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As Devin saw it, Viola could have her way, as long as she didn’t keep thinking that Mr. Marlowe needed rescuing from his sour fiancée.

Viola had no interest in Devin’s title or wealth, and he didn’t have persuasive charm or pretty looks. Or virtue, for that matter.

But they had something between them, because that kiss had rocked him to his core.

The tour of the vicarage and grounds resulted in one triumph: A cowed Miss Pettigrew agreed that a play depicting the events of Noah’s ark, put on in order to make money to support Mr. Marlowe’s orphanage, would be acceptable.

“You’d better come home with us,” Lady Knowe said to Devin when the tour of the cloister was over, Otis having established where the stage would be erected, the Pettigrews nodding with tight-lipped acceptance. “You need to speak to the duke.”

“Yes,” Devin said.

“You don’t say much, do you?” Lady Knowe asked him.

“He can be very talkative on occasion,” Viola said, tucking her hand into his elbow.

Lady Knowe snorted.

Devin didn’t smile, but he came damned close.

“I don’t know what your mother is going to think of this,” Lady Knowe said to Viola, with a groan. “Ophelia will probably say I should have done a better job chaperoning you. But who would have thought Miss Pettigrew was such an inquisitive creature? She even opened the doors to the cupboards. I expected her to begin counting the linens.”

Viola glanced around to make sure that the Pettigrews had returned to the vicarage and were nowhere in sight. “You don’t have to worry, Aunt Knowe. I’ll explain everything.”

“Explain what?” Devin asked.

“Well, that it wasn’t really . . . that it didn’t . . .” She stopped, flustered.

Lady Knowe glanced at Devin, her eyes full of mischievous laughter. “I’ll leave this to you, Your Grace.”

He gave her a nod and waited until she strode away, leaving them alone.

Then he tipped up Viola’s chin and said, “You’re going to be my bride. My duchess.”

Her eyes widened. “Not for such a silly reason!”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because of this.”

It was a claiming kiss, a leisurely kiss, one that made him feel drunk. Her tongue met his and she made a sound in the back of her throat that sent him out of control. Not entirely. Just enough to shrink the world to their bodies arching together, gasping in union.

“That,” he said huskily, a minute later. “I’d keep convincing you, Viola, but I don’t want another lecture from Lady Knowe.”

She was nestled against him, her cheeks flushed, eyes shining. “I don’t know if our kisses are ordinary,” she said shyly.

He cleared his throat, unwilling to let go of her. He hadn’t had experience with kisses such as this. “They aren’t.”

“I’ve developed a fearful idea of what marriage might entail,” she said. “Which is absurd because my mother and stepfather adore each other, and I’ve watched some of my siblings happily pair off.”

He was having trouble concentrating because her lips had been kissed scarlet, and they were plump and soft. But they had to walk back to her house.

“I had a terrible experience at my first ball,” she said in a rush.

Devin felt a cold pang in his gut. “Did someone—did anyone harm you?” He didn’t recognize his own voice, likely because that wasn’t his voice; it was his father’s. There was the promise of murder in it.

“No, no,” Viola said hastily. She had been holding on to his greatcoat, but she smoothed it, as if she were soothing a wild beast.