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Devin raised an eyebrow. “You’ll have to seduce her, then.”

“We’re not all libertines,” Jonah retorted.

“I know women, and I’ve heard a great deal of chatter about Beatrice Valentine. I presume you find her desirable.”

Jonah gave him a look so ferocious that Devin threw his hands in the air and backed up. “All I’m saying is that you’ll need to convince her of your feelings. That’s all. My advice for what it’s worth. I’m off to find my partner for the next dance.”

Jonah walked over to his favorite wall and leaned against it, pretending that he didn’t notice the people trying to catch his eye. He needed a campaign to win Beatrice’s hand.

Seduce her? That was the action of a blackguard, a dissipated tomcat like Devin. He had to court her. With posies. Gifts.

Ladies popped up and talked at him, words burbling past his head in a steady stream designed to convince him of each speaker’s adorable character, her cleverness, her wittiness …

Which only made him realize again that Beatrice Valentine hadn’t been dazzled. In fact, he had the distinct impression that she didn’t like him. After their dance, she hadn’t shown the faintest interest in conversing with him. He almost had to catch her arm to talk to her at Almack’s.

It was bemusing. He never had to start a conversation with a young lady; they’d always just drifted up to him and started talking.

Apparently, Beatrice Valentine didn’t want to be a duchess. Or she didn’t like him.

What the hell was he going to do about that?

He was wondering if he should pay her a morning call when his hostess, Lady Paget, popped up before him.

“His Majesty vomited on the billiards table,” she said. “Then he passed out.”

Jonah straightened. “Have you summoned his grooms?”

Prinny hired extra strong grooms for this very reason: they could lift his large frame as nimbly as if he were encased in an oak coffin and carry him off to his carriage.

“I’m having him removed through the side entrance,” Lady Paget said. “I need you to rescue Miss Beatrice Valentine from the library and return her to her home in your carriage.”

He froze.

His brain abruptly woke up. “She needs rescuing?”

Damned if he didn’t nearly bare his teeth—which was the reaction anyone might have to the idea of a young lady being accosted. Or so he told himself.

“Surely you remember her. I heard you danced with her at the Sheffield ball,” Lady Paget said. “Miss Valentine is a debutante like your sister, except she hasn’t taken. She’s the wrong shape and awkward in the bargain. There are rumors … but then I never believe rumors.”

Awkward? The way she danced was …

Not awkward. Sensual. A woman who was centered in her body, who felt the music with every limb.

“Why does she need rescuing?” If some degenerate had touched her, he’d take him apart limb from limb.

Lady Paget blinked; savagery must have leaked into his voice. “Goodness me. I see that you do know Miss Valentine. I hadn’t realized that you were more than acquaintances.”

“We are not. Yet. What happened?”

“Nothing terrible,” Lady Paget said. “She’s had a sartorial mishap, and she must return home.”

He bowed. “If you could ask her chaperone to—”

“That’s just it,” the lady interrupted. “Her chaperone returned home without warning.”

Jonah’s brows drew together.

“I shall have a talk with Lady Alcon about her dereliction of duty,” his hostess promised. “Your sister stepped in when she realized that Miss Valentine had been stranded.”