She longed to be wicked. She wanted to throw herself into his arms instead of leaving. But if she did, the carefully constructed reasons for why they could never be together would burn in the blaze of this attraction between them.

She had to keep her head in order to protect her heart. “I think you should read the letters your father wrote.”

The seductive light in his eyes faded. “Why would I do that? I know exactly what they say.”

“It might help you relinquish your hatred. Your father is dead. He has no power over you. And you believing that you’re doomed to be bad until you die an early death only gives him power from beyond the grave. You don’t know what he wrote. Maybe he had a change of heart. Maybe he was begging you for forgiveness.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Read the letters,” she urged gently. “Make a ritual out of it. Maybe burn them after reading.”

“Even thinking about those letters sends ice water through my veins.”

“I think it would help release you from this hurt and resentment.”

“I think it would make me even more angry. Why are you even trying to help me, Viola? I told you that I was a lost cause from the beginning. Though I’ll make you a bargain. I’ll read the letters if you reveal your identity as Mr. Beam.” He watched her face. “Ah, not so eager to ask me to change my life now, are you?”

“Oh, West. There are other factors at play. I’ve been accepting minor musical commissions on my father’s behalf and submitting them under his name. With his blessing, of late, but I can’t risk people finding out that they weren’t composed by him. Right now I’m working on a commission for an original Christmas carol to be debuted at the Hanover Square Rooms and sung by choirs all over England.”

“That does change things. But not entirely. I think there’s still a way for you to—”

“West? Viola?” a voice called. Birdie came into view.

They jumped apart guiltily.

“We were just coming,” said West.

“Hurry or the sparkling wine will grow warm,” Birdie called.

The ladies gathered round when they returned, chattering and laughing about the musicale.

“Wasn’t it a wonderful evening?” Blanche asked. Viola noticed that she didn’t mention Lord Laxton’s absence. She had several other suitors now and had begun to forget him.

“Yes,” West said, clearing his throat. The tenderness in his eyes hit Viola with an almost physical force. “It was a wonderful evening and it was all because of Miss Viola Beaton,” he said, raising his glass of sparkling wine. The bubbles sparkled in the candlelight. And his smile was nearly as bright. “Who brings music, laughter, and sunshine into our home.”

“To Viola!” The ladies and West raised their glasses. Even Birdie had been allowed a half glass.