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“Someone might walk into this room at any moment. You mustn’t be seen like this.” He stepped back and dragged his hand through his hair. “The ball has come to an unexpected end. One of my grooms came to find me, saying that it will be at least an hour before my carriage manages to approach the front door. I thought I should let you know.”

Beatrice’s long eyelashes flicked as she glanced at a clock to the side of the room. “You should return to your sister, Your Grace. I would prefer not to travel home with Lady Regina. I shall take a hackney.”

“Regina will be spending the night with Cecilia, Lady Paget’s daughter. She and a group of friends have already retired to the upper floors.”

Beatrice cleared her throat. “I would be more comfortable traveling with one of Lady Paget’s footmen and a maid in a hackney.”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Why not?”

“You are my responsibility. Lady Paget explained that your chaperone left you to my care.”

“Not that you had any idea,” Beatrice pointed out. “Regina made that arrangement, not you.”

“Also, you are wearing my coat.”

“A maid will bring me a domino cloak. If you would simply return to—that is, go somewhere else, Your Grace, I would be very grateful. It is improper for us to be here together.”

She was right about the impropriety. Her bare toes were adorable. That meant her legs were naked. Gossamer stockings were hanging before the fire, which struck Jonah as a shocking intimacy, as if they shared the chamber. His mind galloped ahead: if she was his wife, those delicate silk things would be part of his life.

He could spend hours rolling them down her legs and kissing every bit of her skin. Or he could leave them on, tied with a garter, but take all her other garments off. She would lie back against the bed, laughing at him, her thighs gleaming above her garters. Bending one leg so he could …

He took a deep breath and cursed himself silently.

Any other young lady would have taken advantage of the situation and sauntered over to him. Or was he being an arrogant ass, thinking every eligible woman wanted to marry him?

Beatrice wasn’t making any effort to appeal. She had pulled the coat tightly around herself, so her bodice was entirely hidden, and she was frowning at him.

Jonah dropped into a chair.

Her brow puckered even more fiercely. “Why are you sitting down, Your Grace?”

“I’ve been standing all night,” Jonah answered. Also, though he had no intention of pointing it out, she was wearing his coat, and his cock was tenting the front of his breeches.

Suddenly, like a storm coming in from the sea, she became truly angry. Her hazel eyes darkened, and she forgot to clutch his coat, which gaped in an interesting way at the neck.

A glimpse of Beatrice’s breasts, even shadowed, was a gift.

“A gentleman doesn’t sit down in the presence of a lady,” she said scathingly. “Not unless he’s a duke who thinks that he’s better than a miss from the country. I cannot—”

She stopped.

“Cannot?” Jonah raised an eyebrow, feeling quite proud that he was keeping his eyes above her collarbones.

“You don’t look as arrogant as your sister. No, that’s not true. You do look as arrogant as Lady Regina. Obviously, you are as arrogant.”

“I am arrogant, and so is Regina. Yet I have no intention of insulting you. I don’t want to leave.”

“Then I shall leave,” Beatrice said instantly.

He glanced at the stockings and then back at her. “You will be most uncomfortable in wet garments. Won’t you please sit down? I am trying not to look at your legs, though your gown is testing my resolve.”

“Gown—” She glanced down at herself and then flew into the chair opposite him. At first, she sat properly, but after a second, she picked up her legs and curled her bare toes under her, tucking her wet hem around her feet.

Sadly, it wasn’t appropriate to inform a young lady that her legs were exquisite. Was it possible to become inebriated from a woman’s gaze? Hazel eyes that still weren’t showing any obvious interest, but were potent as brady? Why the hell was that?

Maybe she had a man waiting for her at home, in the country. He could imagine a country squire’s son lining up to dance with her. The lad would want to make her laugh. To inch closer to that magnificent bosom of hers. Perhaps close enough to be tempted to drop a kiss on her lips, because they were downright carnal.