Beneath her starched cravat and masculine coat lay a very warm and real woman. Intelligent, witty, a delightful companion, someone he could look forward to meeting at the breakfast table every morning for the next fifty or sixty years. And as for the nights before… He wanted to untie that cravat, slide her coat from her shoulders, and caress her lemon-scented skin. Kiss her senseless. And then he’d get serious about making love to her. That morning in the hut, delightful as it had been, was only a taste, a mere hint at the pleasures that awaited them.
But he was a man of honor, and there was only one way to have The Honorable Miss Josephine Quincy. One sure way to prevent her from leaving him.
He had assumed that she knew he intended for them to marry, and he didn’t need to actually say
