Untaming Lady Violet by April Moran
Chapter 7
Violet owed Celia a debt of gratitude.
Twenty minutes into a new game involving a silly concoction of kissing a candlestick or something equally foolish, Celia clapped her hands, squealing at her partner.
“Have you not seen the Chinese lanterns Father purchased for the terrace? They are absolutely splendid. They light up the lawns so delightfully. You can almost see the very edges of the garden.”
It was a subtle way of drawing the activities to a close when it seemed Violet’s involvement was inevitable. With Lord Henry Bowman glued to her side, waiting for the moment he would win a kiss, Violet could not thank her friend enough.
It was reckless, throwing herself back into the mix after such an impassioned speech against the games themselves. But seeing Tristan and the girl hanging on his arm had sparked Violet’s temper. That unexpected emotion swayed her decision to stay, just so she could see what the viscount would do.
Tristan hovered on the outskirts of the lively group, dark and scowling, ignoring Fiona and her grip. Indeed, he disregarded all her enticements, and Violet overheard one gentleman comment how contradictory Tristan’s behavior was. After all, the viscount was normally quite jovial… quick to engage in any activity which would gain a kiss or two from a pretty girl. And even more, if rumors held any truth at all.
“Yes. A visit to the terraces is a fine idea. I, for one, could do with a bit of fresh air,” Tristan muttered, shooting Henry a burning glance when the man once again grasped Violet’s elbow.
Violet calmly met Tristan’s glare when his eyes found hers.
Why is he so angry? Fiona can scarcely keep her hands off him.
Excited chatter filled the room as the occupants filed out.
Violet subtly extricated herself from Henry’s grip. “If you will excuse me a moment, Lord Bowman.”
“Don’t you wish to see the gardens by lantern light?” He sounded almost plaintive, although his eyes retained a calculating light. Just beyond him, Violet saw Tristan’s hands clench into what could only be considered fists.
“I must retrieve a wrap. The night air will be chilly and—"
Henry waved a dismissive hand. “There are servants for that.”
“Yes, but I have a particular one in mind. It shall be quicker if I get it.”
“I’ll accompany you, of course.”
Violet’s heart plummeted. Bowman was certainly proving to be a persistent fellow.
“Oh, no. That is not necessary,” she stammered.
“Go with the others, Bowman.”
Tristan’s softly uttered command sounded like the crack of a whip.
Henry might have considered staging a protest, but the arch of Tristan’s dark brow convinced him otherwise. Suddenly understanding he was treading upon claimed ground, Henry picked up his snifter of brandy and exited the room without a backward glance.
Which left only Fiona to contend with.
“Do run along, Violet. Longleigh and I shall catch up. There is something we, ah, must discuss.” Favoring Tristan with a simpering smile, Fiona snuggled closer, hugging his arm tight against her breast.
Tristan watched the girl as one would an interesting bug making its way across a window ledge. For a moment, he said nothing, then very softly, he made his preference known.
“Lady Fiona, I suggest you join the others.”
Fiona stared at Tristan until her surprise began a slow melt into outrage.
“Don’t be cruel, darling. Do you worry the little wallflower will spread gossip about us?” she snapped before catching herself. Sweetening her tone, her eyelashes fluttered. “She won’t tell a soul. Will you, Vi—"
“Stop.”The viscount’s voice did not raise, nor did he sound particularly angry, but it had the similar effect of Fiona slamming into a brick wall at high speed.
Violet watched in horrified fascination as the other girl’s mouth clamped shut as directed.
Tristan spoke quietly, but firmly.
“I feel a certain responsibility for the guests in my father’s home, so you can understand why I will not allow anyone the license of referring to Lady Violet as a wallflower. Or employing the use of any other term that could be construed in a derogatory manner. One may not like the results of my displeasure if these instructions are ignored. Is this perfectly clear, Lady Fiona?”
He waited for Fiona’s tight nod and, once satisfied, waved a hand in her direction. Like a sultan dismissing an unfaithful or wearisome subject. “Excellent. See that you do not forget my warning. And please, tell others how disappointed I shall be if I hear of it again. You may go now. Close the door behind you.”
Violet swallowed the lump in her throat as Fiona stomped to the door. Although the girl most certainly thought very hard about it, she refrained from slamming the portal behind her when she exited.
Hearing the soft click of the latch, Violet sagged against the nearest wall, her legs wobbling. Her eyes met Tristan’s, lips twisting in a half-smile of pained regret.
“So much for not feeding the rumor mill, Longleigh. You’ve served up a virtual feast with your actions.”
Tristan poured himself another dram of whiskey. With the languid grace of a jungle cat, all sleekness and dark power, he moved toward her.
One could become entranced watching the viscount’s nonchalant actions. There was little point in running when he’d already pounced and had a victim by the throat. Taking a sip from the glass, he ran a careful, steady finger down the side of Violet’s neck, his mouth curving upward.
Violet blinked. When did he get so close? And why did her breath suddenly feel as though it were being squeezed inside her chest?
“What do you mean, kitten?” Tristan asked softly, stroking the same path down her throat again and again until Violet nearly threw her head back and begged him to do something. Anything. She didn’t know precisely what, but she suspected he did. Tristan’s eyes, deep and full of fathomless secrets, were now the same dark shade she’d seen in the forest earlier that afternoon.
“Rumors. You told me you had no wish for them, but now you’ve created a whirlwind. And, I asked you not to call me that.” Her voice trembled. She hated that it trembled. She wanted to be strong. To stand up to him. To withstand him and his brand of seduction. Because for a shy, inexperienced wallflower, the promise of it was a cruel lie.
“Kitten? I can’t seem to help myself.” He drank from the glass again before setting it down so he could mesh his fingers with hers. Very slowly, he drew her closer until their bodies were nearly touching. “You’re soft like a kitten. You scratch and hiss at me, ineffectively of course. I wager if I touched you, very gently, and in the right place, you would purr for me. You would nestle against me, seeking the stroke of my hand. Wouldn’t you?”
Tristan’s words wove a spell of such delight, such darkness and pleasure, that Violet felt lightheaded.
Would she purr? Would she melt for him? Give him anything he asked for? Regardless of the scandal?
His reputation would ruin hers… devastate any chance for a respectable marriage. With Gadley or any other gentleman foolish enough to offer for her. And while Longleigh’s ego would certainly be stoked with the conquest of another woman, Violet knew her heart would fall behind him in tatters.
“Did you love her very much?”
The words tumbled into the air between them.
Tristan’s hands dropped away from her. His mouth tightened into a hard line, but his eyes remained soft.
“I thought at the time I did. I believed she was meant to be mine. It’s complicated.”
Violet pressed on. “Do you still love her?”
“Of course, I do. Just not… not in the manner you think. Grace is like a sister to me. She always was, even when I refused to see it.”
“Even before she married the duke?” Violet tilted her head, trying hard to understand. He was so single-minded in his pursuit of Grace. She could not comprehend the gap between the type of infatuation Tristan exhibited before and the sisterly affection he claimed now.
Tristan raked a hand through his hair. “What Nicholas and Grace have is far beyond anything I ever witnessed. The love they share is…”
Biting his lip, he glanced away, having no words which could adequately describe the relationship between Grace and her new husband.
Violet smiled. “If it resembles anything like that of the Earl and Countess of Ravenswood, or the Earl and Countess of Bentley, then perhaps I do understand. What they have is enviable, isn’t it?”
“Yes. And, one shouldn’t assume something so magical is commonplace. Better to have a more realistic expectation of marriage, I think. After all, not everyone is meant to find their true love.”
Tears shimmered in Violet’s eyes when she thought of her likely union with William Gadley.
How she wished now she’d never fallen in love with Tristan. Wished that she had never experienced the blinding warmth of his smile. Or the abrupt, confusing whirlwind of his attention. Better to crush this dream of becoming his wife while her head was still somewhat clear.
“What an incredibly sad thing to say,” Violet replied slowly. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”
“There are too many disappointed people in this world to think otherwise,” he replied flatly.
“True love is always possible,” she retorted.
“Really? Will true love compel you to accept Gadley’s proposal?”
“I will accept because I must.” When his eyes bored into hers, Violet’s gaze skittered away. “Love will have little to do with it, but I will never stop believing in its existence.”
After a nerve-racking silence, Tristan’s head dipped forward.
The tiny movement reminded Violet she still leaned against the wall. He had her pinned against it, and for a second, her heart raced with a crazy apprehension.
But Tristan only sighed against her neck, as if her words released something he’d been afraid to let go. Perhaps it was relief he’d not been so foolish to fall in love. Even if it wasn’t true love.
Violet’s heart melted, even while she steeled herself against him.
How awful the past few months must have been for him. He’d been rejected by someone he’d believed was the woman of his dreams, watched his closest friend marry her instead, then listened as gossips discussed the details of the whole affair over and over. All while retaining his composure, his humor, and his relationships with those involved.
Violet’s free arm embraced the viscount, patting his back in awkward gestures of hidden comfort. Nonsensical murmurs slipped from her lips with no focus on actual words.
Tristan. Tristan. She’d loved him for so long. Now, her heart felt it would burst as her senses filled with him.
The heavy weight of his body pressed hers, the clean, tantalizing scent of wintergreen forests, spice, and leather emanating from him.
The width of his shoulders was massive under her palm. Her hand smoothed and stroked the muscled strength stretched so tight beneath the fine broadcloth.
With a quick intake of breath Tristan’s head nestled deeper into the crook of her neck.
Violet froze even as the warmth of his breath on her skin burned her. A strumming urgency coursed between them, linking their souls as if forged of silver chains. Her hand drifted until it rested on the back of his neck, and she sighed as her fingers sifted through the waves of his hair.
Slowly, as if afraid of breaking the spell between them, Tristan’s head lifted until his cheek almost touched her own.
Violet held her breath, certain he held his too. For a long moment, they remained in that position, cheek to cheek, mouths aligned horizontally, neither inhaling nor exhaling.
It almost seemed he was waiting for her…
An inexplicable force pulled Violet. Controlled by hidden strings, her head turned slightly, meeting his lips in the softest, sweetest brush of a kiss.
Tristan issued a ragged sigh in response. Rather than push her away, his arms snaked around her waist and tightened.
“That doesn’t count as a first kiss, Violet,” he rumbled.
Violet’s soul soared high, then plummeted to earth, shattering into a billion pieces. She couldn’t do this. Not when he’d been so desperately in love with another woman just months ago. Not when he might only be using her as a means of forgetting his disappointment.
She couldn’t do this when she’d been so desperately in love with him for so very long. The agony that would come from being claimed by Tristan Buchanan would be devastating. Worse than if she was never claimed as his.
It would be worse than anything she could ever imagine.
“I’m sorry. I-I can’t stay. Not like this.” She tried disentangling herself from the tight circle of his arms; however, Tristan increased the pressure required to keep her in place. His deep brown eyes searched hers until Violet faltered, uncertain she should trust what she glimpsed in that moment.
Desire. Puzzlement. Conflict.
“Please,” she murmured, and he finally relaxed his grip. Not enough that she could escape, but enough that she wasn’t afraid to stay where she was.
“Must you go?” he queried, keeping her stare captive. “Or is that something you feel compelled to say so I’m kept at arm’s length? It won’t work. For reasons I cannot fathom, I am drawn to you.”
Violet wanted nothing more than to nestle within the warm, steel cage of his arms. By sheer willpower alone, she remained upright. “It is improper to be here like this. If someone came through that door…”
“It was improper fifteen minutes ago,” Tristan interrupted with a crooked smile. “A few minutes more won’t matter now, I’m afraid.”
“But they could, Tristan. Anyone could come searching for me. For you. For both of us. You practically demanded Lady Fiona leave us here alone.” Violet succeeded in tearing herself away while Tristan’s eyes narrowed in thought. “What do you think she has done as a result? She is surely telling everyone we are cosseted here together. Unsupervised. If someone caught us like this, caught us… kissing… it would be ruinous. And while that may not mean anything to you, it does to me. You—we could be forced to wed.”
Violet placed some distance between their bodies. And a few pieces of furniture as well. The grin Tristan flashed acknowledging her actions was ignored, but her anger, and she recognized the strange feeling as anger now, could not be denied. Anger and excitement.
“Married? For a single kiss?” Tristan scoffed. “What strange notions they put in young girls’ heads in these misguided efforts of keeping them pure.” He allowed her escape with a shrug of nonchalance. They both knew he could easily recapture her if he wished it. “If that were the case, then why were the entire lot of you playing those ridiculous parlor games? Everyone knows what they are about. Besides, if kisses required marriage, my sister would already be someone’s wife several times over. Holy matrimony isn’t so easily accomplished, my dear. And I should know.”
Even as he said that, the doorknob to the parlor was turning, a distinctly feminine voice calling out first Tristan’s name, then Violet’s.
Celia’s head poked through the opening between the door and the jamb. Her eyes widened almost comically, noting the space yawning between Violet and Tristan.
Scowling as if disappointed she’d not caught them in a passionate embrace, she hurriedly swung the door open wide.
“Are you two coming out into the terrace or not?” Celia’s gaze darted from Violet to Tristan. “And what’s this about my being someone’s wife?”