Untaming Lady Violet by April Moran
Chapter 31
“That was a foolish thing to do.”
Tristan whirled on Violet, brow furrowing with her quiet declaration.
“And what would you have me do, kitten?” he bit out between clenched teeth.
“Let me go.”
Violet watched his eyes darken into stormy pools of frustration.
“Impossible.” Raking a hand through his hair, Tristan grimaced in sudden pain. Shaking his fingers out, he flexed them in an attempt at easing the ache. Violet wondered if he might have broken his hand on Gadley’s jaw.
He restlessly paced the empty room, muttering beneath his breath before lifting a decanter from the side cabinet in the corner. Liquid splashed into a tumbler, and he downed the alcohol in one quick swallow.
Only the two of them occupied Lord Darby’s study at the moment, and Violet nervously regarded Tristan as complete awareness of what just transpired began seeping in.
The ramifications of disobeying her father would not be pleasant.
Earlier, when Nicholas burst in, it had taken him some effort in prying Tristan off William where they grappled and rolled on the floor. Once they were separated, Violet’s father escorted the man away from the room, hurrying past Celia and Grace and a crowd of curious onlookers who had gathered in the hall.
Appearing perilously close to fainting, Lady Everstone retreated to her rooms, still sobbing into her handkerchief and aided by an unsympathetic Lady Darby.
Lord Darby had turned to Tristan before leaving the room as well, saying rather sternly that he expected his son would do the honorable thing.
Whatever that statement implied, Violet had no wish to find out. But surely, Lord Darby did not think Tristan would actually marry her.
“You will be free of me. And I will be free of you,” Violet said, hoping the sorrow deep inside her did not leach out through the words.
“Fiona wants you badly,” she continued. “So desperately that she will lie to have you. And had I not intruded in the conservatory; you would not be having this conversation with me now. If you would admit our relationship has reached the end of its tether, Tristan, we could move on. We knew when this began it could not last.”
“I am expected to let you go without a second thought,” A scowl marred his features, “so you may sacrifice yourself? For what purpose? For whose benefit? That animal who insulted you by calling you a whore? You know as well as I do that your father will not stop until you are someone’s wife and the debts his irresponsibility created have been paid.”
“They cannot force me into anything.” Holding onto that stubborn belief was probably naïve, but Violet did not care.
Tristan laughed., “They can and they will, Violet. Let me handle this in the manner I see fit.”
“Fiona was waiting in my room last night when I left you. She said before she could meet you in the conservatory to discuss your secret engagement, I intercepted you. And after throwing myself at you, you took what was freely offered. As any man would.” Violet’s smile was derisive. “She called me a whore, which is no worse than being a wallflower, I suppose.”
Tristan advanced on Violet so quickly she retreated from simple reflex. But the attempted evasion was of no use. Both her shoulders were within his grasp before she could gasp in surprise.
“Violet, utter one more word regarding Fiona Blackerby and her vicious lies, and I shall turn you across my knee,” he growled. “If kisses and caresses do not convince you of my interest in you, I’m positive a spanking will do the trick.”
“You would beat me?” Violet cried out.
“A spanking is not a beating.” Tristan pulled her in closer, tighter. “It will clarify matters for you.”
The heat of his body was scorching, and Violet realized suddenly just how exhausted he appeared; how bloodshot his eyes were. Notwithstanding his tussle with William, Tristan was disheveled, his cologne a faint memory beneath the remnants of new and old whiskey.
“I don’t deserve to be treated as property.” Violet’s chin rose higher. “Gadley swore he would punish me for any defiance. I see you are no different.”
“The difference, Violet, is your value to me. It is without price, and I will pay your father’s debt if it means saving you from William Gadley,” he muttered, cupping her chin in the palm of his hand. “And property or not, you would be safer with me. Do you understand what I am saying?”
“I do.” Unsuccessful in jerking away from his grasp, she glared at him. “Since I am now ruined for polite society, you shall pay to have me occupy your bed. And I must endure physical punishment as proof you prefer me as a mistress rather than Fiona as a wife. In the end, you would own me as you would a herd of sheep.”
The taunt was a reminder of his cruel words the night before, and he winced to hear them.
“St. Simon’s Cross, but you are the most stubborn woman I’ve ever come across,” Tristan swore roughly. “Have you not heard a word I’ve said?” He gave her a little shake.
“Of course, I heard you. You don’t love me.” Violet’s manner was one of stone. “And we’ve already established how foolish I am to have fallen in love with you.”
“Neither do you love Gadley, but that was no obstacle when you were to become his wife,” he shot back. “So, here it is, Violet. The only solution I can offer is to marry you. The question remains, however, if you will marry me.”
* * *
Violet dressedfor dinner that evening with grim determination.
She would not hide in her room. She’d done nothing wrong, other than following what her heart demanded. The only remorse she could muster was a result of falling in love with Tristan. Their intimate moments shared no part of her regret.
A soft knock interrupted Bridgett’s buttoning of Violet’s gown.
“Shall I answer, milady?” the maid inquired with a concerned glance toward the door.
Violet nodded. “If it is Mother again, you may let her in.”
Earlier, she’d been too raw and emotional to engage in an argument. She merely listened as Mother cried and wailed and, in the process, the jaw-dropping extent of their family’s debt was laid bare.
Violet could hardly believe the amounts were true. The knowledge made her physically ill. Worse was realizing her mother considered her nothing but a pawn used for gain.
Violet expected Father would remain emotionally detached. He’d never shown any affection for his own daughter, but discovering both parents cared not one whit for her wellbeing was a shock.
Misplaced sentiments revolving around duty and loyalty to the family name had ensured Violet’s cooperation for too long. Now, she would do as she pleased. And damn the consequences.
Steeling herself for an ugly confrontation, Violet watched Bridgette crack the door open. Murmuring around the doorjamb to the person seeking entry, the maid finally stepped back with a tiny curtsy.
Grace breezed into the room, clad in a shimmering gown of dark bronze silk. Gloves dyed a precise match completed the ensemble and, on her wrist, a gold bracelet crafted with tiny bees and sprigs of heather sparkled.
The duchess smiled at Violet, coming forward to take her hands.
“I’ve no wish to intrude but would it be possible that we speak privately?”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Violet waited until Bridgette exited the room and motioned for Grace to join her near the fireplace.
Carrot emerged from his favorite hiding place behind the floor-length drapes. He streaked toward Grace, his funny, crooked tail held high, the end curled as tight as a question mark.
“Please, you know you may call me by my given name.” Grace scooped the creature up and nuzzled him. “Even if it is not the proper thing.”
Carrot meowed, butting his head against Grace’s chin. Violet could not help but smile. Her standoffish kitten rarely showed affection to strangers.
Once they were perched upon a rose-hued settee, Grace set Carrot down between them, laughing softly when he began attacking the tassels of a small accent pillow. “I’ve heard the story of how you acquired this adorable creature.”
“Longleigh remains unconvinced of Carrot’s sweet nature. He encouraged me to leave him behind in the stables, so I imagine his view on the subject is hardly complimentary.” A pang of jealousy nipped Violet as she wondered when Tristan and Grace found time to discuss her kitten.
“Celia’s version was very amusing.” Grace’s tone was understanding. It was as though she knew Violet’s terseness could be soothed once it was clarified she’d not engaged Tristan in a private conversation.
Ashamed of her own suspicious nature, Violet blushed. “Forgive me for the sharpness of my words. I’m afraid this afternoon has set me on edge just a bit.”
“That is understandable,” Grace sighed. “What a tangle that was! The duke is nursing a sore jaw, courtesy of a stray swing by Tristan. Oh, of course, it was not done purposefully, and Tristan apologized profusely. Were you aware Lord Gadley was forced to leave Darby Meadows? It’s true. Before he and your father locked themselves away in the library, Tristan tasked Nicholas with making sure that man was escorted off the property.”
Violet’s lips tightened. “What could the viscount and my father have to discuss? I’ve not agreed to marry Longleigh.”
“Which is why I’ve come to talk with you.” Grace took Violet’s hands. “It must seem awkward, my giving you advice, especially since everyone knows Tristan pursued me before my marriage. His interest was misplaced then, and I hope it’s clear he has no romantic inclinations for me, or any other woman for that matter.”
Violet’s head tilted in confusion.
Grace giggled in her enchanting way. “My goodness, that certainly did not come out the way I intended. Obviously, he is interested in one woman. That man is completely entranced by you, Violet. I swear, when he speaks of you, or if your name is mentioned, his entire being lights up. It’s the same adoration I see when I catch Nicholas staring at me.” A dreamy expression drifted over her features.
“Richeforte loves you madly. It can’t possibly be the same, Grace.” Violet stroked Carrot’s soft fur. She hoped Grace would not notice the sadness in her voice. “It isn’t the same. I know it’s not.”
“Trust me, my dear. Tristan Buchanan loves you. Having experienced the fullest depths of that emotion with the duke, I recognize the signs. He adores you.” Grace’s caramel-hued eyes sparkled with kindness. “Do not throw away a lifetime of joy in sacrifice to your pride.”
“Too many obstacles block a happy conclusion to our association. My parents and their debt, the extent of which I’ve only learned a few hours ago. There’s Lord Gadley.” Violet’s voice turned bitter. “And Lady Fiona, of course.”
Grace’s laughter was sly, her eyes glinting mischievously. “There’s no need to concern yourself over that one. Not only have I given Fiona the cut direct, but Richeforte informed Lady Blackerby that should her daughter even glance in Longleigh’s direction, he would call in Lord Blackerby’s gambling debts. No one dares question my husband when it comes to such matters. Indeed, even I’ve found it best not to pry.”
“Perhaps if Tristan himself dissuaded Lady Fiona …” Violet started almost angrily before taking a deep breath. “Oh, what does it matter? Grace, I appreciate your kindness and that of the duke, but the fact remains Longleigh has no wish to marry. While I concede he may not want Fiona as his bride, he certainly does not want me, either. He has said as much several times. He will never sacrifice himself for me. Or for love. He only presses the matter now as a way of appeasing his father.”
“You’ve much to learn of Tristan’s nature, Violet.” Grace’s head shook with exasperation for Violet’s stubbornness. “There is not a soul alive capable of making that man do something against his wishes. Lord Darby will be very happy to see him wed, but Tristan follows his own course. You, Violet, you are his course.”
Placing her arm around Violet’s shoulders, Grace gave her a warm squeeze. “I suspect Tristan said some hurtful things to you. Unfortunately, men can be blind to what is in their hearts, and that makes them behave quite stupidly. I told him once he would find his own true love someday. Now, he just has to believe it. Please, Violet. I know it is difficult to see, but do not deny the love you share with him. You desperately need each other.”