Untaming Lady Violet by April Moran

Chapter 2

“Come down. Show yourself at once!”

Tristan’s voice rang out in a staccato of clipped, hard notes.

Unforgiving.

Rigid.

In that moment, he was a far cry from the charming gentleman society knew so well.

“I warn you… trespassers are dealt with harshly here. Poachers even more so.”

Poachers? Good lord. Violet never considered there might be men of nefarious character trespassing on Darby property.

She considered her options. Should she throw herself upon his mercy? Or remain cowering amongst the leaves until he gave up and went on his way? He did not know her identity, and there was little reason that should change.

Still, nauseating shyness overwhelmed Violet. This man’s attention, sparse though it was, never failed to throw her emotions into a veritable whirlwind of panic. Countless times over the years he’d left her tongue-tied and blithering like a simpleton after simply bidding her good-day.

And now…

Oh, blast it all … my shoe actually struck him.

The viscount stood directly below the branch she stood balanced upon. Hands planted square on his hips, the errant shoe clenched in one large fist so it resembled a balled-up bit of fabric, he glared at her. Annoyance flowed off him in waves. Violet had a quick image of him stalking about as though he were a pirate on a marauding ship. Only a cutlass dangling from his side and a hat sporting an oversized, feather plume atop his head was required to complete the image in her mind

“I’m neither trespasser—” Violet’s tongue tangled, impeding her speech in the worst way, “—nor poacher.”

The sentence ended in a squeak.

Valiantly attempting bravery, she cleared her throat. Hopefully, she wouldn’t sound too bloody terrified. “Lord Longleigh, it’s-it’s only me. Violet Everstone. Celia’s friend. Remember?”

Tristan’s stare was unblinking.

Mortified by his uncharacteristic silence, Violet cringed. She’d been Celia Buchanan’s closest friend for years, yet the lady’s brother scowled as if he really had stumbled across a trespassing stranger.

“Violet Everstone?” A muscle ticked in his tight jaw. “What the fu—” The words died in an abruptly strangled cough before he spoke again. “What in God’s name are you doing up there?”

Edging into view so the viscount could see it was truly her, Violet’s fingers dug into the tree bark. Picking at the coarse surface was ruining the perfect ovals of her fingernails. Mother would be displeased, as would Lord Gadley. He commented once how lovely her hands were, then seemed genuinely surprised he might actually like something about her.

The thought of his disappointment, along with her mother’s, proved oddly invigorating. A small tingle of rebellion reminding her that she did not desire Gadley’s approval. Not one bit.

However, if Tristan Buchanan decided he wanted them, Violet would climb to the moon and gather the stars.

“Must I ask my question again?” he barked.

Violet was startled so badly she was forced to clutch the tree if she had any hope of remaining in it.

“I can hear you perfectly well, my lord. There’s no reason to shout as though you were a street hawker,” she reprimanded in exasperation.

“Street hawker ….” Tristan’s mutter was incredulous before his tone became absolutely icy. “What, if you will permit my inquiring, are you doing up in a tree on my family’s property?”

“I’ve good reason for my actions, my lord.”

“I’m breathless with anticipation to hear it, Lady Violet.”

She frowned down at him. “I would not be up here without purpose.”

“And this required risking life and limb so you could hide like a frightened kitten?” His voice was deceptively flat, but a tiny spark of interest appeared in the velvety brown eyes trained so intently upon her.

Violet imagined flinging herself from the tree and happily drowning in the depths of his gaze.

Then those eyes sharpened in a predatory manner. Indeed, his entire body went on alert. As if searching for hidden dangers, his gaze swept the clearing’s perimeter. “Are you up there of your own accord?”

Violet nodded then added, “Yes,” when it seemed he expected a verbal response.

“Were you frightened into doing so? By man or beast?”

Puzzled, she shook her head. “No.”

Tristan relaxed. Tipping his head back, he pinned her with yet another hard glare. “Then what is the reason for your current location?”

The viscount shifted his arms, crossing them over that impossibly wide chest. The movement stretched the black superfine cloth of the coat across his shoulders. From her vantage point, Violet could see his throat muscles contract when he swallowed.

She swallowed, too. Why did her face suddenly feel so dreadfully hot, like she suffered from fever?

Pressing a palm against one cheek, she tested her temperature in distracted curiosity. Then, reminded of her precarious position, she clutched the tree trunk again.

“I-I, uh, you see, it was a baby robin. The poor thing fell from the nest.” Violet nodded toward the bundle of twigs which was barely visible through the abundance of green leaves. “The mother was quite frantic, so I decided there was no harm returning —"

“Come down this instant.”

The words were not a veiled plea in the interest of safety but a command she should follow without question.

Ordinarily, Violet would have scrambled down as instructed. She would have obeyed the assertive tone of that husky voice without hesitation, but for some reason, she grew more still. Her body, while internally snapping to attention, refused to actually move.

Wasn’t that just the strangest thing?

“Lady Violet, should I procure a saucer of milk as enticement?”

“What? I do not understand...” she stuttered. Why would he offer her milk, of all things?

“I’m told kittens love it.” Tristan’s manner shifted, becoming something silky and… wicked. “Will that bring you down? Or will you be lured by other means?”

Violet’s lip pursed. He confused her. It was as if the viscount wanted a reason to make her obey his demand.

Silence stretched between them until she shifted her feet. The branch swayed in response.

Tristan moved closer. “You misunderstand me.” There was the impression he might prove dangerous should his commands go unheeded. His eyes narrowed slightly. “I’m not making a suggestion.”

“It is you who misunderstands, Lord Longleigh. I’ve no wish to disobey you, but… You see, you must turn around,” Violet explained.

Tristan’s dark slashing eyebrows knit together in a vee of irritation.

“I cannot extricate myself while you watch,” she sputtered with embarrassment. Did he have no comprehension of her dilemma? “It’s quite improper.”

“Improper.” His full lips quirked. “Stuck midway up an English oak, and you are concerned for propriety? Despite the strangeness of this situation, I think I find you most amusing.” He waved the slipper at her. “By chance, are you still wearing this one’s mate? Let me see.”

Violet quivered at the scandalous suggestion. Crippling shyness might shroud her like a morning mist, but it wasn’t enough to silence her tongue.

“I’m not stuck.”

She deliberately ignored the wicked directive to lift her skirts.

The viscount made a noise that might have been a snort.

“Well, I’m not.” Violet’s stubborn tone was quite foreign to her, the tilt of her chin even more so. She hoped she sounded very brave when she loftily instructed, “Turn around, my lord. I shall not come down otherwise.”

“Oh, very well!” Tristan’s hands rose in surrender as he whirled and presented his back. “When you fall, you may only blame yourself. Even with my reflexes, I doubt I’ll catch you.”

“I won’t fall.” Violet shimmied around the tree, strategically placing her feet in different crooks and crannies. “I’ve always thought this oak well suited for climbing, although this is my first attempt with such endeavors.”

A wave of dizziness swept her and was fought back.

“Climbing up was much harder,” she explained unnecessarily. This chatter was not normal for her, but Violet attributed it to nerves. After all, she’d never descended from a tree with a handsome viscount in such close proximity before.

He isn’t peeking, is he?My position is most unladylike. Oh, I do hope he has not crushed my slipper too badly.

With a shake of her head, she gathered her courage while continuing her descent.

“I did not have use of both hands before, as you see I was holding the poor bird. Which means, Lord Longleigh, the chances of a tumble now are greatly reduced.”