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His words and the way he stared at her made Viola’s skin crawl.
“I can’t live in the same house as you, surely you understand, Lord Sprague. I’m an unmarried lady. My employment as music instructor to the Duke of Westbury’s five sisters requires that my conduct be unimpeachable.”
“You lost that position, did you not? I believe you left without even a reference from His Grace.”
He knew too much about her. It was almost as if he’d hired someone to spy on her.
“You can’t live here with us,” she said firmly.
“I can live wherever I want. Would you ratherbe cast out onto the street? Do you think your father could finish his symphony at the poorhouse?”
“I have powerful friends. Someone will help us.” Many of her friends were still at their country residences, though they would be back in London soon.
“I wish you would be slightly more accommodating after everything I’ve done for you. You will be mine. It’s inevitable. You can just stop fighting it and let it happen.”
“I’m not a form of currency.”
“And I say that you are. Your father is deeply in debt to me. And now I own the very roof over your head. If he doesn’t complete the symphony and deliver it to the Philharmonic Society in one month’s time, my patience will be exhausted, and I’ll demand back every shilling I’ve invested in your father for breach of contract. A woman in your position has very few choices.”
A wave of revulsion, swift and bile bitter, crested over her. She’d never become his mistress. He thought of her as a helpless female. He didn’t know that she had fierce friends who’d taught her to stand up for herself. Taught her to defend herself against men who sought to break her, to bring her low to make themselves feel large.
She kept her voice even while her heart hammered. “I must ask you to leave now, Lord Sprague.”
He reached out and stroked her cheek. “How do you become more beautiful every time I visit? I thought you were a pretty thing all those years ago in Germany, but now you’ve grown into sucha luscious, such a ripe, young woman. It’s such a shame to waste such beauty. You’re not made to be a spinster.”
She’d learned how to improvise weaponry from what was at hand. Her knitting basket was nearby on a table. She backed toward it and the baron followed.
“Don’t resist me, sweet Viola,” he said, his gaze skimming over her lips and down her body. “This is inevitable and we both know it. The only wonder is that I haven’t had you yet. A mistake I mean to remedy this very day.”
Viola edged closer to the table. If she could grab one of the knitting needles, she could hold it to his throat as a weapon.
“It only makes things more exciting when you retreat,” he said, panting slightly, perverse desire burning in his eyes. “I’m going to kiss you now, and there’s nothing you can do about it. And then, tonight, I’ll make you mine.”
She backed away, he followed. She’d nearly reached the knitting basket now. She placed herself in front of it, reaching behind her back to grasp one of the needles.
He meant to attack her in broad daylight. He’d grown tired of waiting. The day of reckoning had arrived. Her fingers closed around the middle of the needle. She brought it up behind her back with the sharp point on top.
She wasn’t going to maim him, only show him that she was no meek and easily conquered victim.
“I’ve thought about this moment for so long. You’ll be my mistress at last.”
“I’m no man’s mistress.”
“You must have more befitting garments. You would look well in green silk, I think. Green to match your eyes. And low-cut, here, to display your charms.” He drew his finger along the edge of her bodice. “And these spinsterish caps will have to go.” He plucked the cap from her head and threw it aside.
“Leave now or you’ll regret it.”
He grabbed her by the shoulders, his fingers digging into her painfully. “Not until I have my kiss.”
“I won’t ask you to leave again.”
“Or what? What will you do, Viola?”
“Withers will be back soon.”
“A servant can’t stop me.”
“Will the thought of my father, your friend, stop you?”
