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Jonah’s tongue slid between her plush lips, and she tilted her head to the perfect angle. Her tongue danced with his, He poured everything into that kiss: hunger, respect, conviction … passion.

Bea was intoxicating, her taste, her smell, the femininity of her. She wasn’t frail and dainty. She was bursting with life and desire. Everything he ever wanted in the world in one irresistible person.

They kissed until she suddenly pulled back and said, “The time! Set me down, Jonah! Hurry. You can’t be found here with me!”

“Why not?” But he put her on her feet.

“Because Lady Paget … She—”

Jonah grinned. “She wants me to compromise you. I suppose she means to burst through the door, and shockingly discover you with bare toes? Your hair tumbling around her ears? Your lips puffy from my kisses?”

“Something like that,” Bea confessed. Her hands caught his upper arms and she looked at him earnestly. “I don’t want to have you just because of fish paste!”

Jonah’s smile widened. She wanted him—though what fish paste had to do with it, he didn’t know.

“Do you want to marry me?” She groaned and stepped back. “I can’t believe I just said that!”

“You know damn well that I want to marry you,” Jonah growled. “When do you think I last kissed a young lady?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t want to know. I was brought up in a moralistic household, not a noble one. You might want to reconsider the proposal you haven’t made, if you think you could fall into bed with any woman other than your wife.” She started. “I can’t believe I said that!”

Jonah threw back his head and laughed. “No extramarital congress. No congress with anyone but my unladylike wife,” he teased. He picked her up again and kissed her.

She gave in, submitting to him, kissing him back. His erection was painful, the head of his shaft throbbing against her.

“Now that is ungentlemanlike,” she murmured.

Jonah pulled back just enough to see her eyes. “Will you marry me, Beatrice Valentine? Will you be mine for now and always? When I’m doddering and deaf?”

“A doddering, deaf duke,” Bea said, teasing him, her eyes shining. “I’m not sure.”

He kissed her again, hard and deep. Then: “I’m not a great bargain, title aside. My lands are depleted. My close family consists only of Regina, and she’s not a good person. The dukedom brings trouble with it.”

“But you come with the title. We can work on your lands together. I have a dowry. A big dowry.” Her arms were looped around his neck. She leaned forward and rubbed her nose against his. “Weighing the two against each other …”

He had a knot in his throat.

“Query,” she whispered against his lips. “Will Miss Beatrice Valentine accept the Duke of Lennox’s proposal, even though it comes with a title and an irritable sister?”

He swallowed. “Prediction?”

“100%.” She kissed him again. “Yes, Jonah, yes.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The Duke of Lennox’s carriage was very grand indeed: a barouche drawn by four black horses, their reins the same dark crimson as the body of the coach, the side painted with a coat of arms featuring a black lion, a few dogs, and—

Bea squinted. “Is that a unicorn?”

Jonah looked down at her, sardonic amusement in his eyes. “We Lennoxes are proud of our ability to lure virgins.”

“Jonah! Hush!”

Luckily no one was in earshot except Lady Paget, who had followed with one of her maids.

“There’s a tangle of carriages in the city tonight,” Jonah’s coachman reported, placing a mounting box in front of the carriage door. “Could be as long as an hour before we reach Miss Valentine’s address, Your Grace.”

“Take a route around Whitechapel,” Jonah told him, turning back to talk to Lady Paget.