Untaming Lady Violet by April Moran

Chapter 24

Violet took a deep, steadying breath.

“Have you?” Peering at Tristan in the flickering light, she inched closer. “How could you possibly know I would be here, of all places?”

Swirling the contents of the glass, Tristan watched her from beneath lowered lashes. His hand waited for hers to slip into it. “I overheard Lawrence’s instructions. And somehow, I knew I would find you in this exact spot, although I don’t even know why I thought it.”

Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, Violet steeled herself before slipping her hand into the warmth of his. “I suppose you came through the west breakfast room. It’s the only entrance other than the one used by the servants.”

Tristan’s gaze fixated on her mouth. “You drive me to distraction when you do that.” He uttered a low curse. “And damn your uncanny knowledge of my home’s footprint. You seem to know every inch as if it were your own.”

“Had I continued past the conservatory, gone to my room, what would you have done?”

His head tilted as he pulled her closer against him. “I honestly don’t know. Maybe broke down your bedchamber door. Maybe finished off the bottle of whiskey I started earlier.” Setting the glass on the ground, he rested his forehead against hers and breathed deep. “Why do you always smell so damned delicious, Violet? It’s a scent I cannot erase from my consciousness. It haunts me at all hours of the day and night.”

Violet trembled when Tristan’s lips brushed her forehead. His arms tightened around her waist until she caught the faint, sweet aroma of liquor.

“What are you doing, Tristan?”

“Damned if I know.”

Violet debated what she should do. Part of her wanted to tear away. Run from the embarrassment of future rejection.

But a rebellious side reared its head, demanding answers to the questions. Demanded she stand her ground and take what she wanted for once. To live for herself instead of duty and obligation and expectations. Dangerous thoughts but unstoppable once acknowledged.

Violet pulled back so she could stare into Tristan’s dark eyes and see the truth for herself.

“Are you in love with Fiona Blackerby?”

Confusion warred with amusement for a split second. Then wariness crept into the dark depths of his gaze. “What the devil are you talking about?”

“Is there a secret engagement? Are you… using me to hide your relationship with Lady Fiona from your sister?” Violet nearly choked over that last part.

Tristan’s jaw clenched. “Using you… Have you taken leave of your senses? Have you not heard me when I repeatedly deny any interest in that woman? A secret engagement. That’s surprising, when it’s well known I’ve no interest in marrying at all. Where have you managed to hear such drivel?”

Violet’s chin lifted. “From Fiona herself. I overheard her conversation with Patricia Clipperson. She was adamant that you must hide your relationship from Celia so your plans remain intact. She said I am a pawn that keeps others from learning the truth.”

Releasing his grip on her, Tristan threw his arms in the air in frustration. “She said those things to hurt you, kitten. There’s not a shred of truth to any of it.”

“She had no idea I overheard her, Tristan.” Violet’s voice trembled, but her words were laced with steel, her amethyst eyes sparkling with fire. Holding herself rigid, she fixed him with a steady glare. “If you are truly involved, tell me now. I prefer saving myself the embarrassment and heartache and to just be done with whatever is between us.”

Tristan whirled back. “I’ve nothing to do with that woman! Why do you persist with such lunacy?”

“I will persist. I will until I understand you!” Violet cried out, her pain leaching out. “She is a poor substitute for Grace, but Tristan, Fiona is the closest you may ever get. I see that. I accept it. I can’t even hate you for the attraction you must feel for her. You’ll never have Grace, but you can have someone like her by your side.”

“Do you think I am so shallow as to want a woman simply because of her appearance? There is a great deal more to it than that. More than you can possibly understand.”

“You are right, Tristan. I don’t understand,” she replied quietly. “And I don’t think you even know what you want. Or who you want, for that matter.”

“Well, I most certainly do not want Fiona Blackerby! And I don’t want Grace, either. Goddamn it.” Tristan swore fiercely, raking a hand through thick, dark hair. “The only one I want is you, Violet. You. But what I want and what I deserve are two separate beasts. You really have no comprehension of just how different we are. You would forsake everything all in the name of true love, while I loathe the very thought that sacrifice should be for anything other than the pursuit of pleasure. Perhaps it is better you do not discover my true nature. It is darker and more cynical than you can imagine.”

They stared at one another, the atmosphere charged and crackling.

Tristan’s hands fisted at his sides, a muscle ticking in his stern jaw. His eyes gleamed with shadowy desires and unsaid things. It was as though he stood on the edge of a perilous cliff. Teetering on the verge of snatching her up.

Ravishing her.

Destroying her.

Breaking her.

And she would let him.

“Then take me, Tristan.”

Her words were quiet but forged of iron. She’d made up her mind.

She would have this moment for herself. This flash of madness she would always remember. An ember of warmth she would hold close when suffering the coldness of being William Gadley’s wife.

She would have this for herself. Not for Tristan’s benefit, but her own.

Her chin rose higher. She stood straighter. The tears on her cheeks dried until the only indication she’d even wept was a spiky fringe of wet eyelashes.

“I won’t marry you, Violet,” he snarled.

She met his gaze without flinching. “I won’t marry you, either, Tristan. Not even if you beg.”

Tristan’s hands clenched harder, surprise flashing in his eyes. He looked as though he were on the verge of exploding with… something. Violet just wasn’t sure what.

“If you are angry with me,” she murmured, “for daring to want you, I am sorry for that. What would you have me do instead?”

“Go away before I completely ruin you.”

She nearly smiled at the fierceness of his words. “I’ve no wish to go anywhere other than where I am at this very moment, Tristan.”

“Fine. I’ll go.”

His words were little more than a growl, but Violet recognized them as a peculiar sort of mechanism for keeping her at arm’s length, even when he obviously wanted everything from her.

“If you do, take me with you,” was her earnest reply.

Violet stepped closer, a temptation she suspected he could not resist, her eyes sparkling with challenge.

A curse escaped him, then he was sweeping her against his body again, peering down at her as if she were a mythical creature who’d suddenly appeared in his world. When he spoke, it was with a sad reverence.

“By God, there she is. My sweet, wild Violet. I’ve untamed you at last, haven’t I? To my own detriment, and my shame, I’ve untamed you.”

His lips claimed hers before she could acknowledge that yes, he’d done just that. Transformed her from a wallflower into something wild and free. A creature who would do whatever she desired.

Whatever he desired.

She kissed him back.

Violently. Tenderly. Desperately.

Her gloved fingers tangled in his hair, the strands sliding over the silk material. Suddenly, she wanted to rip the proper accompaniments away. She wanted the feel of his flesh, warm, bare, strong, flexing beneath her palms. But she could not bring herself to stop kissing him, not even for a heartbeat, to strip the gloves from her hands.

A tiny groan escaped her throat when forced to acknowledge a simple fact. The abundance of his clothes almost matched her own. Formal evening coat, tightly fitted waistcoat, cravat, linen shirt, high starched collar, flat-front trousers, braces. All the items were singularly insignificant but, taken as a whole, greatly impeded her ability to discover as much of him as possible.

The kiss grew increasingly wild. Tristan ravaged her mouth, their tongues tangling in an erotic duel while his arms locked around her waist, holding her tight. Not that she wished to escape. When he moved back the slightest bit, Violet eagerly followed so their lips remained sealed. The restraint he showed thrilled her while at the same time, filled her with an odd feeling of frustration.

She wanted him to lose control. With her. With himself. With everything unsaid and undone between them.

Tristan finally placed a bit of space between their bodies. But unable to give her up completely, he bit and nibbled at her lips, his own gloved hands sliding into the intricate updo of her hair. His fingers threatened to pull it all apart, to dislodge the pins and send the entire mass of dark auburn curls tumbling around her shoulders in wild disarray.

“Fuck, Violet. We can’t do this here.” His words came out rough.

The unexpected curse sent a sharp pang of excitement dancing along every nerve ending Violet possessed. Whimpering, she pressed even closer.

“I want you, Tristan. I don’t care what happens tomorrow. I don’t care what happens after that. When I am someone’s wife,” Violet said, staring up into his chocolate-brown eyes. “I want this for myself. I-I shall make no claims on you, no demands except this. Show me what fire feels like. Show me what it means to burn under your touch. Show me so I will have it as a memory forever when I shiver from the iciness of another man’s hand. Do this for me. I beg you.”

Tristan’s eyes glowed hotter. A muscle ticked in his jaw, and his hands gripped her head tighter, fingers flexing until several pins finally succumbed to pressure. They fell to the ground, lost in the crushed stone like tiny glittery treasures.

A strange mixture of rage and desire emanated from Tristan in rolling waves. It seemed he both hated and loved her words.

Violet shuddered. She’d never felt such undiluted need before.The obsession to experience another’s emotions, to understand them and force it all to the surface. She’d always been one who felt things intensely, whether it be sorrow for someone less fortunate, joy for another’s happiness, or pity for those who were intentionally cruel. But this went far beyond that.

If Tristan suddenly stripped her gown from her and made love to her there on the conservatory floor in a blazing flurry of frustration and regret, she would not stop him. She would revel in it because it would match her own roiling emotions. And if he kissed her tenderly, stroked and cajoled before pressing his body inside hers with sweetness and careful attention, she would accept that, too.

She had become something of a mystery, even to herself in this moment. She wanted this man with no reservations. No shame. No strings. No expectations.

Tristan still watched her, his internal struggle evident in the clench of his jaw and rigid posture. But even more telling was the bulge which ruined the perfect flatness of his trousers.

Violet’s eyes drifted over that part of him pressing against her. Arousal, primal and sharp, jolted her.

He wanted her just as much as she wanted him. Maybe more.

Realizing where her gaze had fallen, Tristan let out a strangled groan.

“If you only understood what you are asking me to do, Violet…”

“I do. Well, I don’t understand the particulars of the act, having never done it. But I know I want you. And you want me. And rather than Lord Gadley take what is mine, I choose to give it to you instead.” Her amethyst-colored gaze shimmered with unshed tears. Her hand curled around the back of his neck, pulling him into her. “Help me do this, Tristan. Help me before it is ripped away by a man I do not love.”

With those words, her fierce plea, Violet won the battle.

Tristan bore down on her, engulfing her in his embrace, his mouth crushing hers almost painfully. He kissed her until she was breathless and dizzy, until his arms were all that kept her from falling in a boneless heap of desire at his feet.

“Then you are mine, Violet. For a few hours, at least, and what happens between us tonight will remain our secret.”