He reached out and unbuttoned her cloak at the neck. He opened back the garment and sent it to the grass to join her bonnet and gloves. "You will not be cold for long," he promised her angrily as he unbuttoned his greatcoat - though he did not take it off.

He set his arms about her - one about her shoulders, the other about her waist - and drew her against him. He wrapped his coat about her while lowering one hand to her buttocks and drawing her closer. "Oh," she said, looking up at him, her eyes wide and startled. "Oh, indeed," he agreed.

She was very slender. She had little shape - and yet strangely she felt very feminine.

He lowered his head to hers and kissed her. He encountered the soft pucker but would have none of it. He opened his mouth, pressed his tongue firmly against the seam of her lips, and invaded her mouth before she could think of clamping her teeth together.

She made a guttural sound in her throat.

But he was by no means finished with her. He explored the inside of her mouth, stroking against those parts that would inflame her, one hand spread over the back of her head so that she could not pull away.

With his free hand he opened the buttons down the back of her dress until he could nudge the fabric off her shoulders and run both hands along her back and then bring them forward to cup her small, firm breasts, pushed high by her stays. With a finger and thumb of each hand he rolled her nipples until they puckered and hardened.

He kissed her chin and her throat, moving his hands down her body to cradle her buttocks and hold her firm while he rubbed against her with his erection.

And he kissed her mouth again, simulating copulation with his tongue while he felt her fingers twine tightly in his hair.

It had been intended as a sort of lordly demonstration to an impertinent innocent who had played with fire. It had turned into something rather different. He had not expected to become sexually aroused. And if he did not soon put an end to what was happening, he would be laying her down on the grass, late February chill and dampness notwithstanding, and demonstrating something quite different again. /She /was doing nothing to stop it, dangerous innocent that she was.

Good Lord! This was /Mrs. Nessie Dew/! And it could not possibly be night and just a bizarre dream. It had gone on too long.

He moved both hands to her waist and lifted his head.

She gazed into his eyes, her own darker and deeper than usual. They were really quite blue, he decided. And by far her best feature. "Your face should always look like this," she said. "Like what?" He frowned. "Filled with passion," she said. "You have strong features. They were /meant /to be passionate, not proud and disdainful as they so often are." "Ah," he said, "we are back to /that, /are we?" "I /still /do not wish to retract my offer," she said. "You have not frightened me. You are but a man." She stooped to retrieve her garments and drew her cloak about her shoulders. She shivered, though he was not sure it was from the cold. "But I know /you /do not wish it," she said. "And it is hardly surprising. I ought to have looked at myself in a mirror when I first thought of it. It does not matter, though. I do not think you will now offer for Meg after all, and that is all that really matters." She pulled on her bonnet and tied the ribbons beneath her chin.

He turned to face the lake again. "I am going back to the house," she said. "I am sorry if I have offended you. It is not that Meg dislikes you. It is just that she loves Crispin.

I am sure you will have no trouble finding someone eager to marry you when you go to London for the Season." He raised his eyebrows and turned his head to look over his shoulder.

She was still standing there, pulling on her gloves, flushed and slightly disheveled from their embrace.

He wondered suddenly if she knew a pertinent point about him. "You had ambitions to be a duchess, did you?" he asked her.

She looked blankly at him. "Not really," she said. "Not at all actually.

Whatever would I do with a duke? Besides, I do not know any." "You know a duke's /heir,/" he said. "Do I?" He continued to look at her over his shoulder until he saw comprehension begin to dawn. "Mine is a courtesy title," he said. "It is my grandfather's junior title and was given first to my father and then to me on his death. If I survive my grandfather, I will be Duke of Moreland one day." "O." Her lips formed the letter though he heard no sound. She had turned suddenly pale.

No, she had not known. "/Now /have I frightened you?" he asked. "Of course not," she said after gazing at him in silence for a few moments. "You are still just a man. But I am going." She turned to walk away. "Wait!" he said. "If you are to marry twice in your lifetime, you really ought to have the memory of one proposal that was made by the man. And I am a proud man, Mrs. Dew, as you have observed. I cannot go through life with a wife who proposed to /me/." She turned again, an arrested look on her face.

And if it was to be done, it might as well be done properly, he supposed, though he would have done no such thing for Miss Huxtable. He went down on one knee before her and looked up into her eyes. "Mrs. Dew," he said, "would you do me the honor of marrying me?" She stared at him for a moment and then -

And then color, animation, and laughter rushed back into her face all at once so that for a startled moment he was dazzled. "Oh," she said. "Oh, how absolutely splendid of you! You look /very /romantic. But are you quite sure?" "If I were not," he said irritably, "would I be making such a thorough ass of myself? And would I not be in fear and trembling lest you say yes? Do I /look /as if I am trembling?" "No," she said, "but you look as if you may have a wet knee. There was rain last night. Do get up." "Not before I have my answer," he said. "Will you?" "But of course I will," she said. "Was not /I /the one to ask /you/? You will not be sorry. I promise you will not. I know how to - " "Make a man happy," he said, interrupting her as he stood again and looked down ruefully at the dark circle of wetness about his right knee. "And what of yourself, Mrs. Dew? Do you believe /I /can make /you /happy?" "I do not see why not," she said. "I am not difficult to please." She blushed rosily. "Very well, then." He bent to the grass to retrieve his discarded garments. "I suppose we ought to go up to the house and tell our news." "Yes." She smiled at him again. But just before she took his offered arm, her eyes flickered and looked away from his own. Not, however, before he read something in them that looked very like fear.

It could not be worse than what he was feeling. What the devil had he just done?

Whatever it was, it was irrevocable now.

He was affianced to Mrs. Nessie Dew, for the love of God.

Who irritated him almost beyond endurance almost every time he was in company with her.

Whose very name made him cringe.

Who disapproved of almost everything about him - not that he did not return the compliment.

It sounded like a match made in hell.

He strode off with her in the direction of the house.