“You’re overconfident.”

“I don’t think so. You have nowhere to live at the moment. This is a large salary, temporary accommodations with world-class pianofortes, and you like my sisters.”

“I do like your sisters.” She smiled. “They’re remarkable young women.”

“More importantly, they like you, they trust you, and they want to please you.”

She should refuse but it was so much money and the salary came with a place to live away from Sprague. And she wanted to keep teaching the ladies. But living next door to Westbury. Seeing him nearly every day. She’d resolved to forget him. Force her heart to stop beating to his tune.

She could control her heart.

“Very well, Your Grace, I’ll consult with my father, and we’ll consider your offer.”

“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 turbulent ocean-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.”