Page 91

Finally Viola wore a chemise, along with high heels and clocked silk stockings that tied with a bow. Her chemise was nearly transparent, with a very low neck to make certain that no hint of white peeked from under her gown.

Devin’s eyes caught on her breasts. “I can’t think what I did to deserve this,” he said, in a stupefied, wry voice that made her laugh.

“I am the mere miss who became a duchess!” she pointed out. Her eyes traveled from his head to his legs, and desire flared in her veins again like heady wine. He was much more than a duchy, but she couldn’t find the words without sounding silly, like an awed child.

Devin stepped forward and took her hands. “I always knew that I could buy a beautiful duchess. You didn’t want to be a duchess, and you married me anyway. You didn’t want to be a spectacle, and yet you kissed me on the street. You wanted a vicar, not a duke.”

“I wanted to marry you,” Viola said. “It was absurd of me to even look at a betrothed man.”

A look crossed his eyes too quickly to interpret.

“I didn’t really want to marry Mr. Marlowe,” she said, trying to be clear. “He was safe, perhaps more so because he was betrothed.” She cleared her throat. “Are you . . . are you going to remove your breeches?”

“If you will allow.” He dropped her hands and unbuttoned the fall on his silk breeches.

“I know what is to come, though my mother might have forgotten some important details. Such as the fact that you—that men—have nipples. Do you . . . is there anything else I should know about?”

Chapter Twenty-three

A smile began somewhere in the region that Devin vaguely considered to contain his heart and spread through his whole body, searing desire replaced by amusement. “You do know about this?”

He ran one of his hands down the front of his silk breeches, where his tool strained toward her, desperate need making him harder than he’d been in his entire life.

Viola’s cheeks were stained berry-colored, but she followed the path of his hands, her lashes fluttering. If she had no idea that men had nipples, then she had never seen a naked man.

Of course she hadn’t. She was a lady.

“I am not quite an idiot,” she said with dignity, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “I’ve seen my baby brothers when their nappies were being changed. But they were always wearing chemises.” She paused. “You do not look like what I remember.”

Devin didn’t let himself roar with laughter because her comment was dignified, but inside joy bubbled up like lava. He slid his breeches down and stepped away.

“Definitely not the same size,” Viola said faintly.

“It grows as a man grows,” he said, curling his hand around himself, a rough movement meant to remind himself that the whole day stretched ahead. Viola might change her mind about consummating their marriage today.

What happened next was up to her, not him.

Viola might be shy—but she was brave. He saw that courage now, the steel backbone of a woman who is unflinching in the face of the unknown—because she raised dazed eyes to his face, caught hold of her chemise, and pulled it over her head.

Her body was revealed to him slowly: slender legs, plump thighs, a downy nest of chestnut hair between her legs, a gorgeous curve to her hips, breasts . . .

His breath caught in his throat and his tool spasmed in his hand.

The chemise fluttered to the ground and she stood before him, cheeks red, wearing only stockings and exquisite blue shoes. Acting from instinct, he knelt at her feet and said, “My lady, may I remove your shoes?”

She nodded and placed an impossibly small foot in the palm of his hand. He removed both of her shoes, set them carefully to the side, and reached to untie the bows that held up her stockings. They fell down her legs, light as gossamer on the wind.

He stayed where he was, looking up at her, bringing her hands to his lips. “I would have gone on my knees to ask you to marry me, Viola. I want you to know that.”

“You made your intentions very clear.” She smiled and sank to her knees in front of him. “You like the fact that I didn’t want to be a duchess. I like the fact that you chose me, even though I wasn’t the woman you intended to marry. I’m not a duke’s daughter by blood. I don’t have golden hair. I’m not important, or exquisitely beautiful, or wildly admired. I’m notorious only for having thrown up in a lemon tree.”

“You are everything I want,” Devin stated.

Viola took a deep breath and his eyes flew to her magnificent bosom. Her breasts were full, shaped with the delicate precision of a deep-belled flower, topped with furled nipples.

“Your nipples and mine don’t deserve the same name,” Devin said, realizing his voice had dropped into a deep register he scarcely recognized. “Yours are exquisite, and mine are no more than flat coins.”

“I like yours,” Viola breathed.