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

Chapter One

If Nash, Duke of Malvern, had envisioned at all the scenario in which his life was to be irrevocably changed—which he had not, by the way—he would most certainly have thought he would have been wearing trousers.

He was not.

He was not, in fact, wearing anything at all. Excellent attire if one were planning on posing for a statue of some ancient Greek god or taking a refreshing dip on a hot summer day in the privacy of one’s personal estate. But not for life-changing events.

Unconventional though he was, Nash would have imagined trousers in that scenario.

And yet here he was.

“Get up.”

Nash reluctantly opened one eye, wondering who could possibly have the effrontery to disturb him so early in the morning.

He definitely did not recognize the voice, and it was definitely not friendly. Even if he didn’t know the person, weren’t they aware of his reputation of hitting first and asking questions later?

“Get. Up.” This time, the irascible words were accompanied with a poke to his lower limbs, making him snarl in response.

“Your Grace, this is the dowager duchess of Malvern.” That voice he recognized as belonging to Finan, but he’d never heard his valet sound so apprehensive.

Nash rolled over onto his back, opening the other eye. He stared up at the ceiling, blinking in an attempt to clear his head.

“Disgraceful.” The dowager duchess’s words were no less harsh than words Nash had spoken to himself, but he did not appreciate someone else pointing out his faults. Besides Finan, that is.

He sat up abruptly, the covers falling to his waist as he saw the lady, who immediately made some sort of yelping sound and turned to scurry out of his bedroom, her cane thumping on the floor.

“Told you you should wear a nightshirt,” Finan grumbled.

“If going to bed naked means I frighten elderly aristocrats from my bedroom then why would I ever bother with a nightshirt?”

Finan just shook his head.

Nash shrugged. It was a reasonable question.

“I will wait for you in the blue salon,” the dowager duchess’s voice came from down the hallway. “Come as soon as you are properly dressed.”

Finan marched to the wardrobe and flung it open, yanking clothing out and dumping it at the end of Nash’s bed.

“You heard her. Get up.”

Nash glared at Finan, who glared back. One of the reasons he was able to tolerate the man’s company as well as he did—Finan never kowtowed to him, nor did he let Nash get away with anything both of them knew was privileged nonsense.

“Just how terrifying is she?”

Finan folded his arms over his chest. “Somewhere between a loaded cannon and a barrel full of live eels.”

Nash winced. “That bad.” He threw the covers aside and walked to the washbasin, dipping his hands into the water and flinging it onto his face. The water was cold, and he shuddered at the shock of it on his skin. But he’d need to be as alert as possible to confront his grandmother—a woman he barely remembered.

“What do you think she wants?”

Finan snorted. “I have no idea. I wouldn’t dare to ask her either.”

Nash felt an unsettling feeling of dread in his stomach. Not something he was accustomed to feeling; he was Nash, Duke of Malvern, naked sleeper determined to do what he wanted when he wanted. Always.

That he was also determined to do right by his responsibilities, no matter how much he chafed at them, was likely why he had that dread. It was clear the dowager duchess was here on a matter of some importance, since he hadn’t seen her in at least ten years. His father had cut off visits from all respectable members of his family, effectively isolating Nash from anyone who might not be a complete reprobate.

Had she heard about his work assisting his father’s bastards? It was the least he could do, given how many lives his father had ruined. Hopefully she didn’t know his butler was also his half brother.

Actually, he didn’t care if she knew. It was the right thing to do, along with only inflicting his temper on bullies.

Why else would she be here, though? He couldn’t imagine anything that would bring any of his family members into willing contact with him—his father had burned all the family bridges, and Nash saw no need to rebuild them. If they wanted to know him, they would have to take him as he was.

Well, he wouldn’t find out the answers to any of his questions by staying here.

Fifteen minutes later, Nash was dressed nearly