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The wild beating of Viola’s heart was the only thing she could hear after the click of the door shutting. The darkness was velvety and complete; if Devin’s body hadn’t been in front of her, she wouldn’t have known he was there.

“Are you all right?” Devin asked. “Some people would be terrified.” He pushed open the door until a wide crack of light fell between them.

“That’s better. This is absurd!” Viola said, giggling. “What are we doing in here?”

“Kissing,” her husband said, a wicked, laughing lilt in his voice.

She shook her head. “Are you still the Duke of Wynter? When I first met you, I thought that you were dignified.”

“I believe so.” His hands slid around her waist. “All the crucial parts of me still seem to be here.” He brought his body smartly against hers and even through her skirts she knew what he was referring to.

Just as she leaned forward to kiss him, the door to the outer room opened.

Viola startled, and Devin’s mouth covered hers before she could gasp. Through a sensual haze, she heard Miss Pettigrew say, “I am certain that my mother would excuse the impropriety of a private meeting, Mr. Marlowe, though you should leave the door open.”

That was followed by the sound of a door shutting. “I think it would be best to be truly private,” Mr. Marlowe stated. “Miss Pettigrew, in the future, I would prefer not to discuss parish matters before the duke, duchess, or Lady Caitlin.”

“I have nothing to hide,” his fiancée snapped. “It’s quite chilly in this room. The chimneys are inadequate.”

“Please be seated, Miss Pettigrew. I shall build up the fire,” Mr. Marlowe said.

“The settee has its back to this closet,” Devin whispered.

Mr. Marlowe apparently added a log, because a crackling sound filled the tense silence between the betrothed couple.

“It would be frightfully embarrassing if we’re caught here,” Viola whispered.

The duke shrugged, and sank downward, his hands caressing her legs on the way down.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, bending over.

“Seating myself.” With a quick movement, Devin pulled her into his lap. “We might as well be comfortable.” The shaft of light now fell across their faces, illuminating an expression that Viola had never seen on her husband’s face. He looked . . . naughty.

In fact, she had the sudden impression that had his childhood been different, Devin might have been a very naughty boy, the kind who gives his parents no end of grief. Not unlike her younger brother, the architect of a practical joke that had him temporarily expelled from Eton.

“You want Marlowe to be happy,” Devin said softly, his eyes probing her face.

“Yes, but not because I have a lingering affection for him,” Viola said, brushing her mouth with his.

“Would your friend Caitlin marry him, were he free?” Devin asked, a ghost of a smile in his eyes.

Viola nodded. “I believe she would. She would be a marvelous vicar’s wife. She’s far more sensible than I am.”

“I like you just as you are,” Devin said.

Viola had to thank him, which led to a kiss that made her tremble all over.

Rather surprisingly, on the other side of the door, Mr. Marlowe had begun arguing with his fiancée about the play. “Biblical cycle plays have been an old and honored part of church ceremonies for over two hundred years. More to the point, The Play of Noah is a matter of two nights. I see no cause for alarm, Miss Pettigrew, even if the play is somewhat humorous.”

Miss Pettigrew snapped back, “Medieval or not, the play is being performed in your parish. Nay, the performance is in your own cloister. My father would never allow a play to be produced in his own church!”

“I explained to your father that the play was a direct request from the Duke of Wynter, who owns the living of St. Wilfrid’s. It was not in my purview to refuse him.”

“Deflecting, poor fellow,” Devin murmured.

“Naturally, I must agree with everything you say, Mr. Marlowe. However, please note that the play will damage your reputation, should there be anything the least indelicate about it,” Miss Pettigrew pronounced. “Many people of quality, including Bishop Pettigrew, shall attend.”

“The tickets are all sold,” Viola whispered happily. “We shall make enough money to support the orphans for the entire coming year.”