West glared at the cheerful crackling fire in the grate. Was he making an enormous mistake?

It was done now. He’d made his decision and signed a contract with Mr. Chandler. Some of his debts were being settled this very day.

There was no going back now.

At least Miss Chandler labored under no illusions that this was a love match. He needn’t woo her or make false promises. She wanted the title. He wanted her fortune. It was a straightforward business arrangement with a minimum of fuss.

A soft knock sounded on the open door. “Your Grace?”

He knew that mellow, lilting female voice.

“Go away,” he called. “I’ve had my quota of lectures today.”

Miss Beaton walked briskly into the room.

“You’re disobeying an order,” he said.

“And you’re being surly.”

“Please leave.”

“Not until I say my piece,” she said calmly.

The faded gray gown she wore couldn’t hide the pleasing curves of her generous bosom, a nicely indented waist, and the extravagant flare of her hips. Her nostrils were flared, as well. Her words were confrontational. but her eyes betrayed her emotions. She was terrified, poor thing.

And well she should be.

“You can save your breath if you’re here to convince me that I’m wrong.” He rose from his chair and stalked toward her. “I was just leaving.”

“Lady Blanche is inconsolable.”

“She’ll come round.”

“She won’t. She’s nursed this affection for Lord Laxton for years now and she won’t easily abandon it.”

West stopped in front of his father’s desk. “I said I didn’t want that name spoken in this house.”

“But why—can you at least give me a reason?”

“He’s not a fit partner for my sister and that’s an end to it. I want her to marry someone who respects her, who holds her in esteem, and will never humiliate her. Now, if you’ll pardon me, Miss Beastly, I’m in no mood—”

“It’s Miss Beaton! My name is Viola Beaton. My father is Louis Beaton, the famous, or some would say infamous, composer.”

He knew her name. He couldn’t say why he pretended not to. Something about appropriate distance between an employer and his staff.

“You hired me, Your Grace. Please endeavor to recall my name,” she said primly.

“Viola suits you. You’re all scrolling curves and indentations and your voice has a mellow, husky musical quality.”

Confusion filled her eyes and she blushed prettily. “I, er, thank you?”

She was here to scold him. He wasn’t in the mood for forbidden flirtations. He gestured toward the door. “Good day, Miss Beaton.”

Resolve replaced confusion in her eyes. “Your Grace, your sisters adore you, you’re all the close family they have left, and this will break their hearts. Think of their feelings before you make any hasty decisions on their behalf.”