Untaming Lady Violet by April Moran
Chapter 17
Celia managed it so that one of the numerous Buchanan cousins occupied the dinner seat beside Violet. Just out of the university and overflowing with tales of his escapades, Lawrence kept her entertained.
Violet did not mind the young man’s steady stream of conversation. It spared her the task of appearing engaged. More importantly, it saved her from William’s odious presence.
But while William glared his disapproval with the seating arrangements, Tristan was strangely remote. Seated just across the table with Fiona Blackerby beside him, he avoided eye contact with Violet. Like her, he escaped the evening activities planned after the meal. The knowledge he more than likely requested Fiona as a dinner partner made her heart hurt with such painful sharpness, she was left breathless.
Pleading a headache, Violet took the stairs as quickly as she dared following dinner, mindful of the curious stares her hasty exit garnered. A glance over her shoulder revealed William preparing to follow, a determined look on his features. Her pace quickened until she gained the safety of her room.
Legs trembling, she leaned against the bedchamber’s solid oak door.
Bile rose in her throat at the thought of William laying a hand on her. His newfound possessiveness was a disturbing development. One she didn’t know how to handle.
Strange how much easier she’d found it to stomach him before Tristan touched her. Before Tristan kissed her. Made her fall hopelessly, tragically, and even deeper in love with him.
Life before that, while hardly perfect, was certainly less complicated. The only expectation was that she should obey her parents. To do as they wished and marry whoever was chosen for her. She had resigned herself to a dull, loveless marriage, certain nothing of interest would mark her life. Before Tristan, Violet doubted she would ever experience the affectionate touch of a man.
It was almost comical, really, that she found herself in this position. Her. The most unremarkable, unmemorable wallflower of the past two seasons was utterly devastated by one of London’s most eligible bachelors.
She was essentially ruined. Oh, not in the classic sense. At least, not in a manner anyone would have any knowledge of. No one knew the liberties the viscount had taken with her, the places he touched her body, the ways he kissed her. If anyone discovered the truth of their stolen encounters, a wedding would probably be her father’s first and foremost demand.
She clenched her fists tight against a swelling of indignant pride.
I’ll never let that happen. I’ll not have any man forced to wed me against his will. Least of all the brother of my dearest friend. What has happened between Tristan and me must remain a secret.
Any chance of happiness with another man had been destroyed by chocolate-colored eyes and a pair of artist’s hands stained with faint traces of paint. And she could only blame herself for her current state of turmoil. If only she’d tried harder in keeping her distance from the charmer. Done more to resist. Hardened her heart. Hid her soul.
A sob broke free from the depths of her chest. “How will I ever forget Tristan when I am that awful man’s wife?”
At the sound of Violet’s voice, Carrot jumped down from the bed’s counterpane and trotted soundlessly to her. Weaving around her legs, he meowed until Violet complied with his demands to be picked up.
Burying her face in the kitten’s soft fur, Violet sniffled until her emotions were wrangled under control.
Carrot endured the moment stoically at first, then with a mischievous spurt of energy, he batted at a hunk of Violet’s hair and bit the auburn curls as though they were a tangle of yarn to be played with.
Carrying the kitten, Violet stood at the window, gazing out over the moonlit grounds below. The sensible thing to do would be to follow her plan and stay far away from the viscount. What he made her feel was dangerous.
Recalling his actions in his studio sent a tide of warmth throughout her body. She’d teetered on the cusp of something magical when his fingers danced upon her flesh. It was all very wicked and dark, and when it abruptly stopped, she’d known a great frustration mixed with eagerness.
She was aware of her body’s own physical reaction to his caresses; the dampness between her thighs that Tristan gathered on his fingertips being the most blatant of those physical signs. That he reminded her of this damning evidence with a teasing grin even while Lord Gadley stood in the foyer of his parents’ home was a stark reminder she was just a pleasant distraction. A dalliance. Certainly not worth forgoing his treasured state of bachelorhood.
“I have agreed he shall paint your portraiture, Carrot, and I shall not go back on my word. But when that is done, I vow I will stay far away from him, for my own sanity, at least.” She nuzzled the kitten’s nose, listening to him purr with pleasure at the unexpected attention. “Nothing good can come from this madness I feel for him. Nothing but heartache.”
* * *
Violet’s avoidanceof William lasted until teatime the following day. Upon returning from a daily check of the mother cat and kittens, he caught her on the terrace overlooking the stables.
“There you are, my dear.”
Impeccably attired in a dark green afternoon coat and trousers, William was dazzling in the bright sunshine. Hair the shade of the new champagne glinted with the sun’s rays, and his pale blue eyes narrowed as Violet slowly ascended the steps.
“Lord Gadley. It’s a pleasant afternoon for taking the air.”
“Yes. I had hoped you would join me. However, your maid informed me you were off on some errand when I came to your room earlier.” His eyes were sharp, taking note of her reaction. “Silly girl said you’d gone to the stables. I informed her she must be mistaken.”
Taken aback by William’s disapproving tone, Violet slowly answered. “Bridgette spoke the truth.”
William’s jaw clenched. “What was your business there? I know you don’t ride. Your father made that very clear.”
“I-I was merely looking in on a stray cat that recently had kittens. You see, I’ve been taking scraps…”
“What utter foolishness,” William mocked. “You shall refrain from such activities from this point forward.”
“Oh, but it is of no consequence to anyone else! Lord Darby’s cook says the scraps are not missed, and I am careful that my visits do not interfere with the workings of the stable.” Violet’s heart pounded from speaking so boldly, but there was no other way to explain herself. Surely, William would understand. “The poor thing was a bit weak, as one might expect with eight new mouths to feed, but she’s much better now and—”
“No wife of mine shall be gallivanting back and forth wherever and whenever she pleases. God only knows the disease and pestilence you might contract from those disgusting creatures.” His eyebrow arched empirically.
“I’m not your wife yet.”
The moment the words escaped her mouth, Violet realized she’d committed a grave error.
William drew himself up into a model of rigid indignation. “All in good time, my dear. As my wife, you will obey me or suffer the consequences.” Cold blue eyes flickered over Violet with a renewed spark of interest. “Your father assured me you were easily handled, and over the past months, I’ve found that to be annoyingly true. This current exhibition of insolence is most surprising. Quite out of character for you. A lack of discipline due to your parents’ absence is certainly the cause. We shall work extremely hard at overcoming this newly uncovered flaw. There are several ways one should deal with defiance, and I will take the greatest of pleasures in correcting your behavior.”
William’s statement confused Violet. How precisely did a husband ‘deal’ with an unruly wife? She certainly had no wish to find out. Nor did she have any desire that her parents discover she’d insulted the man. Should he withdraw the pursuit for her hand, the repercussions would not be pleasant.
“Please forgive my hasty words. I did not mean to offend but was only stating the obvious.” Violet glanced down at her hands, then rubbed them lightly down the sides of her gown. “If you will excuse me, I must go change my gown for tea and freshen up a bit. Good afternoon, Lord Gadley.”
Inclining her head in dismissal, she hurried past, but William snagged her arm, pulling her up short. His eyes bored into her own, lit now with a strange fire and something that resembled lust.
Violet stared at him in alarm. This man had never given her any regard other than that of bored acceptance. But there was an air about him now. It made her wonder; if there was no chance at being caught, what he might do to her. Skin clammy with fear, her heart rose in her throat as she prepared herself to scream for assistance if needed.
“Your father pressed me hard for a decision, Violet. And I obliged him before coming to Darby Meadows.” William leaned forward. In a shocking gesture, he ran his nose alongside hers and breathed in her fear. It was apparent he exalted in its presence. “When your parents arrive, our engagement will be formally announced. After this little display of rebellion, I wouldn’t dream of letting you go now.”
* * *
Violet crumpledthe note into a ball and in a fit of temper flung it into the fireplace. Watching it burst into a tiny ball of flames was momentarily satisfying, but not enough to ease her emotions.
“The gall of that man,” she muttered beneath her breath. “The absolute temerity.”
Tristan had selected the time and place for Carrot’s painting. Notification was sent to Violet via a hand-written message, delivered some hours ago by a servant rather than conveyed in person. Instead of the woodland setting she’d originally requested, he rather high-handedly deemed the fabulously ornate, overly large fountain in the center of his mother’s garden as the location.
The very center of Buckingham Palace would be less populated than the popular Darby Rose Garden in the height of springtime.
Obviously, Tristan wished to avoid any time in her presence now that William had arrived. And while Violet agreed with the sentiment, it stung beyond all bearing he was making serious efforts to that end.
It should not bother her so deeply, but it did. It should not anger her, but goodness, her palms itched with a need to slap the man. And it should not make her heart ache, knowing he wished to end their association, but it hurt more than she wanted to admit.
She stewed upon that pain while preparing for bed, and Bridgette combed out her hair.
“I shouldn’t care,” she whispered defiantly. “I shouldn’t care, and I don’t. Because he never gave a moment’s thought to anything other than his own pleasure. The selfish cad. Even when he was caressing me, it was for himself. Oh, how could I be so blind? So foolish? So eager to be used for his amusement?”
The longer she thought on the subject, the more upset Violet became until it was clear she must say something to Tristan or burst with the words seething inside her.
She waited until Bridgette left her for the evening, then waited another two hours for good measure. But even the passage of time did nothing to cool her temper. With a night rail pulled tight around her body and a self-righteous grimace stamped on her features, she shut the bedchamber door behind her with a decisive click.
“I shall simply inform the viscount I’ve no wish to be in his company any longer than necessary. In fact, it is I attempting to distance myself from him, rather than the other way around. He and Fiona Blackerby are welcome to each other…”
Violet mumbled this to herself as she made her way down the long hallway and turned down the corridor containing Tristan’s suite. From previous stays, she knew the viscount’s rooms were situated in a wing of the huge estate house affording both privacy and convenience to the rest of the residence. He was far enough away no guests would bother him, but close enough that he also wasn’t regarded as an outcast.
It was after midnight. The servants had turned down the hall sconces some time before, leaving the long corridor dark with deep shadows. This wing contained only Tristan’s rooms. There was no reason anyone else should be about at this time of the night, but as Violet drew close, the bedchamber door flew open.
A female form, her blonde hair barely covered by a pretty shawl, was suddenly thrust into the small pool of light cast by twin sconces bracketing Tristan’s doorway. She wore only a flimsy nightgown and robe.
Violet grimaced. Much like herself.
“Go back to your room, Fiona,” Tristan rumbled.
Violet ducked behind a tall armoire, holding her breath at the sound of the viscount’s voice. It carried a lilt of annoyance and something else. Exasperation? Desire? She couldn’t tell.
“But, Tristan, shouldn’t we just— “
“No, we shouldn’t. I warned you about this, that it can’t happen again. Go back to your room. Quickly, before someone sees you.”
Fiona’s sultry laugh set Violet’s teeth on edge. “Would that be such a terrible thing?”
“For you, yes. Before any real damage is done to your reputation, do as I say.”
“You do lead a girl on a merry chase, Longleigh,” Fiona simpered. “Everyone knows how terribly persistent I am.”
Peeking around the piece of furniture, Violet’s eyes widened at the sight of Tristan. Dear heavens, the man wore only loose drawers resembling a pair of trousers held up by a drawstring and a dark green robe which hung open. Golden in the light of the sconces, his bare chest rippled with muscles. A line of dark hair began at his navel and tracked to the waistline of the pants.
Fascinated by the expanse of flesh, Violet helplessly watched him take Fiona by the shoulders. He then spun her around so she faced away from him.
Leaning forward, he whispered something in her ear.
Fiona’s eyes closed until Tristan gave her a little shove that placed a small distance between their bodies.
Her tone carried a husky promise of sex as she glanced back at him. “Don’t offer unless you intend on delivering, darling.”
“Go back to your room and remember what I said,” Tristan replied, tersely.
“Oh, I’ll remember,” Fiona trilled, coming toward Violet who quickly ducked out of eyesight again. “I’ll dream of it every night.”
Tristan’s response was to shut his door. Fiona simply shrugged, seemingly unfazed by the viscount’s rudeness. Continuing down the corridor, a smug smile lit her features.
When the woman’s light humming could no longer be heard, Violet ventured out from her hiding place.
Fury shook her. How dare he? How dare he carry on with that hussy? And all while acting like her champion against Fiona’s cruelty at the same time.
The preening peacock. The insufferable cad.
Before she realized her feet were moving, Violet stood at his door. Her fists banged on the oak in a series of rapid knocks.
Tristan flung open the portal at the racket, and Violet barely had time to register his surprise before she was snatched from the hallway and into his rooms.
The door slammed shut behind her. The click of the lock struck with an ominous note.
“You’ll have a devil of a time explaining why you are lurking outside my bedroom, kitten,” Tristan purred. He easily held Violet against the wall with one hand lightly gripping the base of her throat. The other braced against the wood paneling beside her head, caging her in. “But oh, how I look forward to hearing why you are. Now, start talking.”