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“I refuse.” Jonah grinned at her, a wicked joy in his eyes. “I’m the duke. I think we should drive all night.”
Bea sighed. Her duke had a lot to learn: for one thing, he didn’t seem to know much about a lady’s need for a chamber pot. She got up on her knees and gave the roof a thump.
A little door slid open. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“Back to my house,” she shouted.
Jonah pulled her back down onto his body. “Your first command as a duchess!”
Bea couldn’t stop herself from running her tongue over his bottom lip. “You don’t know where we are in London, do you? I mean, how far we are from home?”
He tipped open the velvet curtain. “A half hour at least.” He reached out and positioned her on top of him, pushing up her chemise so that …
Bea heard her own voice, throaty with desire and love. “Was there something you wanted, Your Grace?”
“You.”
EPILOGUE
Seventeen years later: 1832
THE LENNOX TOWNHOUSE, LONDON
THE DUKE AND DUCHESS OF LENNOX’S BALL IN HONOR OF THE DEBUT OF THEIR ELDEST DAUGHTER, LADY SOPHIA
Lennox Mansion sounded like the backstage of a theater before opening night, what with the clatter of people rushing here and there, musicians practicing their best waltzes, the occasional clash of cutlery echoing up the stairs.
The Duke of Lennox’s elder daughter, Lady Sophia, in whose honor her father’s ball would open the Season, stood before a tall glass, swishing back and forth, examining herself from head to toe.
Her pale lemon-colored gown was cut in the very latest fashion, low over her magnificent bosom, with voluminous sleeves and a tight waist marked by a large buckle. She wore one curling feather in her hair, and diamonds in her ears.
Bea thought her daughter was utterly exquisite and was certain the polite world would agree.
“You’re making me dizzy flouncing about like that!” Sophia’s younger sister Lucy called from where she was curled up in a chair to the side, reading. “You’re getting frightfully vain.”
“No, I’m not,” Sophia retorted. “I’m just excited—doubly excited—because I was supposed to come out last year, and then of course my debut was delayed when poor Aunt Regina died. We’ve been in blacks for so long.”
“Blacks were too good for her,” Lucy muttered, not for the first time.
“Lucy,” Bea said in a warning voice.
“I’m sorry, Mother,” Lucy said immediately. “It’s just that Aunt Regina wasn’t very nice to us, was she? Remember when she advised Sophia to drink nothing but barley water for two whole days before she was set to debut. Can you imagine?”
Bea smiled ruefully.
Regina had never lost her conviction that a true lady is without curves, although in more recent years, she had disguised her opinion as advice. More importantly, Bea’s girls loved their curves and always responded kindly to “poor Aunt Regina,” whose husband had run away after just a few months of marriage.
“I know, I know,” Lucy said, sighing. “She is responsible for bringing you and Papa together, so we owe her everything. But you must admit, Mama, that Aunt Regina wasn’t always kind.”
“She didn’t just give you a mother and father,” Bea pointed out. “She gave you a new brother, as well.”
Lucy hopped up and came over to the rocking chair, peering at the little boy in Bea’s arms. “Reggie is sweet, isn’t he?” she crooned, kissing his cheek. “Even if his mother named him after herself!”
No one was certain where Regina’s husband had gone—fled to the moon, Jonah had suggested to Bea—but in his absence, Bea and Jonah were raising Reggie. The babe had been born early, after his mother caught the infection that took her life. He struggled for the first few months, but now, at a year, he was thriving.
Even thinking of the first month of Reggie’s life gave Bea a chill, so she kissed him on the forehead, admiring his sweet, chubby cheeks and rosy lips.
“That boy is being kissed to death,” Lucy commented, before she followed suit and kissed him again, too. “Thank goodness, he’s finally growing some hair. That bald look might work for a monk, but not for an eligible young man.”
