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“When I imagined a Duchess of Wynter, it didn’t occur to me that she would reside anywhere other than the floor above me. Had I bothered to consider the matter, I would have assumed that we would come to a mutually agreeable arrangement as regards intimacies.”

She darted a look at him.

“Once a week? Twice a week? Once a month? Whatever Her Grace desired.”

The look in his eyes should be outlawed.

Whatever Her Grace desired?

“Ah,” Viola said, making herself sound like a hopeless ninny. She had her gloves off. What should she do with them? He had tossed his on the seat with a careless bravado, as if he meant to do something important with his bare hands.

She couldn’t imply that. Instead, she stared down at the silk. Whatever Her Grace desired?

“Of course,” Devin said, that gleam of amusement as clear to her ears as if he rang a bell, “if the duchess is not quite certain what she desires . . .”

Viola gulped. Wilde Child. Not child. Duchess. She straightened her head and met his eyes. “I am not experienced in these matters.”

“It’s my first marriage as well,” Devin said.

“That’s not what I meant. I meant—” Her mind boggled.

“Country matters?” he suggested.

“What?”

“As Shakespeare had it.”

“I am not very literary. In fact, I loathe long poems.” She straightened again. “I’m sorry if I disappoint you in that respect.”

“I never read poetry,” Devin said. “One of my tutors was supposed to teach me Shakespeare, but he was dismissed before we finished the comedies. I’ve never read Hamlet or Lear, for that matter.”

“You haven’t missed anything!” Viola exclaimed. “Joan adores the theater. She made me read King Lear aloud to her three times while she acted all the female parts. It’s a nasty play about unpleasant people.”

“I shan’t bother reading it, in that case. I already see how useful marriage will be.”

That made Viola look at him again. “I’m actually not a very useful person.”

Another smile. “You needn’t be. I hope you will be a happy person.”

“No one can be happy all the time,” Viola observed. She took courage from the taut intensity in his expression. Devin wanted her. He was presumably feeling the same thing she was: a deep awareness of his every move. From the corner of her eye, she could see his unbearably erotic, ungloved hands. Those hands had caressed her in the vicarage.

Tonight, she was certain, they would caress her in other places.

The thought made her feel hungry. Unladylike. She cleared her throat. “What shall we do this afternoon?” she asked brightly. Just in time she closed her mouth, before she clarified before bed.

“My household is eager to meet you,” Devin said.

“Oh, yes,” Viola said without enthusiasm. She knew how to run a great house, of course. She had been raised to manage a household, talk to butlers, keep the house accounts. Every year Ophelia gave her daughters an imaginary household and had them plan all the servants, down to the bootblack.

Two days later, they would meet and compare budgets. Viola always hired too many outdoor staff and hardly any upstairs maids, because she hated being watched.

“Our household,” Devin amended.

Viola nodded and summoned a smile. Was she supposed to say that she was eager to meet them? Many young ladies longed to run a ducal household. None of the Wildes did.

They all knew how much work it was.

Devin moved slightly closer and Viola’s skin prickled to life. “What do you want from me?” he asked, his eyes serious.