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“Perhaps you should join me on this seat,” Devin said. “The front seat in a carriage is safer.”

She eyed him. “The carriage merely swayed because it rounded a corner,” she said, wishing that the flush in her cheeks would go away.

Devin gave her a smile. A small one that didn’t involve curling the corners of his mouth as much as a look in his eyes. It made sensation race through her, giving her the breathless feeling one has on a summer night when a star flashes across the sky like a beacon from some other world.

His smile deepened until it actually involved his mouth. He had a beautiful mouth. His bottom lip was deep and perfectly curved. She’d like to . . .

She wrenched her eyes away.

“Since you won’t come to my seat,” Devin said, “perhaps I should move to yours.” His voice was shaded with amusement, but underneath was an emotion that she recognized: carnal desire. “Emotion” didn’t seem a strong enough word for whatever it was that hovered in the air between them.

It was more elemental, like those shooting stars that demanded to be noticed.

Had she really wondered whether they would consummate their marriage?

He waited, eyes patient. “All right,” she said, moving to the side. “I have to warn you that my panniers are wide. The dress was designed for a lady with more generous proportions than I, and Lavinia’s seamstresses were up all night reshaping the skirts.”

“I would guess that the lady’s generous proportions didn’t include her bosom,” Devin said, his eyes drifting from her face to her bosom. “I love that gown.”

Viola glanced down and just stopped herself from tugging at the bodice.

“The light coming through the stained glass made you look as if you were dusted with gilt from head to foot,” Devin said.

Viola swallowed hard but didn’t trust herself to speak. She felt as if she were breathless from running, though she was doing nothing more arduous than meeting Devin’s eyes.

“Why on earth do women bother with so much fabric?” Devin asked, rising with perfect balance in the swaying carriage, picking up her skirts, and sitting down with a lapful of silk.

“I don’t like a large pannier,” Viola said. “But on occasion it feels magnificent, as if one were a ship in full sail.”

“I can’t say I have any interest in experiencing it.”

Viola tried to think of something clever to say, and failed. She was used to feeling shy, but not around Devin, and this current bout of shyness was particularly inconvenient.

If she were more courageous, she could lean against his shoulder.

Or put a hand on his arm, turn her head, and indicate that she’d like to be kissed. But how does one do that?

Wilde Child, she thought, and shook the thought off.

She wasn’t a child, and she was no longer a Wilde. Now she was . . .

“What is my last name?” she asked Devin. “I’m used to thinking of you as the Duke of Wynter. I didn’t notice when we signed the register.”

That startled a crack of laughter from him. “My name is Devin Lucas Augustus Elstan, Duke of Wynter, along with some secondary titles that I don’t bother about.”

“Elstan,” Viola said thoughtfully.

“You are Viola Annabel Elstan, Duchess of Wynter.”

The words hung in the carriage, the only other sound the rattle of wheels along the street. Viola was trying to decide why Devin’s voice sounded tender when he said her name. Her new name.

Because he chose her, she thought.

Happiness swirled in her chest. Devin had chosen her to be his duchess. Even before the threat of scandal, Devin had made it clear that he had meant to woo her.

Her husband pulled off his gloves and tossed them on the seat opposite. “I imagined you as my duchess only a few minutes after meeting you.” He gave her that smile. The joyful one that awakened every limb of her body and made her want to melt toward him.

She busied herself by removing her gloves as well.