He kissed the pout from her lips, slowly, persuasively. "What if you marry me for the hell of it, but we pretend we're just lovers?"

"That sounds rather nice, especially since lovers tend to love each other."

"And married folks don't?"

"Not always."

"I won't have any problem with that."

"You won't?"

"Don't look so surprised, Duchess. Did you think I was after your money?"

She was chagrined by his grin, and snorted, "You'll probably ask me to give it all away."

"I might."

"And live in a cabin in the hills."

"I might."

"And have your babies and wash your clothes."

"I'd like to keep my clothes intact, and I warn you now, you're not getting anywhere near my stove. I guess you'll have to have a few servants around after all."

"And the babies?"

"You want some?"

"Most definitely."

"I guess that means you love me, huh?"

"Or I just like your body. Did I tell you what a splendid— Yes!" she squealed when he squeezed her tight. "I love you, you wretched man."

"You could have told me sooner," he growled, holding her close. "Like when I was making love to you or some other appropriate time. Then I wouldn't have gone through hell these last weeks thinking—"

"If you're going to mention something about your heritage, Colt Thunder, I'll hit you."

He leaned back to look at her fierce expression, and then he laughed. "God, I love you, Duchess.

You're one of a kind."

"I'm delighted to know it," she said between showering his face with kisses. "But if you can call my closest friend by name, why can't you say mine? It's Jocelyn, if you don't remember."

"I know what it is, honey, but it isn't you. You're the duchess, plain and simple — and mine."

"Well, if you put it that way…"