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“Yes,” Devin said impatiently. “Your sister. Your little sister. The one I warned would likely get into trouble without a mother, and she has. She’s dampened her petticoats, Lennox. It must be a reaction to her broken engagement.”

Jonah was aware of a stultifying don’t-give-a-damn feel about Regina, but he suppressed it. “You must be mistaken. Regina is judgmental of ladies who try to attract attention in such a crass fashion.”

That was an understatement. Regina’s ability to spit venom was legendary in their extended family, but she went from critical to lacerating when a woman’s virtue was at issue.

“Take a look,” Devin said, nodding toward the ballroom. “Wait until she turns in our direction.”

Once Regina turned, there was no mistaking the way her skirts clung to her legs. He remembered his sister’s knees from when she was a small girl. It was disconcerting to realize that they still dominated her legs. “I suppose I should take her home,” he said, scowling.

“No,” Devin said. “As a man with four sisters, I can promise that it would only lead to a scene. In the carriage on the way home, say something brief and pointed. If you phrase it right, she’ll appreciate the tip.”

Jonah tried to imagine Regina expressing gratitude at advice from him but defaulted to the image of an angry tiger. Or a cobra.

Devin began jovially giving him advice on how one might interact with a normal sister, and he kept nodding at regular intervals out of pure politeness. What Devin didn’t realize is while lust inspired by dampened petticoats could presumably drive a man to ungentlemanly behavior, that threat didn’t apply in this case.

Enraptured by those kneecaps?

No.

Instead, the thought brought him back to Miss Valentine. If she were his sister—his soul-deep revulsion at that idea was shocking—and she’d dampened her petticoats, he’d have dragged her off the ballroom floor.

All the men would have been gaping at her thighs. That would be unacceptable. Entirely unacceptable. The thought made him feel twitchy, and he never felt twitchy.

Devin grimaced at him. “There’s something off about you this evening. You’ve got a … a pale-eyed stare, like a man on the point of death or something.”

That startled Jonah. “My eyes are not pale!”

“You know what I mean.” His friend peered closer. “You’re not falling ill, are you?”

“I believe I might get married after all.” He made the statement nonchalantly.

“You told me that you couldn’t marry for at least two years, due to the condition of the ducal estate,” Devin pointed out.

That was true. But it was even more true that if he didn’t marry Bea, she would marry someone else. Unacceptable.

“I’ve changed my mind.”

Of course, she may not want to marry him. In fact, having seen her blushing over Peregrine’s hand, Jonah thought she might wish to scoop up Regina’s discarded fiancé. Another reason to move quickly.

“It’s Miss Valentine, isn’t it? The woman you wouldn’t allow me to dance with,” Devin guessed, giving him a narrow-eyed look. “One dance, and you plan to marry her?”

“Yes.”

“You always were decisive,” his friend muttered. “I take forever to select a stickpin, and you take up any old thing and stick it in your coat.”

“Choosing a wife is not like selecting a stickpin!”

“For one thing, Miss Valentine is not hanging around on your dressing table waiting to be picked up,” Devin said. “You’d better start wooing. From what I hear, Argyle is making a claim.”

Jonah frowned at him. “Do you think I should tell Miss Valentine that I can’t hear on one side?”

“You’re a bloody war hero,” Devin said. “Tell her the cannon did in your hearing. Frankly, I would just dangle your ducal insignia in front of her eyes.”

“She doesn’t care.” Jonah was certain of that. His only uncertainty was whether she’d hear his proposal at all.

Devin hooted. “There’s not a woman in London who doesn’t care.”

Jonah shook his head.