Untaming Lady Violet by April Moran

Chapter 12

Rhythmic purring woke Violet.

Opening her eyes, she watched as the tiny kitten yawned before settling himself into a bundle of fur with front paws tucked neatly beneath his chest. His perch on the extra pillow placed him at eye level with Violet.

Carrot’s green eyes were little slits of contentment, the rumbling from his chest loud in the morning quiet. Laying on her side, Violet softly stroked the cat’s orange tabby fur, smiling when the purring increased in velocity.

“Cheeky thing. You were meant to sleep on the little bed I made for you in the corner.”

Carrot merely blinked, unconcerned with Violet’s admonishment.

“And now you’ve stolen a spot on my pillow, little thief.” She rubbed Carrot’s ears until his eyes closed in blissful appreciation.

Violet’s thoughts turned to Tristan as the kitten dozed off, and the prior evening’s events pushed to the forefront. The man appeared both amused and perplexed when she’d left him behind on the terrace.

But her own feelings regarding the entire incident greatly perplexed her. The flood of emotions. The desire suffusing her bloodstream. The sharp zing of excitement shooting through every nerve ending she possessed when he kissed her.

Her body’s involuntary reactions were alarming. How could Tristan’s fingers wreak such havoc? How could his mouth, his lips, ignite a fiery longing for more?

Thinking of such things made her restless. Achy. Confused.

With guarded hesitancy, Violet cupped her own breast in the same manner Tristan handled her. Brushing a thumb over her nipple, she mused that although the resulting tingle set her stomach aflutter, it could not match the dizzying rush of pleasure experienced when Tristan touched her.

Biting her lip at the very wickedness of her actions, she lightly pinched the aching bud, again mimicking Tristan’s actions.

From the flesh squeezed between thumb and forefinger, a bolt of lightning shot to the space between her thighs.

Violet whimpered, snatching her hand away as if her breast were a dangerous trap.

At the small sound of distress, Carrot’s eyes slit open. Unfurling, he stretched lazily, touching his nose to Violet’s with a questioning meow.

“That man is the very devil,” Violet muttered aloud. Rolling to her back, she stared at the ceiling.

Carrot meowed again, rousing himself for an exploratory journey of the hills and valleys created by the bed coverings. He pounced, pinning imaginary prey beneath tiny paws while biting the coverlet with an adorable growl.

The kitten’s antics distracted Violet from further thoughts of Tristan. She indulged her new pet’s playfulness, trailing the ribbon from the bodice of her nightdress and laughing when Carrot attacked it with feisty vigor.

“How fierce you are,” she admonished, tugging the ribbon from his sharp claws.

Carrot prepared to leap again, eyes bright with excitement and focused on the strip of fabric.

An unexpected tapping on the bedchamber door distracted both the cat and Violet.

Scrambling off the bed, Carrot took up residence beneath a chifforobe.

Only Bridgette would venture to her room at such an early hour, and the maid would not bother with the formality of knocking. But perhaps she’d fallen ill and another servant had overtaken her duties.

“Come in,” she called out, but the person on the other side of the door merely rapped the wood again.

“One moment.” Violet sighed. Rising from the bed, she donned a robe laid across the foot of the mattress. Knotting it tightly at her waist, she looked about for the matching slippers only they were nowhere to be seen.

Naughty kitten, she decided with pursed lips. Most likely, the missing footwear sat tucked beneath a piece of furniture. Carrot did like to carry things off as if they were fresh kill and he a great hunter.

Bare toes curled in protest at the chill of the hardwood floor when she stepped off the lush rug. At a tiptoeing run, she reached the door and flung it open.

“Good morning.” Tristan’s brow arched high, his gaze quickly covering every inch of Violet’s body. Those chocolate-hued eyes lingered on her exposed feet and the lower region of her ankles, his lips twitching with a ghost of a smile.

Violet clutched the neck of her robe; the other hand remained on the door to keep it from swinging open completely. “What are you doing here?”

Tristan’s eyes darkened, becoming twin pools of rich velvet that simultaneously caressed any exposed skin and ripped away her flimsy robe all at the same time. Violet shuddered, horrified that the idea of Tristan taking what he wanted at that very moment was somehow intriguing.

As if she could shut off those disturbing thoughts, she inched the door closed the slightest bit. Tugging her bottom lip between her teeth, she waited for his answer.

Tristan swore softly beneath his breath. His gaze shifted to focus on a point somewhere over her right shoulder.

“I hoped your maid would answer the door.” His jaw clenched as his eyes remained averted. “Here. It is for the beast.”

He thrust something at her, and Violet instinctively let go of the door to accept the offering.

It was a tiny collar. Small and delicately made from soft, butter-like leather, it had a small buckle crafted of gleaming brass.

“It’s a curb strap I pulled from a yearling’s first bridle.” His voice was gruff. “With a ribbon as a leash, you can safely take him outside.”

“Walk a cat?” Violet murmured, acutely aware of Tristan’s gaze drifting down until it landed where she clutched the collar below the lower curve of her breasts. “Whoever heard of such a thing?”

Tristan chuckled, a low rumbling sound that constricted Violet’s stomach in the strangest way. “It can be done. I believe the trick is beginning while he is young. Easier to handle and to teach.”

“Thank you.” Standing awkwardly, shifting from one bare foot to the other, she waited for Tristan to say more.

“It will certainly prove useful while painting my subject. Provided you accept my apologies for my behavior last evening and allow me to fulfill my debt,” he finally said.

“I accept your apology,” Violet agreed softly. “However—”

Tristan’s jaw tensed even more. “Of course, you accept. Even when you shouldn’t.”

Tilting her chin, Violet glared at him. “Why offer an apology you don’t mean? I don’t understand you.”

“I don’t understand myself either,” Tristan growled. He appeared so genuinely confused by his own behavior that Violet almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

“Thank you for the collar.” Her tone rivaled the chill in the room. The bit of leather was placed on a marble-topped stand beside the door. “However, I stand by my decision that the wager is forgiven, so you don’t— “

Violet felt something soft brush against her ankles. It was gone in a flash, accompanied by the skitter of tiny nails seeking purchase upon hardwood floors.

“Oh!” Violet exclaimed as the kitten bolted between Tristan’s legs. “Don’t let him into the hall!”

Her momentum propelled her forward. Intent on following Carrot’s escape route, she dove between Tristan’s knees, then found herself trapped there. Now, her head was stuck in a very compromising position and her backside positioned even more so.

Tristan stumbled forward. Without thinking, he braced himself using both hands on Violet’s shoulder blades until their position resembled an odd childhood game of leapfrog.

“What the devil— “

“Don’t just stand there, Longleigh!” Violet swore. It seemed expedient she should scramble the rest of the way through the viscount’s widened stance rather than back out and start over.

Tristan grunted with exasperation, shoving himself away just as Violet squealed, “Help me catch him!”

She continued crawling on her hands and knees, finding it mildly satisfying when Tristan also dropped to the floor, reaching toward the animal with an extended hand.

Carrot was not impressed by their combined efforts at entrapment. Giving a ferocious hiss, he pressed forward in a renewed dash for freedom.

Tristan had him by the scruff of the neck before the kitten reached the shadowed underbelly of a carved walnut cabinet in the hallway.

“Aha! Caught you, you devil.”

Carrot snarled in a half-screech, half-growl, twisting wildly.

“Son of —!” Rising to his feet, Tristan held the kitten in one hand while tugging Violet up with the other. “Little bugger scratched me.”

“Let’s get him back inside my room.” Violet inhaled because Tristan’s hand, so hot and hard on the upper part of her arm, did dangerous things to her ability to breathe. “I’ll close the door so he cannot escape again.”

Tristan muttered something but followed her instructions.

The kitten scampered away the moment he was placed on the floor, and Violet turned her attention to the viscount.

“Let’s see the extent of the damage,” she said, taking his hand in hers and holding it so the morning light illuminated his fingers. The scratch to his forefinger’s cuticle was fairly deep. “Oh, you are bleeding.” The examination continued for a few moments longer, her fingers gliding over his, coasting gently across the wound.

His hand was so much larger than hers. So strong and calloused. The faintest aroma of linseed oil teased her nostrils, and Violet wondered if he had laid paint to canvas that very morning.

“It is nothing to be concerned over.”

Startled by the abruptness in his voice, Violet met Tristan’s dark gaze. “I just wish to—”

He pulled his hand away, retreating until his back hit the paneled wall beside the door.

“This seems to be a consistent occurrence. We find ourselves alone under various circumstances. And there’s little reluctance on your part to avoid said encounters.” His full lips quirked upward. “I think perhaps you enjoy my attention.”

“That’s preposterous,” Violet sputtered. “An inflated ego is a dangerous thing, my lord, and your theory is flawed.”

“If you say so.”

Violet’s eyes narrowed. “I only wanted to help you. You should leave now.”

Tristan’s eyes drifted over her form, touching on the spot where her robe gaped open. Acutely aware of the heated, longing in his gaze, Violet clutched the edges of the garment tighter until the material wrinkled in her grip.

The moment stretched out, tense and awkward, until he finally smiled.

“Of course,” he said. “No matter the innocence of the situation, it would mean ruin for us both if we are discovered.”

Discomfited by the husky note of his voice, which hinted at all things decidedly beyond innocence, Violet moved past him. Her fingers curved around the doorknob just as Tristan swept an arm around her waist. He hauled her back against him until their bodies were flush with each other.

“Forget our wager if you wish but I’ll have your promise I may paint that little beast.” His murmur tickled her ear. “Consider it a gift.”

“I don’t think it is wise…”

“Promise me, Violet,” he cut her off, his arm tightening while his other hand drifted down until it rested lightly on the curve of her hip. “It will please me to do this for you.”

Violet knew the rejection of his apology disturbed him more than he wanted her to know. Nodding her consent, she saw relief flash in his eyes before his dark lashes swept down. That unexpected glimpse of vulnerability lurking inside Tristan Buchanan twisted her heart.

But far worse, it made resisting him nearly impossible.