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Viola looked too.

The two dukes were wide-shouldered, muscled, and glowering at each other.

“My goodness,” her mother said quietly, her breath brushing Viola’s ear.

“They’re both large,” Viola said. “And we’re small.” Her mother was the only woman in the family who didn’t make her feel like a tree stump next to willows.

She glanced at Ophelia and saw her mother’s eyes were on her husband with a slightly dreamy emotion in them.

“Mother,” she said, nudging her.

Ophelia shed her bemused air. “Do you want Wynter, poppet? Because if you don’t, your father will send him off with a flea in his ear.”

Viola didn’t think it would be quite that easy to get rid of Devin, but more importantly . . . she didn’t want to.

“Devin makes me feel safe,” she said. “I can eat around him.”

Her mother’s mouth eased into a smile. “One wants to eat.”

“You know what I mean.”

Ophelia’s arms closed around her again in a tight squeeze. “Dearest, if I could have made the last few years easier for you somehow, I would have. But you solved it by yourself!”

“With some help,” Viola said.

Her mother’s brows drew together. “Ah, yes, Mr. Marlowe.”

“I was thinking of Joan,” Viola said.

“Excellent!”

Devin advanced and made an elegant bow. “Good afternoon, Your Grace. I apologize for the occasion that spurred the wretched print. But I will never regret my first kiss with Viola.”

Viola felt a little smile curling her lips. Her heart was beating quickly, and she could hear it in her ears. Was she really going to do this? Become a duchess?

“I request the honor of your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

Ophelia looked back at him with her direct gaze. “My husband and I do not consider ourselves the most important people in that regard. Have you asked my daughter the same question?”

“There has been little time,” Devin said. He walked to Viola and caught up her hands. He looked down at her, and his expression made a rush of blood rise in her cheeks.

He wasn’t beautiful, and he wasn’t particularly interested in orphans, or animals—she had the sense that he wouldn’t know what to do with a pet cat or dog—but he was . . . dear. What’s more, she only had to meet his eyes to feel a surge of sensual longing coursing through her whole body.

“Will you marry me?” Devin asked. “Will you be mine, Viola, for better and worse, in sickness and in health? I know you aren’t in love with me, but I believe that we will be happy together.”

Viola forgot that her parents were in the room. She turned her hands until she was holding his as well. “I may not be a very good duchess.” She had to say it. She had to give him one more chance to come to his senses and realize that he could have a diamond of the first water, a paragon, the most ladylike lady in polite society.

“I don’t want a good duchess,” Devin said, his voice deepening. “You’ll be a wonderful Duchess of Wynter. My duchess.”

Behind them, the sound of a door quietly closing startled Viola. She looked around and discovered that her parents had left the room.

“Your father nodded to me,” Devin said. He gave her a gentle tug and led her to a sofa. “I believe that constitutes consent.”

As they sat down, he kept one of her hands, running his fingers over her knuckles before bringing it to his mouth for a kiss. “We needn’t use the special license. I will tear apart the printmaker who created that abomination. I’ll do the same for any printer who issues a depiction of our kiss in the vicarage.”

Viola looked into his eyes and saw certainty there. More than certainty: ferocity.

“I will always protect my family,” he said, a growl in his voice.