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“We could wait to consummate our marriage,” he said, although his body was thrumming with a deep pulse of desire. “We could wait days, weeks, even.”
He’d probably spontaneously combust. He laid one finger on the flawless skin of her cheek. It was as delicately tinted as the first blush on a peach, long before it should be taken from the branch.
And yet, here she was: demanding to be plucked.
He had an unnerving sensation that he would never entirely understand Viola. No. That was unacceptable. Of course, he would come to understand her.
She shook her head. “I do not wish to wait.”
“Why not?”
She blinked and her brows drew together. “Do you not wish to make love tonight, Devin? Because I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”
He managed not to laugh. “I have a suggestion. I shall carry you inside the house, nod to my butler, and climb the stairs.”
Her eyes rounded. “You’ll carry me up the stairs?”
“To my bedchamber, not yours. I’ll play your lady’s maid and remove your gown myself.”
“Oh.” She said it softly and he couldn’t tell what she thought. “Oh” wasn’t “no.” “Won’t your household think—”
“Ours is not the usual wedding, planned for eight months and celebrated with four priests and a hundred guests. My household knows—nay, all of London knows—that I want you for my wife so much that I cannot wait. I will not wait.”
He could see a smile in her eyes. “As far as London and polite society is concerned, ours is a story of irresistible love.”
Viola took a deep breath. “All right.”
Just as well, because they were about to round the corner to Devin’s townhouse. “My butler is idiosyncratic, but excellent in many respects. He has a room prepared for your maid, and after consultation with your father’s butler, a birdcage has been placed in the corner of every room in the house, positioned on the floor, door open.”
“Barty can’t fly well, you see,” Viola said apologetically. “He is very good about retiring to a birdcage.”
“My father and his friends used to duck behind a screen, and we would continue talking to the sound of urine hitting a chamber pot,” Devin said.
“My mother had all the chamber pots removed from the dining areas of the castle, but my understanding is that the practice used to be widespread.”
“You’re not offended by mention of chamber pots, are you?”
Viola smiled. “My mother considers bodily functions to be private, but not shameful.”
“I see,” Devin said, guessing that unlike most ladies, Viola would have a thorough understanding of what was entailed by the wedding night.
Her eyes met his, clear and untroubled. “We haven’t known each other long, but I have learned some things about you, Devin.”
“The fact I am very possessive?”
That wasn’t polite, as it carried the implication that his wife might be unfaithful, but Viola didn’t seem to mind. She reached out and clasped one of his hands. “You solve problems.”
“I what?”
“You solve problems. When Otis felt trapped in the priesthood, he came to you. When Sir Reginald was afraid that Otis would move to Spain, he came to you. I haven’t found out what else you’ve done, but I’m absolutely certain that you are the pivotal person in the Murgatroyd family.”
“Only due to birth,” Devin said.
She shook her head. “Your father was born to the same role, and he was your opposite.”
The carriage was drawing to a stop, and he truly didn’t want to discuss his father.
“I can’t solve every problem,” he said. “I’m not certain that I can stop all the printing presses in London from creating images of you.”
