Untaming Lady Violet by April Moran
Chapter 6
The entire evening dissolved into something Violet could only categorize as slightly bizarre.
It began with Tristan monopolizing her attention at dinner. Unconcerned with the whispers the seating arrangements stirred, he blithely disregarded the stares while keeping her engaged in conversation.
At one point, he leaned close and murmured a bit of advice. “Ignore them as I do. They will gossip, regardless.”
Violet nodded, concentrating on not cutting off her own pinkie finger while slicing the roasted beef on her plate. It was very hard ignoring Tristan’s warm breath in her ear. It was as though a fire had suddenly roared into life along her nerve endings. She felt alive. More than alive.
The viscount’s devotion was both terrifying and exhilarating. Even the puzzled glances cast their way by Tristan’s parents could not diminish the heady pleasure of it. Seated directly across the table, Celia grinned in obvious delight every time she caught Violet’s eye.
Following dinner, Tristan escorted Violet back to the Emerald Parlor, holding her arm when she would have filed with the others into the elegantly appointed room. Other than a round of introductions, very little had taken place in the hour prior to dining. Those returning now chattered amongst themselves, agreeing the evening would prove a lively one.
“Shall I stay?” Tristan asked, his brow raised.
“Of course not.” However, Violet secretly wished he would. “There is no harm in a few silly games. And Celia is here.”
Tristan’s eyes darkened. Violet could not discern what he was thinking, but something about the tight set of his jaw made her stomach flutter. Like it was filled to the brim with butterflies. She thought perhaps he was unhappy leaving her there, a thought reinforced when he glared at the men entering the parlor.
A great deal more gentlemen were in attendance than before, Violet noted nervously.
Tristan tipped her chin with a forefinger, bringing her attention back to him. “Remember what I said, Violet.”
He did not elaborate. There was no need. She’d thought of little else but his fierce demand from the moment he uttered it. He knew the power it held over her, sure of her compliance to the point of arrogance.
Violet nodded, and Tristan spun on his heel, leaving her there on the parlor threshold.
* * *
An hour later,Violet trembled, prepared to bolt from the room.
“Don’t go, darling,” Celia pleaded. “We’ll find another...”
“Why must we change games simply because one person is too frightened of the outcome?” Lady Fiona Blackerby stated coolly, looking for support from other participants.
“Violet is one of the bravest girls on earth.” Celia squeezed Violet’s waist tight, her chin tipping upward as Fiona rolled her eyes. “But I’ll not make her play if she doesn’t want to, Fiona. Besides, I don’t like this game anyway. We shouldn’t play it at all.”
“She wouldn’t play Kiss the Four Corners. And now she balks at Squeak, Piggy Squeak?” Fiona tossed one perfectly curled lock of hair over her shoulder. Shooting Violet a hostile glare, she said, “One would think you’ve never played games outside the nursery before. It’s all harmless fun, my dear.”
“Permitting a man to… to… kiss and grope you?” Violet countered. The ferocity of her response surprised even Celia, judging by the raised eyebrows. “And not just one, but a multitude.”
“If there was just one participant, it wouldn’t be much of a game, now would it?” Someone chuckled. “It’s all very sporting.”
Others murmured similar thoughts aloud.
“How is it sport?” Violet demanded.
“So, there is a bit of fire beneath that meek exterior.” A gentleman standing disturbingly close laughed softly. A thread of excitement, mingled with something resembling admiration, laced his tone.
“It’s how the game is played,” Fiona snapped, as it became apparent Violet was the epicenter of male attention. “I understand your reluctance, considering your size, but if you won’t sit in the player’s lap and…”
“And be pawed and humiliated while making ridiculous noises? Risk being compromised while looking incredibly foolish?” Violet’s voice shook as Fiona’s taunt found its mark.
Violet decided it couldn’t be helped. It was just that she was so very angry. With herself. With these men. And women. And even Celia, whose dark eyes flashed with pained regret even while she attempted dissuading others from this ridiculous game.
Fiona merely smiled, smoothing a hand down the front of her dress. She truly was a beautiful girl. Tall, willowy, and blessed with champagne blonde hair and a complexion rivaling fresh cream. She was the perfect counterpoint to Tristan’s darkness, her appearance so similar to the new Duchess of Richeforte that it almost certainly warranted Tristan’s attention. At least twice during dinner, his eyes strayed in the lady’s direction before he focused on Violet with a most charming smile.
Fiona Blackerby was everything Violet was not. Most notably, she would serve beautifully as an obvious substitute for Tristan’s lost love.
Violet’s chest expanded with unimaginable hurt. Maybe a little indignation that she’d been invisible for so long. Resentment that she’d allowed it.
“Violet.” Celia sounded a bit panicked. Perhaps because this evening of harmless parlor games was quickly disintegrating into something else. Or perhaps because she did not recognize the heat in Violet’s tone. Nor the spark in her eyes when their gazes locked.
“It’s all right, Celia. I’m rather exhausted, so I believe I’ll retire for the evening.”
The chorus of strident male disagreement brought Violet up short.
How… astonishing. She heard mention of Longleigh followed by a bit of laughter from the gentlemen. Looking about the room, she found several men rather blatantly appraising her form. Unconsciously, she sucked in a breath to flatten her stomach and straightened her spine then cursed herself for caring about their opinion.
“It’s past your bedtime, I’m sure,” Fiona urgently piped up.
“Oh, do hush, Fiona!” Celia snapped. “Your jealousy is most unbecoming.”
“Jealousy!” Fiona cried. “Many gentlemen seek me out. More than I can count. More than this wallflower…”
“Pity, that.” Violet’s head tilted as she regarded the other girl, her voice lowering into something husky and determined. “To be so desperate you would give up everything rather than hold close to something which should be fought hard to win. I cannot and will not offer myself so freely. A gentleman must prove himself worthy of a favor. And if I am a wallflower because of this, then I suppose it is what I am and I must bloom alone.”
Fiona scowled while Celia’s eyes glimmered with unmistakable pride. Others regarded Violet with a curious mixture of discomfort and interest. Bowman maneuvered through the field of gentlemen, steadily pressing closer until he stood directly behind her.
“You are a prude,” Fiona finally sputtered.
Violet’s lips tugged upward with a tiny smile, the dimple in her cheek peeking out.
“Perhaps I am.” Her voice still quavered the tiniest bit; anyone listening carefully would recognize her trepidation. “But that will not be decided by these games. Nor by men who have not earned the right to discover if true or not.”
* * *
Tristan stood quietly,having slipped into the parlor just a few moments before. He had no idea what the current disagreement between the two women consisted of but Violet just amplified the tension. She issued a direct challenge no man could possibly ignore. It was a blatant invitation for pursuit.
The girl was either truly, woefully innocent, or she was a consummate flirt intent on enticing every man in her orbit. Regardless, she would prove a popular mark for gentlemen seeking sport.
His fists clenched at the thought.
Tristan studied Lady Fiona Blackerby. Her name was recently deemed acceptable for inclusion on the list Mother and Celia had devised. Although she resembled Grace March in coloring, with her blonde hair and fair complexion, upon closer inspection, one could see how little the lady held in common with the new Duchess of Richeforte. Grace’s sweet spirit spilled out of every pore. Lady Fiona, in stark contrast, possessed a hollowness of character which could not be concealed.
She’d also earned herself a comparison with Violet. Fiona could never hope to overcome such a challenge. It was unfair to expect it. With her quiet loveliness and pureness of soul, Violet was a burning light in a cavern of unending darkness. Tristan did not understand why he was drawn to her, but there was no denying the pull he felt.
It almost explained his presence here now. He watched Violet from a distance, drinking in the very sight of a girl he’d never really thought much about before their chance encounter in the forest.
Annoyance tipped something dangerous inside Tristan when Bowman placed a solicitous hand on Violet’s elbow.
“Lady Violet, it would be a pleasure to offer my services as escort, should you truly intend on retiring for the evening.”
Flouncing away in a show of aggravated temper, Fiona caught sight of Tristan near the parlor entrance. Her delight had all eyes swiveling in his direction.
“Longleigh!” Fiona exclaimed in a breathless exhale of syrupy sweetness. “You came after all! How wonderful!” Hurrying across the room as quickly as her heeled slippers would allow, Fiona slipped her hand into the crook of Tristan’s arm, beaming up at him. “It’s so frightfully boring here. Have you come to take me for that stroll around the gardens?”
Celia crossed her arms in obvious irritation, but Violet’s reaction disturbed Tristan the most. A flash of something similar to betrayal bloomed in her eyes before it was quickly shuttered. Bending her head toward Bowman, she murmured something indistinct. The man’s eyes lit up like twin bonfires.
St. Simon’s Cross.
Tristan could not in all honesty dispute Fiona’s misinterpretation of his actions. He had encountered the young woman upon leaving Violet in the parlor the first time, and in a state of distraction, he mentioned returning at some point in the evening.
Was it his fault Fiona believed he’d come for her instead of the auburn-haired, violet-eyed little cat casting surreptitious glances at him that very moment?
Tristan allowed Fiona the claim of his arm until they reached the main group. Using a maneuver that the Duke of Richeforte had taught him long ago, he slipped from her grasp. Her pouting huff of dismay was ignored.
“I shall happily escort you to your quarters, Lady Violet,” Tristan said, giving Violet a hard, warning look. He didn’t trust Henry Bowman within five yards of her, and certainly not isolated from view in a darkened corridor.
Violet’s lips curved in that oddly endearing bow shape. For God’s sake, how he wanted to trace those lips with the tip of his tongue. He’d kiss her slowly at first. Learn everything about her. Her pressure points. The tender spots.
How would she respond when he pulled that plump bottom lip of hers between his teeth, tugging slightly before his tongue slid deep into the recess of her mouth?
She would taste like ripe fruit. Peaches, maybe. Or red, juicy grapes just off the vine and bursting…
“No, thank you, my lord,” Violet said softly.
Her refusal startled Tristan out of his decadent thoughts. A bit woozy from the erotic path his mind galloped down, he still recognized the firmness of her tone. It left no doubt as to her intent.
“I shall stay and play a few games after all.” Violet flashed a smile at Henry Bowman, and the man’s chest inflated by double its previous size. “I’m suddenly not as tired as I thought.”