Untaming Lady Violet by April Moran
Chapter 21
If it were possible to punch William Gadley in the mouth and not ruin the festivities planned for May Day, Tristan’s fist would have already found its mark.
He curbed the impulse to beat the man senseless; a hard-fought battle if there ever was one.
“It is impossible to forget the Duchess of Richeforte. The duke certainly agrees with that,” Tristan replied tightly. He did not comment on the assertion he had no interest in stealing Violet away.
If Gadley only knew the things he’d done already, the man wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss him as a threat.
That Violet might believe he was still in love with Grace twisted Tristan’s stomach. If it wasn't for Gadley watching them so closely, he would disprove that misconception in the most decadent way possible.
“My opinion regarding marriage is none of your concern.” Tristan forced the words between clenched teeth.
“Here now, Longleigh,” William scoffed with a wave of an elegant hand. “No need creating a row. This is a private matter between Lady Violet and myself. Soon, our engagement will be announced, so she is as good as my wife already. We only require a ceremony to make it official, although it would create quite a stir if done in haste. Gossips do love to spread their rumors, regardless of facts.”
Tristan wondered if tales of Gadley’s true nature had reached Violet’s ears. For the thousandth time, he questioned her father’s motives. Were the gains so significant that he would sell his daughter to this polished braggart?
“You are not the only man interested in Lady Violet. I find her company so delightful I’ve been unable to keep myself from seeking her out.” Tristan set a canvas roll down on the table beside the easel. It contained vials of ink powders as well as an array of his favorite brushes. “Now, I’ll ask that you vacate my mother’s gardens. You see, this is a place of exceeding beauty. Your actions have tainted that.”
William shrugged off Tristan’s pointed warning. “I had no intention of staying. The cloying scent wreaks havoc with my constitution. I cannot abide it for any length of time.” Executing a precise bow, he gave Violet a chilling smile. “Do not fret, my dear. Very soon, you will be mine, and we shall finish this conversation privately.”
Tristan watched the man take his leave, practically sauntering down the garden path he’d originally entered from.
Turning back, Tristan took Violet’s elbow and felt the fine tremors shaking her body.
“I apologize for arriving late. I was… detained.” It was Fiona’s fault he wasn’t there while William Gadley was busy proving how despicable he could be.
The need to sweep her into his arms, to comfort her was overwhelming. He’d never experienced this level of intense protectiveness before—not even with Grace. Why he felt it so strongly for Violet was a mystery he might never solve.
He was quite sure he despised being so attuned to her. It left him feeling a bit out of control. Turned him dark and moody and so unlike his usual jovial self, he wondered if others could see the transformation.
Keeping his voice purposefully even, he asked, “Are you all right?”
Her laugh was wobbly. “Of course, I am. What a silly question.”
“You’ve been crying.” Tristan drew her to the fountain, sitting her down on the basin wall. “Did he hurt you?”
Violet shook her head in response, but he knew she wasn’t being completely truthful.
“I should break his hands,” he muttered beneath his breath as he sank beside her. “And I will if he ever touches you like that again.”
Violet said nothing as he gently removed Carrot from her arms and placed him on the ground. Surprisingly, the kitten neither hissed nor attempted to scratch Tristan during this. Progress was surely being made on that front.
She rubbed her upper arms, the dress sleeves concealing bruising Tristan suspected was already forming. “Poor Carrot. He was so frightened. As was I.”
“I welcome the opportunity to teach the man a lesson.”
“I can’t allow you to intervene again on my behalf,” Violet replied softly. “Gadley is oddly determined to marry me, for reasons I don’t fully understand. He and my father have already decided the course of my life.”
“The hell they have,” Tristan growled. “What of our arrangement? Have you forgotten it already? I will make Gadley rethink his pursuit. He desires a compliant and meek wife, yet I watched you land a blow to rival that of any boxer at Gentleman Jackson’s. You are capable of defiance, Violet. Courageous enough to defy a man who does not deserve your kindness and doesn’t give a farthing for your loyalty.”
“You nor I have little say in the matter,” she replied with a harsh laugh and a wave of her hand. Sobering, she tucked a stray curl back into her coiffure. “I wasn’t myself when I agreed to follow your scheme. And I certainly wasn’t thinking clearly when I struck Lord Gadley. Oh, Tristan. I’m neither defiant nor brave. I’m simply a foolish girl who forgot the reality of my own circumstances. This marriage is inevitable, and I must resign myself to it.”
Tristan considered her words in silence, offering neither denial nor sympathy for her plight.
Sighing heavily, Violet gazed up at the clouds scuttling in to darken the skies. “You should begin with Carrot’s portraiture. The day will fade quickly while we discuss matters neither one of us have control over. Besides, when my parents arrive at Darby Meadows, the freedom I enjoy now will be restricted.”
Tristan fought the urge to yank Violet to him and prove just how brave she was. She should know her quiet, rebellious nature ignited his blood. He should tell her he derived great pleasure in seeing her confidence grow. Most of all, he wanted to tell her that he loved the sparkle in her eyes when she challenged him.
He said none of those things, however. It was impossible when the words lodged in his throat with all the sharp edges of an unexpected fish bone swallowed at dinner.
With a frown, he scooped Carrot up, placing him in Violet’s lap. The kitten swatted his hand for taking the trouble, but the tiny scratch did not bother him as much as Violet’s sad smile of resignation.
“Very well, Violet.” He would abandon the argument of her impending engagement for the time being. “I shall only be a moment setting things up.”
In little more than an hour, Tristan completed the rough outline of the painting. Carrot would be immortalized on canvas with the garden fountain as the main backdrop and banks of roses providing a subtle softness along the edges. Facing forward in a sitting position, with the glow of the afternoon sun creating a halo effect, the kitten would appear both regal and playful.
Tristan easily captured the mischievous lift of Carrot’s mouth, his whiskers gilded in golden sunshine, and the funny little crook at the end of his tail.
If it were not just a portrait of a cat, he might have thought it rivaled his best work.
No one intruded while Tristan painted. He’d made sure of that earlier, posting a footman at the beginning of each pathway. When he began laying brushes aside at the end of the hour, Violet stood, intent on seeing the progress. Carrot followed, stopping occasionally so he could roll upon the smooth gravel stones in obvious delight.
“Wait,” Tristan held up his hand, halting Violet’s progress. “I’d rather you not see it until it is completely done.”
She smiled. “I told you before I won’t criticize.”
“Even so.” He turned the easel so it wasn’t possible to catch a glimpse and met her halfway. “By May Day, I promise you shall have your painting.”
Using his index finger, Tristan traced the line of her jaw then the shell-like perfection of her ear exposed by the upsweep of her hair. The late afternoon sun lit the shiny, auburn strands until they gleamed like autumn fire.
He wished her hair was unbound. He would pay a fortune to see it loose, flowing down her back like a silk banner. He imagined how glorious she would look naked with the soft light of dusk illuminating her creamy white skin, those violet eyes glowing with desire for him. For some reason, a vison of her in the Darby Meadows conservatory taunted the edges of his brain as well. He would paint her draped in amethyst-hued silk, surrounded by all the exotic flora he could gather.
Tristan’s hand slid further until his fingers buried in the wealth of her hair, and he teetered on the verge of claiming her mouth. A giant vise imprisoned his heart, leaving him short of breath at the thought of drinking her in.
Violet’s eyes fluttered shut. Leaning into his touch, her lips parted in anticipation of his kiss before abruptly catching herself.
Stumbling back, her white teeth worried the plump, soft flesh of her bottom lip. “I-I must go select my dress for the dance tomorrow night. Of course, it’s not the grand ball which comes at the end of everyone’s stay here at Darby Meadows, but it shall be amusing just the same.”
Her fragile resistance both pleased and frustrated Tristan. The excuse she gave was flimsy at best but he allowed her to retreat with a smile, silently promising he’d have that kiss sooner or later.
“I shall claim every waltz. If for no other reason than to prove my interest in you is genuine.”
Violet’s head tilted. “But it’s not, is it? Everything is for appearance. For Gadley. My parents. Even your own father.” Bending down, she picked the kitten up and began walking up the pathway, leaving him behind. “Thank you for painting Carrot. I know I will love whatever you create.”
“Every waltz, Violet,” he called after her, the statement sounding more like a threat than a promise even to his own ears.
But any opportunity to touch and hold Violet, even if under the guise of an innocent dance, could not be missed.
And the barriers she hopelessly erected between them?
He would damn well ignore those. What else could he do when the taste of her coating his mouth, the feel of her body clenching around his fingers, was all now etched upon his soul?
He wanted more, and that meant a ruthless pursuit of Violet Everstone.
* * *
A burstof activity in the grand hall and the barking of dogs announced the arrival of new guests.
“They are here!”
Tristan straightened the cuffs of his coat, frowning as he glanced over his shoulder at Celia standing at the top of the staircase. His sister was known for her disregard for propriety, but usually, it was not displayed so exuberantly when his parents stood in full view.
“What the devil—” Tristan murmured, coming to a halt in the middle of the stairs.
Celia squealed again, clapping her hands in obvious delight. She flew past him, holding aloft double handfuls of her skirts to achieve greater speed. If she wasn’t careful, she would likely take a tumble down the steps and land in a heap.
“Richeforte and Grace! They’ve arrived!” Celia tossed over her shoulder, now that she’d moved past him. “Hurry, Tristan!”
“Celia!” Their mother admonished with an exasperated smile from where she and the earl stood in the grand foyer. “Remember yourself, if you please. The Duke and Duchess are not addressed so informally.”
“But, Mother,” Celia laughed. “Before she became ‘Her Grace’, she was simply Grace to us. Oh! I can hardly believe she’s here. I’ve missed her so terribly.”
Tristan remained immobile on the staircase. He’d not seen Grace or Nicholas in months, and while the awkward situation between them was settled long ago, a strange nervousness confounded him.
How would Violet react to the news?
The footmen and Herman, their dreadfully dour butler, bustled about as Tristan descended the stairs. The arrival of a duke and duchess would throw any proper household into a frenzied hub of activity, and Darby Meadows was no exception.
“Hurry down, Violet!” Celia said. “Her Grace will be so happy to see you.”
Tristan glanced over his shoulder. At the top of the steps, her face pale and white, Violet hesitated in her own descent. For a second, he saw a flash of something in her gaze when their eyes met.
Dread. And a bit of sadness as well. Tristan’s stomach twisted.
With enviable control, Violet masked her emotions, a smile curving her lips. Catching up to Tristan, she took his arm when it was silently offered.
They entered the foyer together as if they were a true couple. But Violet refused to look at him. The smile she wore was reserved for Celia and his parents.
“Her Grace adores you, you know,” Mother said, holding out a hand to Violet. “Come closer, dear. Stand with us as part of the family. Tristan, darling, you may stand here.”
The spot indicated was beside Violet, and Tristan knew immediately what his mother was about. She wanted it known Violet was accepted as a candidate for marriage into the family. The two of them standing shoulder to shoulder sent a powerful message.
Violet released her grip on Tristan’s forearm. Celia grabbed her hand, squeezing it with a gentle smile. “Yes, you are a part of our family for a certainty, Violet. Regardless of circumstances, and anything else that may happen.”
Tristan stood where his mother instructed. He wanted very badly to reach out and wrap an arm around Violet. The way her feet shifted told him she was incredibly nervous. Most concerning was his abrupt willingness to soothe her, even if it meant attracting undue attention.
“His Grace and Her Grace, The Duke and Duchess of Richeforte,” Herman intoned as the double doors were ceremoniously opened.
Being so closely attuned to Violet, Tristan noticed immediately that her entire body stiffened. And God help him, her chin even trembled the tiniest bit before she regained control, exhibiting an even wider smile for the benefit of those gathered around.
Celia leaned over, whispering something in her ear, and Violet gave an imperceptible nod.
What is Celia saying to her? And why do I care so much?