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“I want you moved into your new lodgings by tomorrow morning.”
Viola bristled at his commanding tone. “You do enjoy ordering people about, don’t you?”
“No more arguing. Inform your father of his new living arrangements and pack your things, Miss Beaton.”
She lifted her chin and stared directly into his eyes, feigning a bravado she was far from feeling. “And if I refuse?”
His brows knit together over those turbulentocean-blue eyes. “Then I’ll throw you over my shoulder, stuff you into my carriage, and convey you back to my sisters where you belong.”
Grabbing the knitting needle from the table, she brandished it at him. “I should like to see you try, Your Grace!”
Damn but she was lovely when she challenged him like that, throwing her small shoulders back, attempting to appear more substantial, and lifting that tiny knitting needle like a giant sword. She wasn’t wearing a cap and her hair curled about her cheeks fetchingly.
West had noticed that she was pretty. He’d have to have been dead not to. He’d noticed that she was pretty in the same way he reflected that a blue sky was appealing, or the rich gold brandy poured into his glass was pleasing.
She’d been a harmonious arrangement of shapes and colors, pleasant to contemplate, but absolutely forbidden to taste. But when she looked at him with those luminous green eyes, filled with intelligence and determination, she was more than pleasing, more than merely pretty.
She took his breath away.
She’d looked so tiny and defenseless next to that idiot, Sprague. West’s protective instincts were on high alert. He was making light of it, but he would never allow her to remain in this house.
He drew closer, bumping his chest against the point of her knitting needle. “Name your price, Miss Beaton. I will have you back.”
“I want . . .” Her gaze faltered and she glancedat his cravat. She took a deep breath and met his eyes again. “I want an apology, Your Grace. And I want your promise that your sisters will be allowed to enjoy the social Season. They should have fun, be young and lighthearted. Allow them to experience life before marriage. Give your sisters their moment in the sun and watch them bloom.”
“Ha.” He chuckled at her audacity. “I’m not very good at making apologies. I’ll acknowledge that I could have broken the news to my sisters more gently. Let them have time to become accustomed to the idea of my marrying, and their replenished dowries and prospects.”
“Then you’re going forward with marrying Blanche and Bernadette to suitors of your choosing?”
“I wouldn’t put it that way.”
“How would you put it?”
“I’m providing them with avenues they should, and will, choose to pursue.”
“You’re giving them a choice?”
“Obviously I can’t force them to marry and I wouldn’t want to. I found them suitors and I only ask that they seriously entertain the idea. I believe they’ll make the right choice.”
“Here’s the thing about young ladies, Your Grace, they don’t much like being told that their options are limited and their futures have been decided for them.”
Despite the challenging words, she was coming round. He could see it in her eyes. He pressed his advantage. “My sisters crave your good opinion,Miss Beaton. They told me that they want to be better for you. I haven’t heard them say something like that since our mother died.” A smile touched his lips and nearly reached his heart. “Joie de vivre radiates from you like sunshine, casting a golden glow on everyone around you.”
She shrugged off his words with a nervous laugh. “I was only doing my job.”
“You don’t like compliments.”
“I’m not accustomed to them.”
“Then accept the exorbitant salary I’m willing to pay as inducement.” He pried the knitting needle from her fingers and set it aside. “My sisters need you. I need you.” He brushed a stray curl away from her cheek. “Accept my offer of safe, comfortable lodgings, superior pianofortes fit for a famous composer, and, if I agree to allow my sisters to attend the Season, you’ll accompany them.”
“Pardon?” She tucked her chin. “I’ve never attended a Season in my life. I’ve been to balls with my friends but I’ve always been a wallflower. I know almost no one in the fashionable world. I’m not the right choice as chaperone.”
“My sisters have plenty of female relations to chaperone them and introduce them to the right people. You’ll be there as someone they trust and admire. An unofficial chaperone, companion, and confidante. You’ll keep me informed if anything seems amiss. I don’t want them falling prey to dishonorable, exploitive men like Sprague or Laxton.”
“Ah.” She gave him a knowing look. “You want me to spy on them.”
“Absolutely not.” A smile kept trying to creep back to his lips. What was it about this woman that disarmed him so? “Simply be their confidante and ensure that they never find themselves in a situation requiring defensive maneuvers with knitting needles . . . or knee jabs.”
