Untaming Lady Violet by April Moran

Chapter 5

I’m doing it again. Teasing her. Flirting. This will not end well. I know this. So, why continue this madness? And why do I find it so enjoyable that my actions disturb her?

Violet’s lips once again pursed together. The gesture did not detract from her loveliness. Indeed, it called undue attention to the lush beauty of her mouth. Tristan wanted to trace the upper curve of that plump flesh with his tongue. Pull it between his teeth and test its suppleness. Would she melt, easily molded to his liking, or would this newfound sauciness stiffen her resistance?

The tang of her blood still lingered in his mouth. It was difficult believing he’d done something so audacious and out of character.

But not for all the gold in London would Tristan erase that moment. That moment when Violet’s eyes darkened to the hazy purplish color of a winter morning sky, her lips parting the slightest bit for more.

“Such efforts would be a waste of your time, Lord Longleigh,” Violet said primly. “And speaking of time, you keep me from an appointment in the Emerald Parlor.”

Instead of pressing her against the wall and taking her mouth to explore its flavor without the stain of blood, Tristan moved away. Hands clasped behind his back, he smiled when she added a few more discreet steps between them. “And who awaits you in the Emerald Parlor?”

“Your sister, if you must know. And I had hoped to change my dress before you barreled into me, but now there’s not enough time.”

She appeared vaguely distraught but did not elaborate further.

With a sigh of defeat, Tristan let his fingers curl around her elbow. He maneuvered her until he could see the garment better.

“Your gown is quite lovely.” His eyes strayed to the bodice where twin mounds of creamy flesh tested the stitching of the lavender fabric. “Why change it?”

A different answer must have teetered on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it with a pained expression.

“You would not understand my reasons,” she replied in a suddenly morose fashion.

“Probably not. ‘Who is’t that can read a woman?’” With gentle urging, Tristan pulled her into step alongside him. “Come, I’ll escort you to the parlor myself.”

As if against her better judgment, Violet smiled. “Do you quote Shakespeare often?”

“If and when it suits me. Do you enjoy Shakespeare?”

“Should I say yes, I will be considered not only a wallflower but a bluestocking as well.”

Tristan grinned, his head dipping close to hers. “I would never. You are too lovely for such characterizations.”

“While you are so free with compliments one might doubt your sincerity. Especially in this case, my lord.”

Tristan’s brows knitted. “Never doubt my honesty, Lady Violet. I would gladly sing praises of your beauty aloud if scandal’s broad brush would spare you in the aftermath.”

To his utter delight, Violet blushed, the rosy tinge spreading across her face and further until the swells of her breasts were the same hue. That gorgeous color would likely saturate every inch of her pale skin.

Tristan could envision nothing lovelier than Lady Violet Everstone bared for him. Soft, warm, willing and eager, waiting for his hands and mouth to discover all her vulnerable parts and turn them the same shade of delectable pink.

As they descended the marble steps of the main staircase, Violet remained silent.

“Does the thought of scandal worry you, Lady Violet?” Tristan chuckled. “I swear I shall be on my best behavior during dinner.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t sit—”

Before Violet finished the sentence, there was an interruption behind them.

“Longleigh, is that you?”

Tristan paused and Violet half-turned, her hand resting on the balustrade.

To his great irritation, it was Henry Bowman. The gentleman was pleasant enough, although he possessed a reputation of playing rather fast and loose with his mistresses. Lately, it was said he was on the hunt for a wife.

If he decided a pursuit of Violet was warranted, the man would need to address the size of his estates. It was rumored Lord Everstone searched for deep pockets when it came to the selection of a husband for his daughter. Lord William Gadley fit those requirements handily. Bowman hardly stood a chance.

“Bowman.” Tristan nodded as the man drew closer.

“Are you on your way to the Emerald Parlor?” Bowman inquired of Tristan, sketching a quick bow. “If so, there is no hope for other gentlemen in attendance.”

Not waiting on Tristan’s response, Bowman turned his full attention to Violet.

“Lord Henry Bowman, my lady.” Bowing over Violet’s hand, he gallantly kissed her gloved fingertips.

“We’ve met before, Lord Bowman.” With a pained smile, Violet tugged her hand free. “Most recently in London. At Lord William Gadley’s townhouse on Chelsea Court.”

Tristan ground his teeth. If the man would bloody look at Violet’s face instead of her breasts, perhaps he’d recognize her.

Bowman’s pale blue eyes finally lifted. “Gadley’s… oh, yes. I believe I recall the occasion.”

“This is Lady Violet Everstone, the Earl of Everstone’s daughter,” Tristan offered when it became apparent Bowman did not remember her at all.

A calculating expression crossed Bowman’s handsome features, but it was gone so quickly Tristan could not discern the meaning of it.

“Of course. Please, forgive my forgetfulness. I blame it on the tediousness of the long journey from London. I only arrived a short time ago and have yet to recover my bearings.” Bowman smiled in an engaging way that made Tristan’s fists clench. “If by chance you are headed to the Emerald Parlor, Lady Violet, it would be my honor to accompany you.”

“I am already escorting the lady.” Tristan reached for Violet’s hand, tucking it under his arm. Tilting his head, he regarded her curiously. “I was under the impression you were meeting my sister alone in the Emerald Parlor?”

“I never said we would be alone,” she replied as they resumed descending the staircase.

“Several of us are converging there,” Bowman provided from the stair treads behind them. “Your delightful sister sent word that a variety of games have been arranged for everyone’s amusement. Very thoughtful of her.”

“What manner of games?” Tristan did not bother hiding his suspicion.

Reaching the grand foyer, Bowman drew even with them. “Just a bit of sport to pass the time, I’m sure. You should join us, Longleigh.”

Violet extricated herself from Tristan’s grip and sidled a few inches away. “The viscount must think such things are trivial amusements. I’m sure he has other matters requiring his attention.”

Bowman smoothed light brown hair with the palm of his hand. “An evening spent in the company of beautiful women is never trivial. Besides, Longleigh is known for his enjoyment of those pleasures and much more.”

A lazy grin hid Tristan’s increasing aggravation with Henry Bowman. “I relish a great variety of games. Hide and seek is a personal favorite. Even as an adult, I find it exhilarating, if one has a worthy opponent.”

Violet gaped at Tristan, struck speechless by the brash reminder of their time in the forest. Bowman shifted his feet, eyes darting between the two of them in an effort to determine what he’d stumbled into.

“Violet! There you are!” Celia rushed across the foyer’s wide expanse. “I was just coming to look for you. The others have already gathered, and… Oh, my heavens.” She drew up short, an expression of shock gracing her lovely features. “Your dress, darling. It’s stunning. You are stunning.”

Violet’s hand fluttered over the bodice of her gown while Tristan was struck with the strangest urge to knock it away. He wanted to whisper words of encouragement in her tiny shell of an ear.

Words of reassurance.

This shy flower should be told how beautiful she was. Someone must show her how she could use that beauty. It was a bargaining tool when it came to men such as himself and granted power over weaker ones like Henry Bowman.

“Your brother was escorting me there now,” Violet said softly.

“Was he now?” Celia shot Tristan an indecipherable look.

“I was,” he drawled. “Celia, dear, I believe I’ll join your little group.”

“No,” his sister insisted firmly. “No, you won’t, Tristan. Father and several gentlemen have gathered on the north terrace for a brandy. I’m sure their company will be more to your liking.”

“And I’m sure I’d rather see firsthand what sort of trouble you’re brewing.”

“Oh! You are impossible!” Celia stomped a tiny foot, causing Violet to jump in surprise and Henry Bowman to cover a smile with his fist. “I won’t allow it, Longleigh. I won’t! Violet is rarely allowed freedom, and you will ruin everything before there’s even a chance for a tiny bit of fun.”

Violet flushed such a deep shade of red, Tristan felt a surge of pity. Is she under that tight of a leash?Do her parents manage her that closely? She was a frequent visitor of their family while growing up, but admittedly, she’d not come around as often over the past two years.

Thinking on it now, shortly after Grace Willsdown arrived as his father’s ward, Violet’s time at Darby Meadows dramatically decreased.

He was inserting himself into matters concerning Violet when he had no standing for it. He wasn’t her brother, nor her betrothed. Or even a distant relative. What right did he have placing himself in her path? Especially when it came to harmless parlor games and whatever amusements young people devised?

None.

But still…

Tristan couldn’t let her go without offering some type of protection.

“If you will excuse us for a brief moment, I must ask Lady Violet something requiring a bit of privacy.”

“I don’t mind, Longleigh,” Bowman agreed, both hands going up in surrender when Tristan shot him a heated glare.

“I’m relieved to hear that, Bowman. Not that I sought your consent.”

Turning toward Celia, Tristan found her regarding him with narrowed eyes.

“If it will keep you from the Emerald Parlor…” she clarified, and Tristan huffed in exasperation at his younger sibling’s persistence.

Giving Celia a terse nod of agreement, Tristan took Violet by the elbow and pulled her several steps away. Puzzlement lit her amethyst-hued eyes as she waited for him to speak.

Tristan began, then closed his mouth. There was a way of saying what he wished to say, a way of stating it tactfully. But damned if he knew it.

“Violet, will you give me a truthful answer?”

“Of course.” She smiled, the tiny dimple in her cheek begging that he dip his tongue into it. “I’m a very honest person.”

“You may not wish to give me what I want.”

“I will. I promise.” She leaned toward him. “What is it?”

“Have you been kissed before? Kissed by a man who would devour you?” To his own ears, his voice was hard. Gruff. Vibrating with the unmistakable truth he wanted to be that man.

Glancing down, he saw his own fingers unconsciously caressing the fabric covering her elbow.

With a low growl, Tristan turned them so his body shielded Violet’s shocked face from his sister’s bemusement, Bowman’s curiosity, and the faint interest of other guests trickling into the foyer. “Have you?” he prodded.

Violet swayed. Just the tiniest bit, but that in itself was an answer. Tristan’s blood nearly ignited within his veins.

“No,” she admitted softly, eyes wide and hazy with innocent arousal.

It took everything inside Tristan to keep from snatching her up against him and rectifying that abomination—no, it’s a blessing— right there on the spot. Only by gritting his teeth to the point of pain did he gain control of himself.

When he dared look at her again, the possessiveness of his irrational demand astounded even him.

“Your first kiss is mine. You will save it for me. And when I want it, you will surrender it without question.”