever they were concerned about was nowhere near as scandalous as what had just happened.
“Well?”
Nash lounged on Thaddeus’s sofa, stretching his arms over its back. He’d hoped that Thad would order brandy, but apparently whatever needed to be said was best done without alcohol.
Which definitely meant Nash did not want to hear it.
Sebastian spoke first. “I’ve heard that you and Ana Maria are spending time together.”
“And we know that your grandmother is here to ensure you marry soon,” Thaddeus added.
Their suspicious expressions matched each other in intensity.
Nash narrowed his eyes. “And that is a problem?” He rose, feeling the sudden urge to pace. “Not that it is any of your business, but Ana Maria and I are friends. As we have always been.”
Friends who explore one another’s mouths with their tongues, but Nash would not share that.
“You have no intention of marrying her?” Sebastian said.
“Are you upset that I have no intention of marrying her, or are you upset that I might intend to marry her? You two are damned hard to read.”
Sebastian snorted. “As though you aren’t impossible to read. We don’t know what is going on. Nash, can you explain it to us?”
“Why should I?” Nash glanced between Sebastian and Thaddeus, his ire growing by the second.
Not that he knew why he was so damned mad, except that he did not like being scolded by his friends.
“Because Ana Maria is under my protection, and she has many suitors.” Thaddeus spoke in his most pedantic manner, and Nash’s fists curled in automatic response. “We are concerned that she will not give herself the opportunity to know any of these suitors if she is with you all the time. I know many of them are in earnest, they send her roomfuls of flowers.”
Nash gave Thaddeus a disbelieving look. “As though any of them are worth a tenth of her.” He pointed an accusing finger at Thaddeus. “Do you know one of those suitors tried to compromise her? It was a good thing I was around!”
“Ana Maria can handle herself,” Sebastian replied. “She always has.”
“But she has not always been a young lady in Society,” Nash retorted. “She knows how to clean floors and wash windows, but not how to protect herself when some fatuous lord decides she’d better become his bride.”
“That’s why we’re here.” Thaddeus leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest, glaring at Nash.
Who glared back.
“I trust Thaddeus to take care of Ana Maria.”
The words fell onto Nash like a pile of rocks. His anger felt as though it had just sparked to flame with the tinder of Sebastian’s words.
“You don’t trust me,” he growled.
Sebastian held his hand up. “Look, we all know there is no one better in a fight than you. But that is not what is happening now. I don’t recall the last time I’ve seen you at a respectable party, and yet you’ve been attending them this past month. Why? To find a bride? To watch over my sister? You are so damned oblique, I have no idea what you’re thinking.” It was a common refrain. Sebastian had been saying the same thing since they’d become friends so many years ago. And Nash couldn’t say it was because Sebastian hadn’t asked; he always asked, long after Nash had clamped his mouth shut and refused to say another word.
Damn it. There was an ultimate price to pay for not speaking. And now he couldn’t possibly tell them how he felt about her. Not because it was wrong or inappropriate, but because he simply didn’t know, and he didn’t want to expose his confused state to them.
“You don’t have to tell me why you’re there, acting very un-Nash-like. Dancing with ladies, wearing a cravat, not getting into fights.” Sebastian sounded wary as well as amused. “But one thing you don’t have to do is watch over Ana Maria. Thaddeus has to take his place in Society, and part of his duties is to ensure Ana Maria gets as much opportunity as she can. If people see her with you too often”—he paused, then took a deep breath—“well, they’ll be too intimidated by you to even approach her for anything.” His voice softened. “Ana Maria doesn’t have many friends.”
She has me.
“Even if it weren’t about finding the right husband for her, I’d want her to have the space to find friends, ladies in her own class.”
Nash growled. “Because her friends in the servant class don’t count?” He glared at Sebastian and Thad. “I’d expect that kind of snobbery from the ex-duke here, but not from the military man. Isn’t that where men go who have only their mettle as wealth?”
Thaddeus shifted uncomfortably.
“Be reasonable, Nash.”
As if I could.
“You are supposed to be finding a woman to marry yourself,” Sebastian said. “You don’t have to spend time with Ana Maria just because of your protective instincts.”
“Besides which, the more you hang around her, the less her other suitors will think they have a chance.”
Sebastian turned to glower at Thaddeus, who shrugged.
“What? That’s the point, isn’t it? That we think Ana Maria will be happiest when she is married?”
“Have you asked her?” Nash stared at both of them, seeing their sudden discomfort. “You haven’t.”
Not that he had asked her when he’d insisted on teaching her self-defense, but he had asked her when he kissed her. And touched her. And brought her to climax.
“I can believe Thaddeus wants to march around and dispense orders, but I cannot fathom how you can justify not asking your sister what she wants.”
“Hey!” Thaddeus exclaimed in protest.
Sebastian approached slowly, too familiar with Nash’s sudden temper to trust his friend wouldn’t erupt. I wouldn’t do that, Nash wanted to say. “Just think about what you’re doing with her. We don’t want her to get hurt.”
Nash opened his mouth to speak, but snapped it shut again. They thought he might hurt her.
Just what he was terrified of.
Why was he even spending time with her in the first place? He would only cause harm, he knew that. Especially with what they were doing now.
But he wanted her to make her own choices, which meant he would have to let her decide, once he’d told her everything.
Because he couldn’t keep it from her any longer.
But now was not the time—now was the time for him to sort it out through boxing with Finan, since he couldn’t seem to think properly without his fists.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he bit out, striding from the room, leaving Sebastian and Thaddeus likely to wonder just what the hell he was going to do.
Which meant they had that in common.
“I wonder what they’re all fussing about,” Ana Maria murmured as she surveyed the glorious mess that was one of the spare bedrooms.
The bolts of fabric were spread out on the bed, with others leaning up perpendicular against the bed. The colors clashed with one another and with the room, which had been decorated in the late duchess’s elegant, spare style.
Not Ana Maria’s exuberantly loud one.
She’d ask Thaddeus if she could work on these rooms after she completed her own. Or she’d just go ahead and do it without permission. It was a tiny rebellion, eradicating the duchess’s taste from the house, but it was one that brought her great satisfaction. Even though she hadn’t quite realized that that’s what she was doing.
“What is all this?” Jane walked into the room holding several pairs of Ana Maria’s shoes, obviously just fresh from being scrubbed.
It still made Ana Maria feel guilty that someone else was doing that now, but the servants would be appalled and annoyed if she tried to do their jobs.
“The Lees asked if I wanted to review their goods before they put them on sale to the general public.” Ana Maria gestured to the room. “And I did.”
“That duke brought you home in his carriage, didn’t he?”
Images of what had happened in that carriage immediately came to mind, and she felt herself start to heat.
“And something happened with him.” Jane shook her head as she clucked her tongue. “I don’t know why you don’t just marry that one. He certainly seems to like you well enough, and you him.”
She did like him. She liked him a lot. But there was something preventing him from trusting her with whatever secrets he held, why he needed to punish himself for his father’s behavior, and she would not compromise herself no matter how broad his shoulders or how clever his fingers.
“It’s complicated,” Ana Maria replied, advancing to the bed. She picked up one of the bolts, one of the most lively patterns, sighing in satisfaction.
“He hasn’t sent you flowers but he likes you all the same.”
Right. She’d forgotten. The earmarks of a presentable suitor were flowers, nearly all one’s teeth, and looking tolerable.
Not what she wanted in her life, even if Society thought she should be entirely satisfied.
No. She wanted to explore, to see what she was capable of when there were no limits on her.
She did not want to have to return to taking orders or seeming compliant when inside she was frustrated, or angry, or passionate, or concerned.
She’d done that for the first twenty-seven years of her life. She’d smiled through it, even, and everyone thought she was remarkably good-tempered, given how much she was berated and taken advantage of.
She’d thought so, too, but that wasn’t the truth, she saw that now. Underneath all the gentle smiles and murmured acquiescence was a furiously proud woman who wanted to decorate in the patterns and colors she wanted, anyone else’s opinion be damned.
It might seem a silly point, but it was her silly point.
And that, as she considered it, was entirely the point in the first place, wasn’t it?
So no, while Nash was most definitely teaching her things she was eager to learn, she did not want to be with him for the rest of her life. Not if it meant hiding parts of herself. Or him hiding himself from her.
She would not do that for anyone. Or accept it from anyone either.
“There you are!”
Ana Maria turned at the sound of Ivy’s voice, her face breaking out into a smile as she rushed to gather her sister-in-law into a hug.
“You’re here with Sebastian?”
Ivy nodded. She wore a dark blue color that Ana Maria thought did not quite suit her, and she wondered if she could persuade her sister-in-law to take a risk with some brighter colors.
Likely she could, since Ivy was all about taking risks, from opening her own gambling house to marrying Ana Maria’s half brother.
Ivy pulled herself back from the embrace, her expression solemn. “I wanted to find you to apologize.”
“For what?” Ana Maria snorted. “Unless you’re sorry you married Sebastian, in which case you are not forgiven.” She accompanied her words with a grin.
Ivy looked regretful. “I might have told Sebastian what Octavia told me. About you and Nash.”
Ana Maria’s chest squeezed. “Ah. So—what did you tell Sebastian, exactly?”
Ivy bit her lip before speaking. “That you two were spending more time together than you had before, and that there are rumors that he has to get married for some reason. I did mention the betting book, though, which has Lady Felicity running ahead of you with much slimmer odds.”
“Oh.” That was why Sebastian had demanded Nash speak with him and Thaddeus. But why were they even upset about it? Didn’t they trust her to make her own choices?
Obviously not, since they were currently in a room alone with Nash telling him— “Do you know what Sebastian thinks about it all? I mean, is he for or against?”
“For or against?” Ivy’s eyebrows rose. “You know, I’m not certain. He just kept muttering about how you were his sister, and you deserved to have everything you deserve.”
“But not what I choose, apparently.”
Ana Maria nodded to Ivy as she began to walk out of the room. “If you will excuse me? I have some relatives to yell at.”
“Excellent!” Ivy exclaimed, patting Ana Maria on the shoulder as she strode past.
She flung the doors open and stepped inside, meeting her brother’s and her cousin’s shocked looks with her own angry one.
Nash wasn’t there, and she felt a pang of regret he wouldn’t see how she was defending herself, since that was the whole point of his lessons.
Though she didn’t think she’d go so far as to punch anyone. Yet.
“What did you say?” she demanded, glancing from one to the other.
They both looked guilty.
“Say?” Sebastian said.
Ana Maria rolled her eyes. “Thaddeus, why did you need to call Nash in here? I believe it has something to do with me?” She folded her arms over her chest. “In which case, perhaps you should address whatever it is with me?”
“It’s something we needed to talk to with Nash,” Thaddeus sputtered. He made a vague gesture that only served to infuriate Ana Maria more. “It is our responsibility to ensure your safety, and so—”
“For or against?” Ana Maria said, tapping her toe.
They both blinked. “For or against what?” Sebastian asked.
“Do you want me to marry Nash, or were you warning him against me?”
“We’d never warn him against you,” Sebastian said, approaching her with a tentative air. Good. She didn’t necessarily trust herself not to pop him in the jaw.
And now she had much more sympathy toward Nash and his tendencies, since she could see why someone’s actions could lead to violence.
“What did you do?”
Thaddeus rose from his chair, folding his arms behind his back as though he was standing at attention. “We merely told him we were concerned that your other suitors be given a proper chance.”
“A proper chance?” Her voice squeaked, and now she was annoyed at herself as well. “It’s not a question of fairness, you two. It’s a question of how I choose to spend my time. And Nash is my friend, and I like spending time with my friends.” She gave them each a disdainful look. “Unlike wanting to spend time with my relations.”
“But Nash isn’t—he’s not—” Sebastian began.
“I know who he is.” Even though he hasn’t trusted me with all of him. “And more importantly, you know who I am. Don’t you trust me enough to make my own decisions? Why are you discussing me without me in the room?” And just like that, her emotions erupted into full-blown anger.
Which normally would have been a cause of personal distress, but now was a moment for exultation—feeling so passionately meant she felt completely, and 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 paused. “You’ve been carrying that around this whole time?”
It was on the tip of his tongue to deny it, but what was the point? It wasn’t as though she would think less of him. If anything, she would think more. “Yes.”
“Oh,” she exclaimed. “That is so sweet!”
He glowered. “I am not sweet.”
“So you keep on saying, and yet—” She gestured toward him as she let out a tiny giggle.
“Fine, I’m sweet,” he replied with an exasperated sigh. “But I was thinking . . .”
“Yes?”
“I recall my mother liking flowers, too.” His throat got thick at the memory—his mother outside with him, picking flowers while he played. “I want to know more about them.”
Her expression softened. “You want to know more about your mother. Why don’t you contact her? It’d be easier than making a study of botany.”
“I don’t know if I can. I don’t—”
She put her hand on his arm. “You’re you, Ignatius. You can do anything.”
Her brown eyes held a warmth that made him want to—well, he didn’t know, since he’d never felt this way before. “Thank you.”
She smiled as she leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. “You’re welcome.” He felt bereft when she withdrew—when had her presence started to mean so much to him?
“But we should get to self-defense training, since except for one time all we seem to do is—” she gestured toward them, her warm smile now curving into something decidedly more wicked. “And that one time was only because Finan was here.”
“You make a good point, my lady.”
Her nose wrinkled. “Ana Maria, please.”
He bowed. “Ana Maria, but only for while we are here. If I can’t teach you how to properly disarm a man bent on hurting you, I won’t have done my job. And since I am the man in the room at the moment, you likely will hurt me.”
Her face softened. “Which I will feel terrible about, but it is far better to hurt a friend than to fail at hurting an enemy.”
A friend. Were they friends? They were nearly family, because of how Nash felt about Sebastian, and by extension his older sister, who was about his own age. But actual, true friends?
Had he ever been friends with a woman before?
Well, he could answer that, since he had never been friends with anyone but Sebastian, Thaddeus, and Finan before.
She must have read his expression. “We are friends, are we not?” Her tone was earnest, and he felt something twist inside. “That’s what I said to Sebastian and Thaddeus when I was railing at them.”
He wished he had seen her ire. He loved how passionate she became.
He nodded. “Yes. Friends who have done more than what friends do, but yes, friends.”
Now her smile was nearly blinding. It was so full of warmth and trust and happiness. Had he ever been that combination of things before?
No, because he had endeavored to do the opposite—keep everyone away from his heart except those he knew were strong enough to withstand him.
Mute his life into a series of grays so that he would never feel the vividness of anything, because that kind of strong emotion would inevitably lead to an outburst of violence.
That was truly a lowering thought.
He’d always assumed he was relatively content—if not happy. But seeing her joy, watching as her expressions shifted from delight to concern to anger to caring in just a matter of moments, made him envious. His moods, if he were being honest, were usually grumpy and not quite as grumpy. Others might say he was frequently grumpiest, but they had never seen him release all of his roiling emotions, so they didn’t know just how grumpy, just how furious, he could be.
Did he even know?
He’d kept himself in check for so long he didn’t know which emotions were actually his, and which were pale imitations of what he allowed himself.
“Nash?”
“Mm.”
She looked hesitant, and he braced himself for what she might say, even though she had just said they were friends, and smiled because of it. He was an idiot.
“I want to do all this,” she said, gesturing to the room, “but I’d also like to do those other things.” Her cheeks turned even pinker. “If we could agree it means nothing beyond lessons. We know we cannot marry.”
That last bit was said so firmly it made Nash want to ask why not? Which would be the stupidest thing he could say, given the current situation. And how Sebastian and Thaddeus felt.
“But I want to do those things with a friend, someone who knows me and will understand what I want.”
A few weeks ago he’d felt as though he barely knew her, and now she was saying he understood her? He barely understood himself.
She shrugged. “Otherwise, it will all be left to chance depending on which of the flower senders I eventually accept.” Her scowl left no doubt as to what she thought about those gentlemen, which made Nash feel a strong sense of relief. “But there will be someone eventually that I might consider, and I’d rather know things firsthand rather than rely on the talk I heard belowstairs as a servant.”
He had forgotten that. She would be so much more aware of what occurred between a man and a woman than other young ladies of her class due to her upbringing. Did it scare her? Worry her?
Or perhaps pique her imagination?
Because goodness knows his imagination was surely piqued, and he hadn’t spent much time thinking about it when he wasn’t doing it before. Now it seemed that was all he thought about when the person he was doing it with in his thoughts was her.
“And besides,” she added, not realizing he’d already agreed in his mind, “you’re my friend, so I know you won’t expose me to any kind of scandal.”
“It seems we have a bargain,” he said at last. “You’ll teach me about flowers, and I will teach you how to fight and how to fu—”
“Nash!” she said, her eyes wide in shock.
He put his hand over hers, the one that still rested on his arm, and drew her into his body, locking his gaze with hers. “Fuck, Ana Maria. You need to know how to say it if you’re going to do it.”
She licked her lips, and her breath was coming faster. “Fuck,” she said at last, emphasizing the hard k at the end, a sound that seemed as though it shot straight to his cock. “You’ll teach me how to fight and fuck.”