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Viola was unsurprised when her father nodded.

The Duke of Lindow was a man who generally got his way, but he wasn’t a fool either. He’d met his match in the Duke of Wynter, and never mind the fact that his future son-in-law was much younger than he.

Viola found herself grinning from ear to ear.

Her mother caught her in a hug. “You were my shy baby, so I always imagined you married to someone sweet and retiring.”

Viola looked over her shoulder and knew that Devin was listening. His eyes had a distinctly wild glint. He was not sweet.

She had a strange feeling that she knew who was in his thoughts: Mr. Marlowe. The vicar was sweet.

“Viola needs someone to protect her,” the Duke of Lindow said. “You might as well suggest that she marry Marlowe!”

Viola held back a smile.

Thank goodness, she hadn’t truly been in love with the vicar. Of course, she would have had her way eventually—if Mr. Marlowe had wanted to marry her and if Miss Pettigrew weren’t standing in the way—but it would have been a battle royal.

The duke was now giving Devin the sort of look that he gave his sons: one of pride and respect.

“I’ll walk into that ballroom next to you, Viola, and believe me, no one will say a word about my choice of duchess,” Devin said.

Viola did believe him, or rather, she believed that he meant it. You couldn’t say he was arrogant: It was more that he was a force of nature. A rock or a mountain.

A rock who didn’t understand the nature of gossip.

“You may have ten minutes alone,” Ophelia announced.

Viola glanced at her mother and discovered that she was smiling. Apparently she too recognized that Viola would be better off with a mountain than a gentle vicar.

Chapter Twenty

As her parents left, Viola allowed Devin to draw her down to sit beside him.

“I want to make certain that you don’t have dreams of a wedding like your stepsister Betsy’s,” Devin said. “I don’t want you to feel forced. I will wait if you would prefer. I will court you, and be damned with gossip.”

People had lined the streets to see Betsy and shout congratulations to the bride. The very idea made Viola shudder.

“I don’t have any wish for a big wedding, but I never imagined that my husband would be forced to marry me either,” she said.

“If you wish to wait, we’ll wait. I am a duke and no one under the monarch can make me do something if I don’t wish it.” His eyes were intent on hers. “I know we don’t know each other very well, but—”

She put a hand on his arm, and he stopped. “I do know you, Devin. You’re kind and considerate. While you were angry with Miss Pettigrew, you didn’t dismiss Mr. Marlowe because I asked you not to. When you considered destroying the printing press, you asked me for my opinion first. You are everything I like in a man.”

“I’m not as kind as the vicar. To be completely honest, I’m not really interested in orphanages, though I have no objection to building one and supporting it.”

“We don’t have to be interested in the same things,” she said, a smile growing in her heart. “I don’t expect you to spend time with me in the cowshed.”

He leaned toward her, eyes hungry. “Actually . . .”

Viola was suddenly breathless.

“I like the sound of a cowshed,” he said, his lips close to hers. “Fresh hay . . .” The sentence drifted off because she opened her lips, greedy to see if kissing him was as powerful every time.

It was.

Viola stroked his tongue with hers, and unable to stop herself, reached out to clutch his coat and pull him closer.

“You’re little but fierce,” Devin murmured.