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“Then Miss Beaton and her father are leaving with me.”
“We are?” Viola asked.
“That’s why I’m here,” Westbury said. “I’mcommissioning a wedding march for my upcoming nuptials and I think it best for the great composer to have the use of my superior pianofortes and a spacious abode. The dower house next to Westbury House is vacant at the moment.”
“What of my symphony?” the baron asked, his jaw working with fury. “Your father must finish the symphony first! Remember, one month, Miss Beaton. He has one month or all of his debts come due.”
“I’m certain that the symphony will be finished swiftly once he’s installed in his new music conservatory,” Viola said brightly.
“Now then, Sprague, you’re going to leave so that I can finalize the arrangements of the move with Miss Beaton.”
Lord Sprague shot her a murderous glare as he departed. When he was gone, she laid a hand on the sofa to steady her legs.
“Are you injured?” The duke rushed to her side. “Here. Sit down.” He helped her to a seat.
“Only shaken up. Thank you, Your Grace. Your timing was most fortuitous. I’ve never been so happy to see such a blusterous jug-bitten blunderbuss.”
He frowned and then his lips twitched. “I really hope that isn’t the scathing insult you arrived at late at night in your lonely bed.”
“I read it in a novel.”
“It’s too tame for a wicked beast such as I. You should consult a tavern down by the docks. You’ll find far more injurious insults there.”
“Did you just insult my insult?”
He shrugged. “I’m only saying that if a lady wishes to deliver a set-down, she should do it properly. Make it hurt.”
“I don’t know whether to be angry with you or to shower you with gratitude for arriving just when you did and scaring Sprague away.”
“Seriously, Miss Beaton. I don’t ever want you to be in a room alone with that man again,” Westbury said, glowering at her. “What if I hadn’t arrived? What then?”
She threw back her shoulders. “I would have defended myself.”
“With what?”
She was still holding the knitting needle. She waved it at him. “With this.” She set it down on a nearby table.
The duke snorted. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m very serious. I learned how to use the sharp point of a knitting needle as a weapon from Mina, Duchess of Thorndon, who is an expert in improvised and modified weaponry.”
“While Thorndon’s wife might be an expert in weaponry, you’re not. And that man is dangerous. He could have harmed you. And then I would have had to kill him.”
The raw intensity of the anger etched across his face startled her. Did he care that much for her honor?
She laughed softly. “You’re making too much of it, Your Grace. He’s been making insinuations and advances since I was a girl and I’ve always managed to evade him.”
He curled his hands around hers. The heatand strength of his fingers caught her off guard. Suddenly there wasn’t enough air to breathe in the room. After the frightening experience with Lord Sprague, all she wanted to do was nestle against the duke’s chest, seek a safe haven in his arms.
“Viola,” he said, and his low, gruff voice speaking her name so intimately set something quivering inside her. “You’re very brave, but you can’t take that chance. That man is dangerous to you.”
Thisman was dangerous to her. It was the midnight encounter in the hallway all over again. The sonata she’d begun writing that night filled her head. A simple melody that swirled and overlayed and built into a crashing, passionate crescendo.
She mustn’t mistake his momentary concern for caring.
She mustn’t allow the music swelling in her heart to overwhelm her, the need for comfort, the longing for his warm, strong arms to enfold her.
“I can take care of myself,” she said firmly. “If a knitting needle to the jugular didn’t discourage him, I would have pretended compliance and brought him to the sofa and then given him a sharp jab with my knee to the...” She glanced at his breeches flap. Mistake.
