Untaming Lady Violet by April Moran

Chapter 10

Leaning against one of the pillars defining the drawing room, Tristan watched Celia sweet-talk her way into a game of whist where the prize was whatever the winner demanded.

She was a regular spit-fire, his sister. Too smart and too sassy for her own good.

That very nature of hers was both appealing and off-putting to the opposite sex. As such, he kept a close eye on her whenever they were in close proximity. Her fiery spirit needed reining in occasionally. Briefly, he thought of the times Grace Willsdown eclipsed Celia when it came to their wild antics. The memories made him smile.

But Grace was Richeforte’s now. Tristan had long ago come to terms with that fact. There had never been any real hope Grace would be his, not once she and Nicholas discovered one another. Those two.... It was damn eerie how in tune they were—to the point their union could only be called fate.

Tristan’s gaze slid over to Violet. She sat quietly at the pianoforte, plucking out soft notes to music he didn’t recognize. He wondered if she knew how to play or if the simple tune was a concession to societal mores which demanded a young woman play a musical instrument of some sort.

In the midst of the room’s loud gaiety, she kept to herself, which in itself drew attention. Tristan wasn’t the only one who noticed her quiet beauty or her contentment in being alone. Satisfied with loitering on the edges, she watched the other women in an almost clinical fashion as they reveled in the spotlight male adoration provided.

Tristan didn’t want anyone to discover the fire Violet hid from everyone else. Didn’t want another man to unearth the complex treasure buried beneath the creamy complexion and that pile of gorgeous auburn hair. He was slowly coming to realize she was a girl with terrible power. The power to ignite the passion of any man she came in contact with. The power to make a man forget his will was his own.

The damnable thing was Violet appeared blissfully unaware of her effect on others. She floated through the maze of men and dazzling women like an amethyst-eyed fairy. Untouchable and intriguing, and yet, there was something achingly vulnerable about her.

It needled Tristan. Poking and prodding as telling him someone should shelter and protect her. Take care of her. Grant her every wish and desire and make her smile with contentment every day of her life.

She would make men dance a merry tune if she ever embraced her potential.

If he were a man searching for a wife, he’d be wary of such a girl. Tristan wasn’t in the market for a bride, but recognizing Violet’s shyness incited a need to help her navigate through the world. She was much too beautiful for any man to run roughshod over. And too sweet to accept her parents treating her as a commodity. Given a push in the right direction, she might actually discover a bit of power. A minuscule amount perhaps, but enough that she could have an opinion over her own future.

Besides, it might be interesting to watch Violet come into her own. It would prove a distracting activity during his time at Darby Meadows, despite any misgivings he held on becoming too involved. She would benefit from his interaction, after all, becoming better equipped to handle men like William Gadley and Henry Bowman. Men interested in taking advantage of her.

Seeing his attention was fixed on her and had not swayed, Violet gave Tristan a tiny smile. Fingers gliding lightly over the keys, she continued playing, her gaze fixed with his as if inviting his company.

Tristan pushed away from the column. He should sit beside her before someone else decided that was a capital idea.

Sliding onto the bench, he grinned when her fingers faltered the tiniest bit.

So, he did affect her.

When she’d slipped past him after sharing their explosive kiss, Tristan almost doubted himself. She seemed too at ease for a first kiss. Too calm. Too… reserved. It perplexed him that all he could think of since that kiss was how Violet Everstone tasted like sugared peaches. And how he wished he could trace the tiny cleft in her chin with his tongue before moving on to more intriguing areas of her person.

“Do you play?” Violet asked, her elegant hands stilling.

“No. Never had the propensity for it.” He edged closer and experimentally touched a key. “I do enjoy hearing you play, however.”

She bit her bottom lip, containing a grin. “I play as well as I sing. Which is to say, abysmally.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“You wisely made yourself absent on the occasions Celia and I performed for our parents when we were young.” She shrugged. “Lucky for you.”

“You must have other talents,” Tristan offered. “Tell me some of the things you like to do.”

“A woman is not supposed to highlight her own interests.” Violet half turned toward him, her eyes sparkling. “But, as you’ve asked me directly, it will not harm anything to say I do enjoy reading. Although, I suppose that is not really a talent. I am fairly accomplished at writing poetry. And I do have a head for numbers. My father despises that fact. He thinks it is completely inappropriate that a female possesses such knowledge.”

Tristan’s head tilted, his dark eyes studying her. “That skill will stand you well once you are managing your own household.”

“Do you think so? I doubt Lord Gadley will appreciate it. His views are distressingly similar to my father’s. And those of my mother.” Violet sighed, unhappiness flitting across her features like a brief raincloud.

Tristan’s heart clenched.

“Perhaps Gadley will change his mind and choose another to become his wife.” His words were cavalier, but he felt anything but nonchalant. To think of that man dictating anything this lovely girl might do in the future left Tristan feeling slightly nauseated. With his cold, clinical reputation, it was highly probable Gadley would smash Violet’s gentle spirit to bits.

Tristan could not imagine a worse prospect for a spouse, with the exception of himself, of course. Her parents must be mad to even consider the man as an ideal husband.

Violet regarded Tristan, remaining silent in light of his statement. He could see in her eyes she had no hope of Gadley suddenly becoming a sensitive, caring human spouse.

Tristan quickly changed the subject, afraid of where things were leading.

“How is your new pet doing? Settled in?”

A quick smile transformed Violet’s features. Her adorably pert nose crinkled. “Bridgette, my maid, has declared him a minion of the underworld. I cannot blame her. Carrot hid beneath the bed then attacked her skirts when she walked past. It was quite unexpected and resulted in a little scratch on her ankle while he was caught upon the fabric. But the skin was not broken, and he meowed quite mournfully in response to her terrified scream. He was very sorry, after all.”

Tristan unsuccessfully smothered a laugh. “Such behavior is to be expected from a half-wild creature.”

“He’s quite intelligent. Bridgette set up a pan filled with sand, and he’s learned that is where he should do his business. He’s such a smart rascal, but prone to mischief. Already, he’s ruined one lace shawl.”

“If you insist on keeping him, my dear, I imagine he will destroy a few more of your belongings.”

Violet giggled. “I will introduce you again, now that he’s had a proper meal and a warm bed to sleep in. You will see he’s quite charming. It makes it easier to overlook his shortcomings.”

Tristan leaned forward, remembering how this girl’s lush form felt pressed against his own body. She tasted as warm and decadent as a strawberry tart. He wanted another sample. “I despise cats, but for you, I shall endeavor to make friends with the beast.”

“Violet, darling, come play a hand or two of whist with Lord Harvey and me.” Celia slid into the open space upon the bench, placing Violet in the middle of the Buchanan siblings. Leaning past her friend, she gave her brother a mischievous grin. “You may join us, Tristan, if you don’t mind losing.”

“I trounce you at whist every time,” he drawled with an indulgent smile.

“Only because I allow it. Your pride being such a fragile thing, I don’t dare crush it,” Celia teased. “Besides, you would face off against Violet. And she would have no qualms destroying your ego. She may look forward to it, actually.”

“Oh, I would certainly not go so far as that.” Violet blushed furiously, and Tristan reveled in the way her face glowed pink.

“I’m game if you are, Lady Violet,” Tristan said, taking her elbow. “And I look forward to your efforts in crushing my… um, ego.”

* * *

“We must set the wagers,”Celia claimed as they settled about the table. “Harvey, you should go first.”

Lord Harvey grinned wolfishly. “Your hand for every waltz the night of the May Day Ball.”

“Greedy, but I agree to your terms.” Celia appeared bored by the man’s request. Rolling her eyes, she nodded at her brother. “Tristan?”

Tristan rolled the whiskey so it glided up the sides of the tumbler he held. His eyes, dark and wicked, gleamed as he considered Violet. She squirmed a little under the intense scrutiny. “To paint Lady Violet’s portrait is my fervent wish.”

A scandalized gasp went up around the group of onlookers. Fiona Blackerby appeared as if she might explode with jealousy. Henry Bowman puffed up in righteous outrage, and Celia, bless her little misguided, matchmaker’s heart, grinned with sheer delight.

But Tristan didn’t care about any of that. He was already thinking ahead to the moment he had Violet under his paintbrush.

“Seems rather risqué a wager,” Bowman sputtered from the sidelines.

“Daring, actually. Provided the lady agrees,” Tristan murmured, his gaze never leaving Violet. She was blushing again, but she also looked determined not to let him intimidate her. It was strangely endearing.

“It’s an excellent wager. In fact, I shall adopt it, Tristan. I heartily agree if you should win the game, you must paint our Violet’s portrait.” Celia clapped her hands in obvious glee. “How lucky for you, Violet! Not many are privy to Tristan’s talent, or can say they are on the receiving end.”

Violet looked vaguely distressed but smoothed her features back into an expression of blandness.

“Then I, too, shall base my wager upon Longleigh’s skills as an artist.”

“Oh?” Tristan’s eyebrow rose high in surprise. Violet was exhibiting far more bravado than he expected. It was quite scandalous that he suggested painting her, an innocent, unwed girl. To her credit, she was taking it in stride. Perhaps, she wanted to be painted.

The very idea nearly made his hands shake with anticipation.

I’ll position her on the floor so those lovely, amethyst eyes are looking directly up at me. A lock of that gorgeous auburn hair curling over one bare, ivory shoulder, her arm resting languidly on a plump ottoman. I want her to look as though she’s been thoroughly kissed and is unable to stand from the lust I’ve stirred within her…

“I should like a painting of Carrot, if you please.” She gave Tristan a shyly apologetic smile, unaware she was shattering his vision of their session. “I-I’m afraid it might be all I have of remembering him if I am forced to give him up.”

“Oh, what fun this shall be!” Celia exclaimed. “Let us begin at once. I cannot imagine how you would entice a cat to sit for a portraiture, but if Violet wins, it will be the first time Tristan has ever painted one. He simply loathes the creatures, after all.”

“Are you sure of your wager, Violet?” Tristan asked with a slight frown. He ignored his sister.

“Most certainly.” Cocking her head, she stared at him, appearing surer than she had a right to be. “Are you?”

Tristan took a sip of whiskey, tipping the glass at Violet in mock salute. “I’ve never been more convinced of a decision in all my life.”

Lord Harvey dealt the cards and the first game began in earnest.

Tristan, despite his best effort, lost the initial hand. It was expected when Violet commanded all of his attention. Her every move fascinated him. The way she bit her bottom lip in concentration. The manner in which she fanned the cards just so in her delicate hand. The devilish sparkle in her eyes when she won the first trick. All entrancing and arousing and so infuriating he wished they were someplace private for games of another sort.

“Congratulations, Lady Violet,” Lord Harvey said with an admiring laugh. “A lucky turn for you.”

“Thank you, sir,” she replied modestly. “Shall we continue playing?”

“Best of three, my dear. It would be only fair,” Tristan barked in a tight voice. Damn, he should pay more attention to the game if he hoped to win the prize. Could he get away with asking her to wear a shoulder revealing gown for his painting?

Of course, he could. He’d insist upon it. The difference in shading between her skin and hair would be a masterpiece. Because if any woman should be immortalized on canvas, it was this girl. Damn, if she didn’t exude light. And yet, the light seemed determined to find its way back to her. She glowed with a creamy luminosity he found difficult to look away from. Couldn’t everyone see it? Or was it only his artist’s eye devouring such perfection?

“All right,” Violet agreed, dropping her gaze from his heated one. Fumbling with the cards, she managed to deal them without incident.

The next hand was squarely won by Tristan. Celia crowed with triumph before giving Violet an apologetic embrace.

“So sorry, dear,” Celia grinned at her best friend. “I am, however, quite excited to see your portraiture.”

Violet grit her teeth and smiled. “There are still games to be played. And Carrot will prove excellent subject matter for the viscount’s impressive talent.”

Tristan’s derisive snort was disregarded.

The next few hands passed in quick procession, and by the end, the crowd was stunned into silence by the precise brutality of the winner.

“I shall defer to your expertise on location for Carrot’s painting, my lord.” Violet stood from the table. “But I do prefer an outdoor setting as I’ve always admired your use of color when it comes to landscapes.”

Tristan gathered the cards in one hand. Exactly how had he lost so quickly and so thoroughly to the shy, little redhead? She’d massacred them all in short order after he’d won the one and only hand. Her skill was amazing.

“Of course,” he muttered. Unused to losing, he couldn’t manage more than that.

“Tristan, I warned you she would crush your ego. Don’t be angry that you lost.” A note of anxiety threaded Celia’s tone. She stood, linking arms with Violet while speaking to her in a low voice. “Darling, you might have shown him some mercy.”

Tristan waved his hand in dismissal of his sister’s concern. “I’m merely thinking of a perfect spot to capture the little beast on canvas. Congratulations, Lady Violet, on your masterful play.”

“Here, here!” Lord Harvey exclaimed. “Never seen a trouncing so quickly done. I don’t even mind losing when the opponent displays such obvious skill.”

“Because of your generous spirit, Lord Harvey, I shall grant you at least three waltzes,” Celia smiled, releasing Violet so she could lay a hand on the man’s forearm. “A cheerful loser is indeed a rarity.”

“I believe I shall take a turn around the terrace before retiring for the evening. I should check on Carrot anyway. He’s a very mischievous thing when left to his own devices for too long.” Violet gathered up her fan and shawl.

“I’ll escort you, Lady Violet. Have a look at my newest muse. Get an idea of colors and inspiration.” Tristan rose to his full height, tossing back the dregs of whiskey still lingering in the glass. His eyebrow rose when Violet’s apprehension became apparent in the way her grip tightened on the delicate fan. He thought he heard one of the piece’s thin ribs crack from being held so tight in her fist. “I should at least attempt making friends with the subject if I am to paint him in a realistic fashion.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Violet stammered. “That would be best, I suppose. I would hate if he were to scratch you.”

“I wouldn’t mind.” Tristan smiled, knowing the meaning behind his words was quite clear when Violet tugged her bottom lip between her teeth in disconcerted awareness. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been scratched by a hostile kitten.”