She kept her voice even while her heart hammered. “I must ask you to leave now, Lord Sprague.”

He reached out and stroked her cheek. “How do you become more beautiful every time I visit? I thought you were a pretty thing all those years ago in Germany, but now you’ve grown into such a luscious, such a ripe, young woman. It’s such a shame to waste such beauty. You’re not made to be a spinster.”

She’d learned how to improvise weaponry from what was at hand. Her knitting basket was nearby on a table. She backed toward it and the baron followed.

“Don’t resist me, sweet Viola,” he said, his gaze skimming over her lips and down her body. “This is inevitable and we both know it. The only wonder is that I haven’t had you yet. A mistake I mean to remedy this very day.”

Viola edged closer to the table. If she could grab one of the knitting needles, she could hold it to his throat as a weapon.

“It only makes things more exciting when you retreat,” he said, panting slightly, perverse desire burning in his eyes. “I’m going to kiss you now, and there’s nothing you can do about it. And then, tonight, I’ll make you mine.”

She backed away, he followed. She’d nearly reached the knitting basket now. She placed herself in front of it, reaching behind her back to grasp one of the needles.

He meant to attack her in broad daylight. He’d grown tired of waiting. The day of reckoning had arrived. Her fingers closed around the middle of the needle. She brought it up behind her back with the sharp point on top.

She wasn’t going to maim him, only show him that she was no meek and easily conquered victim.

“I’ve thought about this moment for so long. You’ll be my mistress at last.”

“I’m no man’s mistress.”

“You must have more befitting garments. You would look well in green silk, I think. Green to match your eyes. And low-cut, here, to display your charms.” He drew his finger along the edge of her bodice. “And these spinsterish caps will have to go.” He plucked the cap from her head and threw it aside.

“Leave now or you’ll regret it.”

He grabbed her by the shoulders, his fingers digging into her painfully. “Not until I have my kiss.”

“I won’t ask you to leave again.”

“Or what? What will you do, Viola?”

“Withers will be back soon.”

“A servant can’t stop me.”

“Will the thought of my father, your friend, stop you?”

“Nothing will stop me. I’ve waited too long.”

What if he twisted the knitting needle away from her? What if he succeeded in his attack?