Untaming Lady Violet by April Moran

Chapter 4

Upon reaching the Rose Parlor, Violet plopped down in a carved rosewood chair. Deep in thought, she traced the intricate pattern of the cream brocade upholstery with a forefinger.

After that mad dash across the meadows, she was completely out of breath, her heart pounding as she recalled the viscount’s words.

He would sit beside her at dinner. Engage in conversation. Laugh and smile with her while others watched. While people whispered and speculated.

Her anxiety steadily increased as she relived the unexpected encounter with Tristan. His body was so hard and muscular, yet when used as a cushion for her fall, she found herself perfectly content while scandalously sprawled across him.

Pressing a hand against her stomach, her insides tumbled topsy-turvy as she recalled how he smiled. Even though his voice was gruff, he had not seemed cross that a shoe landed on his head, followed by herself.

Thank goodness she’d been too impatient to don her customary walking boots this afternoon. Had one of those struck the viscount, it most certainly would have left a knot.

“Twenty gold crowns.”

Violet bolted upright. Celia Buchanan, the daughter of the Earl and Countess of Darby, trailed a finger across the door’s paneled surface as she entered the room. Flashing a wide grin, she repeated herself, “Twenty gold crowns. To know who or what placed such a smile on your face, dear friend.

Violet blushed. “Don’t be silly. I’m thinking of no one in partic—”

Celia held up a hand. “Ah-ha!” Shaking her head until dark, glossy curls bounced on her shoulders, she took a seat in a matching chair. “You were off on a wonderful adventure just now, in a faraway land of great pleasure and excitement. And, I wager it was not Lord Ghastly waltzing you about in circles.”

Lips stretching into a thin line, Violet humphed in exasperation. “Had I realized the constant misuse of it, I would not have told you the creation of that nickname.”

“But it’s so perfect!” Celia sighed, dramatically. “Truly, it couldn’t possibly be anything else.”

“I shall forget myself and say it aloud in his presence one day.” Violet bit her lip before remembering the slight injury. “My parents will disown me, of course.”

“Of course.” Celia nodded in calm agreement. “Then you’ll come live with us here at Darby Meadows. And have all the freedom your heart desires.”

“Unless you are of the male gender, no one is allowed that much liberty.”

Celia’s lips pursed at Violet’s observation. “Don’t be such a sourpuss. Not today. Not when the person you love most has finally arrived. The chance he will ask for your hand still exists.”

Standing abruptly, Violet made her way to the bank of windows overlooking the north lawn. Leaning against the heavily carved frame of the sill, she watched the groundskeepers trimming the masses of white rose hedges in meticulous fashion.

Preparations were being made for the May Day celebration and the subsequent ball on the Darby estate in three weeks’ time. Over the coming days, guests would trickle in, including her parents and the man they expected her to marry.

Even the Duke and Duchess of Richeforte would celebrate May Day at Darby Meadows. Returning from a honeymoon tour of the continent, they had sent word of their attendance before continuing on to Bellmar Abbey for the foaling season.

Violet’s stomach hurt when she thought of Grace March.

“Your brother hardly realizes I’m alive, Celia. It’s a foolish dream that he might ever consider me in a romantic sense. Besides, they say he is still in love with Grace. And I’m doomed to wed Lord Ghastly. I mean, Gadley.”

“They have no inkling of what’s going on,” Celia answered brightly. “Oh, Violet. We both know Tristan was never in love with Grace. He only thought he was. He truly sees her now as he should have from the very beginning. As a sister.”

“Well, he certainly did not love Grace as one would a sister a few months ago.” Violet traced a wormwood trail in the windowsill with her fingernail. “The moment he laid eyes on her, he was enamored. I witnessed it myself at every turn. And it was painful to see.”

“You witnessed infatuation. Nothing more. Had it been true love, my dear brother would have ceased consorting with his various mistresses. He would not have been able to think of anyone or anything other than Grace, and that was certainly not the case. Tristan saw her as someone unlike any other girl in his orbit. A conquest, an oddity he could admire, but one he would never understand.” Coming up beside her, Celia reached out and tucked a flame-hued strand of hair behind Violet’s ear. “You see, Grace and the duke understand each other. They are perfectly matched and that was fate. Two wild at heart creatures that found love and contentment at last. Tristan would never have that with her.”

“No other woman will ever measure up to Tristan’s idea of her perfection.” Violet did not bother stemming the tears that sprang to her eyes. “You cannot tell me he does not regret losing her.”

Tristan might behave in a carefree manner, creating a façade of merriment and good humor after being rejected so cruelly, but surely, he was suffering.

“He could not lose her when he never had her to begin with, dear. Now, Father has reminded Tristan he must become serious about marriage. And Violet, with every ounce of my soul, I believe you are meant to be together. You knew it the moment you saw him. Now, we need Tristan to realize it, too. Before it’s too late and another captures his attention.”

A tiny shiver raced through Violet, remembering the first time she saw Tristan.

It was inside the Darby Meadows conservatory eight years before. Chasing Celia in a madcap attempt to retrieve a hair ribbon, Violet skidded down a gravel path and found a dark-haired, dark-eyed viscount instead. That particular day was rainy and cold, but her heart exploded with sunlight when she saw the smile curving his lips.

Having just turned eighteen, the viscount had come home from Cambridge. Upon his arrival, frustrated perhaps by the boring monotony of his travels, Tristan escaped to the conservatory. Seated on a stone bench, he busily sketched one of the potted lemon trees by the fountain in the building’s center. A jewel-toned butterfly perched on one of the blossoms, its wings slowly fluttering.

When Celia asked why he chased butterflies instead of choosing a steed for the fox chase scheduled the next day, Tristan’s firm, full lips tugged upward. Violet lingered in the background, staring unabashedly at the handsome viscount.

“Does the horse I choose matter all that much?” He had replied with good-natured affection for his younger sibling. “Little fiend, you will undoubtedly out-ride me.”

With Celia’s assistance, Violet haunted the viscount’s footsteps like a tiny ghost for nearly two weeks that particular spring. The girls spent hours discussing every look or smile Tristan haphazardly tossed Violet’s way.

Celia had not minded when her new twelve-year-old friend fell instantly in love with her older brother. And she never shied from expressing her insights on matters that oddly enough almost always came true.

That year, when goodbyes were being said, Celia clasped her friend’s tiny hands within her own and said something that forever changed Violet.

“Don’t worry, sweet little Violet. He will see you one day…” A faraway light sparkled in Celia’s dark brown eyes. “My brother may search, but he will not find happiness with anyone else.”

How Celia was so certain of that fact, Violet did not know.

Because for the past eight years, she remained invisible. Tristan never acknowledged her existence with anything other than a respectful distance.

Until today.

Today was different. Violet’s heart fluttered as she recalled her boldness.

Shewas different today in the woods. Today, she actually conversed with the man. Laughed with him. Felt his body against her own.

Which made her wonder…

Why did he do something so strange? Why did he taste the blood from my lips? And was that truly hunger I saw in his eyes or wishful hope on my part?

“I wanted your name placed on the list of eligible young women, but Mother would not allow it.” Celia did not conceal the irritation in her tone. “She says it would violate the trust Lord Everstone has placed in my father when they act as your chaperones. It is complete poppycock. Oh, Violet! I don’t care what your parents say. You will not marry Gadley! It shall be tragic if you do.”

Violet half-turned from the window, gazing solemnly at her dearest friend.

“Have you been kissed many times, Celia?”

Her head tilting with the odd question, Celia grinned. “More times than is proper, I’m afraid. I’ve decided it will be much easier choosing a husband if there is some sort of measurement to determine suitability. Why do you ask?”

Violet blushed under the scrutiny. “If a man has the chance to kiss you, but chooses not to do so, would you consider that an indication of disinterest? I ask out of curiosity. In case I find myself in a similar situation and the gentleman does not …” Her words trailed off in embarrassment.

“I can’t imagine a man with such willpower exists, Violet. When the moment arises, you will find yourself kissed with such thoroughness it shall astound you,” Celia replied honestly. “You are the very essence of temptation, my dear. Few men can resist that once they are made aware of it.”

* * *

With an hourof free time before dinner, Celia insisted that Violet join her in the main salon. A variety of activities were planned for the guests, including card games such as whist or vingt-et-un.

More scandalous sport would take place as well, provided no one’s parents or chaperone ruined the fun. Many of these involved females either being kissed or surreptitiously fondled under the guise of harmless amusement.

Violet had never played such games before. The outrageous ones, that is. Wiping damp palms along the side of her dark, lavender-hued gown, she prayed for the nerve to actually participate.

Surely, Celia was only joking about the kissing ones. Those could get out of hand. Reputations could be put at risk. Lives ruined.

Which reminded Violet of the rather daring cut of her new gown. Tugging at the bodice, she frowned. Even in the darkened hallway, the uppermost swells of her exposed bosom proved distracting. Her mother’s motives in allowing this particular dress begged questioning but Violet suspected its intent was enticing William Gadley into offering for her hand.

“It’s more likely I’ll be mistaken for a Covenant Garden doxie,” Violet muttered.

She thought wearing such a garment was best undertaken without her parents’ hovering scrutiny and William’s cold perusal to make her even more nervous. But she was wrong. This exercise in confidence was vaguely uncomfortable.

Too much of her flesh was showing. Too much of herself that would draw attention. She jerked at the bodice again.

It wasn’t too late to change her gown although Bridgette, her maid, would certainly protest. She’d declared Violet as lovely as any woman attending this year’s May Day gathering. All the men would clamor for her attention, the maid predicted with a while placing the final touches on her mistress’s coiffure.

Violet’s lungs squeezed tight with the sudden burst of panic tumbling over her. She whirled about, blindly intent on returning to the safety of her room’s four walls.

The collision knocked her backward. Landing on her rear end, the thick carpet cushioned her fall.

Propping herself up on her elbows, Violet stared up at the unmovable block of stone she’d crashed into.

Tristan extended a hand.

“I’m beginning to think you have ulterior motives, Lady Violet.”

In the dim light of the corridor, the viscount appeared awfully tall. Like a giant in a fairy tale. An incredibly handsome giant with twinkling dark eyes.

“What?” she replied stupidly.

“It’s not the first time I’ve assisted you. While the role of hero is unfamiliar, it is not unpleasant. In fact, I rather think I like it.”

His words slowly registered, and when he bent at the waist with the obvious intent of lifting her up, Violet knocked his hands away with a scowl.

Tristan only shrugged at her refusal of help, watching while she floundered like a turtle flipped on its back.

It wasn’t gracefully done, not with the gown’s full skirts and the very real threat of her breasts springing free of the tight bodice, but somehow, Violet got up from the floor under her own power.

Ignoring Tristan’s appreciative regard of her bosom, she made a show of dusting her hands lightly against the ruched edges of the low neckline, subtly checking that all remained in place. Her scowl never wavered.

“The first occasion was a result of you sulking beneath a tree. Now, you are lurking in dark hallways.” Violet’s voice was weighted by embarrassment and a dash of indignation. “Why were you sneaking behind me anyway?”

“Why did you abruptly change course?”

“I was returning to my room, if you must know,” she bit out with long-suffering patience.

“Hmm,” was all Tristan said.

Under his perusal, something odd welled inside Violet. Anger, yes, but also awareness. Tristan was looking at her in a certain way. A way her mother would most certainly deem inappropriate.

His eyes consumed her in the same manner as when she laid sprawled across his chest under that oak tree.

Arching a brow as she’d seen Celia do on countless occasions, Violet pressed him. “Well? Why are you sneaking about?”

Tristan’s gaze sparkled with sudden bemusement. “Sharpening your claws on me, kitten? I don’t mind at all.”

The interested spark in the coffee-colored depths of his eyes sent a ripple of confused excitement cascading down Violet’s spine. Why did Tristan’s attentiveness seem to grow with her timid insolence?

Her chin tilted. “I don’t know what you mean. And don’t call me that. It’s improper.”

The man had the audacity to grin, teeth flashing white while deliberately ignoring her command. “I’m curious, kitten. Would you care to discover what it truly means to be improper?”

“Do you intend on answering every question with a question? It’s quite tedious.” Violet hoped she didn’t sound as flustered as she felt. The viscount was mixing her all up inside. Scrambling her thoughts until she could only think of him kissing her right there in the darkened hall.

“All right.” Tristan threw up his hands in mock surrender. “I concede the battle for the moment. To answer your initial question, have you forgotten my bedchamber is located down the hall? Just a bit further past your own, in fact. Before I could make my presence known, you whirled about, barreling headfirst into my chest. So, you see, my dear Lady Violet, my intentions were completely innocent. At least at first.”

“And now?” Violet’s eyes narrowed with suspicion, helplessly drawn to his chest. He had mentioned it, after all. And it was such a nice chest. All warm and hard, with swells of muscles and ridges she’d already felt with her own two hands.

“Oh, I’m full of wicked thoughts. Overcome by them,” Tristan cheerfully replied. “And eagerly willing to demonstrate a few of my favorites.”