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His eyes were on hers, serious and direct. “More importantly, I’m not certain that your father would describe me as ‘prosperous.’ If my lands continue to improve, I might earn the adjective.”

A pang of sympathy went through her. Still: “You have lands. You are not destitute.”

“You are right, of course. I think you should know that it will take hard work—more hard work—to bring my fields back to what they were before. At the moment, all my income goes to supporting the people who live and work on my lands.”

“The right woman wouldn’t care,” she observed.

“She might want to come to London for the Season.”

“She might not. She might think that she has more to give and more to do at your side.” She was making a fool of herself. The look in his eyes made her burn with embarrassment. “Your Grace, you must allow me to stand up.”

He instantly moved back.

“Who could have thought that I would give instruction in comportment to a duke?” Bea slid off the table to her feet. Her skirts were still wet. They hugged her legs, crumpled and damp, showing every curve and hollow.

Lady Paget must have been swallowed up in the turmoil of the vomiting guests, because no cloak had made an appearance. Bea would have to walk into the hallway without a domino.

Worse, with a duke walking beside her.

What if someone saw them leaving this room?

In a perfect world, the fact that a duke had been flirting with her would make her feel miraculously attractive.

But it didn’t.

The drumbeat of Regina’s scorn roared through Bea’s ears, even given the fact that it was Regina’s own brother whose eyes looked …

She didn’t have the words. The right words.

Hungry? Her logical side utterly rejected that. Even if he was the kindest man in the world—and she was beginning to think that he must be—he couldn’t be desirous. He liked the real her: she saw that. The side of her that was a bit ironic, somewhat serious, a little nervous, fairly courageous.

He was probably too “dukish” to laugh out loud, but he liked it when she laughed.

“What are you thinking?” Jonah asked.

“About how dukish you are,” she said, blurting it out.

“ ‘Dukish’ is not a word,” he observed.

“I apologize,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I committed the cardinal sin of inventing an adjective perfect for the man in question. I think we’re going to have to brave the corridor, you in your shirtsleeves, and me in your coat.” She looked up at him. “Would you mind if I leave before you?”

“You would walk ahead of me … like that?”

Her whole body jerked. His … like that said everything. She glanced down at her plump thighs and fruitlessly pulled the fabric away once more.

“I understand,” she managed. “Would you mind looking out the door and just making certain that no one will see us?”

A big hand pushed up her chin, and she met his narrowed eyes. “What?” he asked.

“Yes?”

“What did I say that was wrong?”

“Nothing!” she exclaimed. He was kind to the core, and how and why he was Regina’s brother, she didn’t know.

“Bea.” His voice was dark and low. “I can’t let you stroll down the corridor in that wet gown.”

Heat was burning her cheekbones. “I know. I apologize.”