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She turned to Devin. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“You’re sorry?” Her stepfather’s tone was even more clipped. “Wynter is the gentleman here. Or supposedly so.”

“Our kiss had no resemblance to this abomination,” Devin said, the rumble in his voice matching her father’s.

Viola grabbed the sketch from the floor and pulled it open just enough to read the title at the bottom. Viola Follows Family Tradition & Lands a Duke the Old-Fashioned Way!

“That doesn’t make any sense,” she said, reading it again. And again.

“It’s rubbish,” her stepfather snapped. “It’s a veiled reference to your mother. The point is that I would have thought you, Wynter, being a duke, would show better judgment. Of all my children, Viola has avoided invidious attention, and yet you engaged in public intimacies that would shock even Betsy!”

“I assure you that our first kiss was only akin to this because it happened on the street,” Devin said evenly. “It was merely a kiss.”

It wasn’t an apology, but an explanation.

The duke folded his arms over his chest. “I’ve sent my solicitor to Doctors’ Commons for a special license.”

Devin nodded.

“What?” Viola asked. “No!”

“I’m sorry, dearest,” her stepfather said. “I gather from my sister that a similar incident at the vicarage was seen by one of the Pettigrews. They will almost certainly share their experience.”

“Not if I have anything to do with it,” Devin growled.

Viola had a flash of pride. He might not like to talk when he was angry, but at the moment he was both communicative and in control of his temper.

“The women just spent the afternoon poking their noses into every cupboard in the vicarage,” Devin continued grimly. “My vicarage.”

“Miss Pettigrew won’t say anything,” Viola said hastily, squeezing his hand tighter. “It was merely a kiss,” she told her father. “Another kiss.”

“It won’t be Miss Pettigrew,” the Duke of Lindow said, a deep weariness in his voice. “The story will be sold by her maid, or even a scullery maid, or no one will know how it got out of the household. Your aunt tells me that the two of you were in a closed room, alone, and you were interrupted at an inopportune moment.”

He stopped talking and took a deep breath. It seemed that her stepfather—who never lost his temper—was on the verge of doing so.

“I apologize,” Devin said. He looked down at Viola. “I take full responsibility for closing the door.”

Viola dropped his hand and put her hands on her hips. “I told you to close the door!”

“No gentleman would have listened to you,” the Duke of Lindow stated.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” she cried. “We were kissing each other. We both wanted that door shut—not for the reasons you may be thinking,” she told her stepfather, “but because the Pettigrews were nosy.”

“I wanted the door shut in order to kiss you properly,” Devin said stubbornly.

Viola scowled at him, but she saw the look in his eyes. She didn’t know desire very well, but she recognized it. She smiled back.

The Duke of Lindow groaned.

The door sprang open, and her mother hurdled into the room. “Viola, dearest!” Ophelia cried, holding out her arms.

Viola flew into her embrace.

Her mother gave her a squeeze, pulled back, and cupped her face with her hands. “Do you want him? I don’t give a rat’s ass if he’s a duke or not. Nor how many prints are circulating either.” She gave her husband an exasperated look. “None of that matters.”

Viola blinked. “You never swear.”

“Profanity is a natural response to one’s children being threatened,” her mother said. She put Viola to the side and looked at Devin.