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“They are loving,” he said, moving closer. “They mate for life and never forgive an insult.”

A sizzling feeling was coursing through Viola’s veins. Instinctively, she knew that this feeling would lead a person to abandon the rules of polite society, no matter how firmly held. Devin’s eyes looked at her so intently that he must be seeing all her cowardly bits and pieces, and yet he was still here, in this room.

Looking at a woman whom both of them agreed would not be a suitable duchess.

“What do you think courtship should be like?” he asked her.

Was it her imagination that his voice had taken on an even deeper note?

“Practice for marriage?” she said awkwardly. His eyes were stormy gray, yes, but it was a particular kind of storm. An invitation was being issued, silently. If emotion were a wire, it would be strung between them tightly. “One must learn to understand the other person. Why were you cross a few minutes ago?”

“I wasn’t,” he said.

“This is where you can imagine me raising one eyebrow,” she told him. “You were practically growling.”

One corner of his mouth crooked up. “You looked at that bloody vicar.”

Just as she suspected. “Are those two words allowed to be in the same sentence? If you must know, I was comparing the two of you.”

The storm clouds in his eyes darkened.

“He’s very handsome,” Viola said, feeling inarticulate and shy. She dropped her gaze and stared at his chest instead.

“I’m not.” Devin crossed his arms, which meant that she noticed the breadth of his chest again. “But I’m the right one for you, Viola.” There was utter confidence in his voice. In fact, she’d noticed that he was always confident.

It was probably a bone-deep part of him, in the same way that a little frisson of fear was commonplace to her.

“How can you possibly know that?” she asked. “You may be feeling something temporary. Your uncle suggested my name, and it was time for you to find a wife, and it was easier to choose me than find another.”

“My uncle has nothing to do with it. Although I’ll admit he was right.”

Viola bit her lip. She couldn’t help thinking that Devin would wake up one morning, take a look at her, and realize that he could have married a gorgeous, tall woman with flashing eyes and ducal cheekbones.

She darted a look at Devin. He wasn’t watching her as if she were ordinary. At the moment, he was staring down at her with a sensual gaze that practically smoldered.

For her!

“May I lift you?” He patted the padded back of the sofa.

“Yes.”

His outstretched hand wrapped around her waist, his fingers molding to her curves. Viola could feel the warmth of his hand and before she registered it, he put her on the back of the sofa and stepped away.

There was silence in the room as their eyes met.

“I like being able to see you across from me rather than from above,” he said, a trace of a smile on his lips.

“You wouldn’t like it if I were actually this tall,” Viola said, scarcely knowing what she was saying.

“I don’t care what height you are.” Devin gathered her into his arms with an almost soundless groan. “When you are anxious, you bite your lip. If anyone is going to bite your lip, it’s me,” he whispered, nipping her bottom lip.

Viola found herself giggling, because how often does one see a duke with a hungry look? Dukes were given everything they wanted before they knew they wanted it. And they were never wild, because a duke—with his snowy wig, embroidered coat, and embroidered satin shoes—is the very epitome of civilization.

Yet Devin’s eyes were both wild and hungry. They kissed until she gathered her courage and said, “What if you get tired of having a short, nonduchessy duchess?”

“I want a nonduchessy duchess. Which is nothing less than what I said from the moment I decided to find a wife.”

“What?” she asked. She was trembling all over.