She was serious. “You are the pocket Venus who has haunted my dreams since the day we met, and now you—Eleanora, have you borne a child? Is that what prompts this excess of modesty?” Where was that child, and who was the father? Rex sat on the edge of the bed, his conscience at war with his body, because he did not approve of dueling in the general case. “Is there a Mr. Hatfield? Please be honest with me.”

She thrashed free of the covers and knelt up to wrap him in a hug from behind. “Mr. Hatfield is a figment of my craving for propriety. I have never married, and I have no children. I am also not like you—casually naked, confident in my appeal. I haven’t…”

She buried a cold nose against Rex’s neck, a peculiar sensation when her cheeks were so warm.

He kissed her forearm, the part of her that happened to be closest to his lips. “You haven’t taken many lovers?”

“I have not, and I haven’t taken any in recent years. You have confidence I lack.”

“If you were any more confident, you’d hold a Cabinet post and the realm would be better for it. Turn loose of me, and I’ll blow out the candles.”

She kissed his nape, an odd, tender gesture, then let him go.

Rex made a circuit of the room, gratified to note that Eleanora watched him, and her gaze was frankly appreciative.

“Like what you see?” Like it enough to marry me?

“I like who I see, though I will doubtless regret that admission. Come to bed, Elsmore.”

Yes, ma’am. He paused on the step beside the bed, one knee on the mattress. “My given name is Wrexham, though under the circumstances, Rex will do.” We are to be married, after all. His allegedly abundant confidence did not allow him to assay that observation, for with Eleanora, he dare not make any assumptions.

She held up the covers, he lay down beside her, and she drew the quilts over him. “Now what?”

He adored the disgruntled edge to her question. “You ravish me within an inch of my sanity.”

She curled up along his side and wrapped her fingers around his arousal. “That shouldn’t take long at all.”

“For you, the work of a moment, but Eleanora, might we discuss—Eleanora?”

Her head disappeared under the covers, and Rex’s sanity—along with any comprehensible offers of marriage—vanished as well. He barely had a moment to grip the spindles of the headboard before she put her mouth to an intimate location. By the time she emerged from her mission of mischief, Rex was in a state of uproarious desire, Eleanora was clearly pleased with herself, and one of the spindles had come loose from its moorings.

“I like to start out on top,” she said, straddling him. “What have you to say to that?”