“Ah, but it will still be wild and glorious. This fire between us will never wane. It burns too hot.”

West knew what a gift he’d been given. A chance to begin again. To be worthy of Viola. He’d strive every day to be a better man.

Mellow sunlight. Golden feeling. Lazy, languid. Nowhere to be. Only this bed and this woman. Her smile brighter than the sun.

This sweet, powerful, intelligent, and awe-inspiring woman. He held her tightly, filling his arms with her, holding her close to his heart. “I thought I was so good at losing that I’d lose you, too, Viola. I’d do something bad, something unforgivable, and you’d grow to hate me.”

“Oh, West.” She kissed him. “I could never hate you. I love you too much.”

“I’m the luckiest man on earth.”

“I was trying to create the large boisterous family I always wanted by caring for your sisters and being a part of your life. And I fell in love with you in the bargain.”

“Come with me,” said West, rolling out of bed.

“Where? We’re already in bed.”

“To the music room. I purchased a new pianoforte for you.”

“Overconfident, were you?”

“I had a feeling you might be here to play it for me.” He handed her a silk robe and donned one himself.

“Won’t the servants see us?” Viola asked. “Shouldn’t we wear more clothing in the corridors?”

“Let them,” West said. “I may have reformed enough to win your heart, but I’m still scandalous.”

Sunshine slanted across the mahogany and ivory and pooled in the contours of the plush red velvet-covered bench. A sturdy bench. Extra wide. He’d ordered it custom made for the task he was about to ask of it.

“Well there you are, my beauty,” Viola cooed, sliding one finger down the curving lines of the instrument. “I’m going to make you sing.”

“First, I’m going to make you sing,” West said gruffly. He lifted her by the waist and set her against the piano keys. “I’ve wanted to have you against a piano ever since I saw you play at the musicale.”

Her bottom hit the keys in a crash of notes, the music on the stand sliding to the floor as they kissed. He sat down on the bench.

“Lift your robe.”

Viola did as he commanded. Under his spell, as she had been since the day she met him.

“Straddle me.”

“What? I don’t know what you—”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“I don’t think the bench will support both of us.”

“I had it custom made for this purpose.”

“Oh.” She bit her lower lip.

“Straddle me. Now.”

She lifted her robe higher and climbed aboard, spreading her thighs until they bracketed him. The velvet-cushioned bench was soft and supportive under her knees.