Page 39

“Is there a gentleman waiting for you?” His voice deepened, roughened.

Bea shook her head. “No.”

Fascinatingly, his eyes changed color after her admission. “So, you love the country?”

“I do.” She hesitated. “And you?”

“I frustrate my sister by missing meals and staying in the fields for as long as there’s good light.”

Bea lightly touched the muscles clearly visible through the light fabric of his shirt. “That’s why you’re so rugged.”

He nodded.

“Why would you possibly want to kiss me?” she asked, unable to stop herself from blurting out that humiliating question. “Every young lady in Paget House, not to mention most of polite society, is enthralled by you. I have a game—” She broke off. “It’s foolish.”

“What is it?” He still hadn’t taken his eyes off her face.

Bea wrinkled her nose, willing herself not to sway toward him and tip her mouth up for a kiss. She had the distinct impression that she didn’t need to throw herself into his arms; she could simply look at his lips, and he would snatch her up. “You wouldn’t be interested.”

“If that were the case, I would not ask.”

“You never lie?”

“I do not,” he said evenly. “Though my father juggled lies as a matter of course, and Regina sees little profit in truth-telling. Tell me of your game.”

“I use probabilities to predict the future.”

He frowned. “How?”

Bea had the uneasy realization that she found his frown enticing, along with the bulk of him, standing between her and the door. Perhaps she did like tall men … even if they were standing far too close for propriety.

“I ask a question and then judge the probability of my answer. Using a percentage.”

“You understand percentages?”

She scowled at him. “Your incredulity likely comes from the fact that ladies pretend to little or no knowledge. Pretense is not reality. My father is a banker. Of course I understand percentages, Your Grace. Just as I understand appreciation, dividends, and interest rates.”

“My name is Jonah.”

“Again, I’m not going to call you ‘Jonah,’ ” she replied. “This is a very odd conversation. Please back up so I can stand again.”

The duke ignored that request. “May I have an example of your game?”

“Query,” she said, with a shrug. “What are the odds that the Duke of Lennox, a prosperous young man with all his teeth, could choose to marry any one of the hundred young women currently on the marriage market? Do you care to make a prediction?”

There were those sparks in the air between them again. Bea wasn’t a woman who liked to surrender. True, he hadn’t asked her to surrender, but it was there between them. The possibility. The allure.

“Just to clarify, I am predicting the accuracy of a query about whether I could marry any eligible lady whom I chose?”

Bea nodded.

“I would think my odds are fairly good. 100%?” His eyes were possessive … even hopeful.

The thought made her dizzy. “No,” she said, with a little snort. “Lady Martha is betrothed to an earl.”

“You said ‘eligible’ young ladies. If Lady Martha is betrothed, she’s not eligible.”

The duke leaned toward her, and she smelled that whiff of sandalwood and clean linen that made her feel hot and muddled.