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“I said I wanted a Wilde,” he reminded her.
She stared into his eyes, trying to believe him. Wilde Child echoed in her head. If she was a Wilde . . . was she Wilde enough for him?
“I don’t want just any Wilde. I want the most beautiful Wilde of all,” Devin said, his voice rasping. “The woman with a wide mouth who laughs easily and taught me in the space of one day to love a giggle. Who knows about medieval plays and abandoned crows. The woman with a darling pointed chin and exquisite hazel eyes.”
“Did you say that I have a ‘darling’ chin?”
He nodded.
“You’ve lost your mind,” she said with conviction.
“I believe you’re right.” He gave her his rare, brilliant smile that transformed his features entirely.
Viola stared, thinking that Devin was not just ducal: He was magnificent. His rough-hewn features were manly in a way that she’d never noticed before. The opposite of her, who was always afraid.
Always a little afraid, she amended.
“I’m a coward,” she said, blurting it out.
“As am I,” he said, enfolding her in his arms.
“What are you afraid of?” she managed, before they sank into a kiss so fierce and passionate that she emerged shaking like a leaf, her knees weak.
“I’m afraid you’ll say no and choose that bloody vicar over me,” he growled. “I don’t make impulsive decisions. You are my one impulse, and yet I know in my gut that it’s the right one.”
“Are you . . .” She cleared her throat and started again. “Are you sure you are not saying that you’re in love with me?”
“No.” The word was gentle but absolute. “I’ve known you less than a week, Viola.”
She nodded hastily. And yet she couldn’t help remembering that she fell in love with Mr. Marlowe at one glance.
Yet had she really been in love?
“Perhaps that’s what courtship is for?” Devin asked.
“Falling in love?”
His smile grew. “And kissing. Though if I can’t find a handy settee like this one, I will get a crick in my neck.”
“Because I’m short?” Viola felt a flash of humiliation. “I’m sorry.”
He braced his arms on either side of her. “I like short.” There wasn’t anything complex in his eyes. He liked short.
Viola, having grown up in a family of giants, could scarcely believe it.
She kept her knees primly together, but she could feel the warmth of his body and the wintergreen smell that hung about him.
“Why do you smell like a pine tree?” she asked.
“My soap.” He leaned closer. “You smell like flowers.”
“Tobacco soap,” she said, feeling as if she were babbling because there was something in his eyes that looked like tenderness. “Aunt Knowe has a few plants in the greenhouse that one of my stepbrothers brought back from the colonies.”
“May I kiss you again?”
She drew in a quick breath. “Yes.”
“May I put my hands on your back, to make certain that you don’t topple over?”
