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But there was Jonah, leaning toward her, his eyes fierce, his head tilted slightly to the side. Already she recognized that tilt, an instinctive bend toward sound he wanted to hear. She wouldn’t be surprised to see him tilt his head the other way in Regina’s presence.

He would never be an easy husband: never compliant, amenable.

Jonah wasn’t placid.

He swept through the world with a ferocious need to change it. He might have inherited that characteristic from the powerful dukes who came before him, those who commanded private armies and hundreds of serfs.

Or it might just be an intrinsic part of the man before her—the man who was on his knees, metaphorically at least.

Something he was born with, just as Regina was born with a temper.

She leaned in, and he kissed her again.

They were fierce, longing kisses, the kind that skirted the edge of impropriety. Jonah’s hands hovered and then landed warmly on her breasts. Her hand ran up his back but didn’t pull on his shirt.

Elsie slept on.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

In later years, Lady Alcon remembered the aftermath of the Paget ball as one of the most unpleasant periods in her entire life. It began when her breakfast was spoiled by an offensive note sent to her by Lady Paget. Thereafter, she experienced shock after shock, most of them disagreeable.

“If Lady Paget sends in a card, I am not at home,” she informed the butler, sweeping past him into the drawing room. “Where is Miss Valentine? Go upstairs and inform her that punctuality is an essential quality in a lady. She ought to have been in the breakfast room at least a half hour before I arrived.”

Then suddenly she remembered that she had directed Beatrice to stay away from the breakfast room, in hopes that it would inspire her to slim down. Instead, Lady Alcon had the strong feeling that the housemaids simply fetched the girl whatever she wanted, feeding her in her bedchamber.

Perhaps even in her bed, which was permissible only for married ladies, not that Beatrice would ever be one, unless her father bribed a farmer to wed her.

That thought spurred her irritation even further. “Go on!” she said, flapping her hands at the butler. “I swear that girl is as lazy as a toad at the bottom of a well. I’ll have tea, but don’t bring anything other than dry rusks unless we have a morning caller. Close the door! And don’t forget that I am never home to Lady Paget!”

Seating herself in the drawing room, she moodily returned to thinking about that horrid letter. Who was Lady Paget to question why a charge was sent home in an eligible duke’s carriage?

Other chaperones would have gnashed their teeth to achieve that situation!

Those chaperones didn’t have to marry off a plump country girl who likely fell asleep in the carriage and ignored the duke altogether.

The butler opened the door. “Lord Peregrine.”

Never in a million years had she envisioned the richest man in London paying them a call. Lady Alcon sprang to her feet and hurried toward the door. “Lord Peregrine, what a pleasure.” For a dizzying moment, she thought the bunch of violets in his hand were for her. Stranger things had happened—

“I trust that you and Miss Valentine avoided the illness of last night? I brought her a small posy,” the gentlemen said, handing his violets to a footman.

“I’ve always heard that Lady Paget keeps an unclean kitchen,” Lady Alcon said spitefully. “At any rate, neither of us partook in the fish paste.” Behind his back, she saw her butler frantically waving a footman up the stairs to fetch Beatrice. “My rule that no true lady partakes of food in public kept us safe.”

Lord Peregrine’s eyes skated over her body, but surely she had mistaken his indifferent expression. She was very proud of having kept her girlish figure. If she wished, she could still don gowns from twenty years ago.

“Miss Valentine will join us in a moment!” she said brightly, leading him to a settee. “How is your dear fiancée, Lady Regina?”

“No longer my fiancée,” he drawled.

He was a truly unpleasant man. The way his lips curled? No wonder Lady Regina had discarded him.

“Young girls are quick to change their mind,” she said, trying for a consoling tone. What was taking Beatrice so long?

“Miss Valentine played a signal role in freeing me from that imprudent betrothal,” Lord Peregrine said coolly. “I thought the least I could do was to offer my gratitude in person.”

Lady Alcon choked back a startled comment.

Thankfully, Beatrice had finally hoisted herself out of bed. The butler opened the door, announcing, “Miss Valentine,” and then, without pausing, “The Duke of Lennox.”