Untaming Lady Violet by April Moran

Chapter 9

Violet clutched Tristan’s hand tight.

Had she truly almost accosted a man with a pitchfork? Like a savage?

Hesitantly, she touched her earlobe with trembling fingers. It stung just a little. How odd that the viscount’s action both grounded her and inflamed her. She trembled, ashamed of her actions, grateful Tristan stopped her, but still overwhelmed with concern for the tiny kitten.

“It fell into a coal bucket,” Pope began earnestly. “A bath seemed the trick, but the little bugger—”

“Careful, man,” Tristan interrupted with a tilt of his chin toward Violet.

“Pardon, milord. I mean, the wee thing didn’t take too kindly to the notion of a bath.” Pope wrapped a towel around the kitten so he could finally pry it off his arm. “I wasn’t trying to hurt it. Honest. Oh, milady, you can’t think I’d do such a thing, do you?”

Violet’s face flushed. For the past several days, she had provided scraps from the kitchen for a mama cat who’d just given birth; Mister Pope proved kind and gentle during those visits. He let her sit in the empty stall where the cat was kept so Violet could feed the scraps. He even checked on her occasionally, making her feel safe amongst all the huge, scary horses with their dangerous hooves and enormous bodies.

How could she think he might ever harm a helpless kitten?

“I’m so very sorry, Mister Pope,” Violet said miserably. “It is inexcusable I thought the worst when there was no basis for it. Please forgive me. You’ve been nothing but kind to me and to those kittens and their mother. Where do you suppose this one has come from? It’s much larger than the others. And much more vocal.”

“Aye, that it is. I think it might be a stowaway, ridin’ in on someone’s coach,” Mister Pope said. He held the kitten out to Tristan who accepted it with a raised eyebrow of disbelief. “It’s not one of Darby Meadows’ rat killers, I can vouch for that. And still covered in coal dust, so a bath is still in order.” The man set the bench to rights, handing the bucket to a stable lad with instructions that it be refilled with soapy water.

The kitten continued growling, but wrapped within a towel, it was not as dangerous an opponent.

“Let Mister Pope try this once more. Then we shall decide what shall be done with the disagreeable thing,” Tristan said with a smile for Violet.

* * *

While Mister Popebathed the kitten with Tristan’s supervision, Violet delivered the scraps to the mother cat. A pile of straw provided a cozy bed, but she had added a bit of cloth as well to protect the delicate kittens from the straw’s needle-like ends.

After watching the cat eat all the bits of stewed chicken, and petting the soft babies, Violet returned to the courtyard where the stowaway kitten was now freshly cleaned.

Both men were fairly soaked, and Tristan scowled as Violet drew closer. He held the kitten wrapped in a clean, dry towel. Its tiny head peeked out of the white cloth, and Violet was surprised to see its coat was a dark, orangish tabby. It had been so completely coated in coal dust before there was no discerning its true color.

Tristan thrust the bundle toward her.

“Here. Take it.”

The cat let loose a screech of displeased indignation while hovering midair.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Violet crooned, taking the kitten from Tristan. She scratched it between the ears, rewarded with a subdued growl that faded after a few moments.

“It’s a boy, if that makes a difference, milady,” Mister Pope said.

“Is it?” Violet’s head bent, and the kitten stared back with startling green eyes. Her heart melted. “Will he have a home?”

“He’ll live in the stables with the rest of the cats, and we’ll hope for the best, him being such a wee thing.” The head groomsmen cleaned up the items used for the bath. “Excuse me, your Lordship, I’ll be seeing to my other duties this morning. Milady.” He executed a respectable bow then disappeared into the stables.

The kitten rumbled out another aggravated growl along with an open-mouthed meow of protest when Violet tucked it closer to her body.

“Whatever you are thinking, I heartily advise against it,” Tristan said calmly.

“You can’t possibly know what I’m thinking.” Violet rubbed the kitten’s ears until the angry snarls slowly morphed into a reluctant purr.

“You want to keep it,” Tristan sighed. “Bad idea. I’m afraid that beast is half-wild.”

“He is not. He needs someone to care for him. He has no mother, and he’s too young to fend for himself in the midst of the other barn cats. They’ll hurt him.” Violet lifted her gaze. “He needs a name.”

“‘Demon’ comes to mind,” came Tristan’s dry response.

“He’s as orange as a carrot. What do you think of that for a name? Carrot?”

Bemused, Tristan shook his head. Taking her arm, he pulled Violet into the shadows against the outer walls of the stable where there was a little more privacy.

“I think he should be tossed out with the bathwater, if you honestly want to know my thoughts. How will you explain your new pet to your parents?”

Violet shrugged her shoulders. “They will likely not even notice. And if they do, I-I think I don’t care.” The kitten, exhausted from its ordeal or perhaps soothed by Violet’s gentle caresses, was dozing off. His tiny whiskers quivered when Violet shifted him into a more comfortable position.

Tristan said nothing, merely watching her until Violet looked up at him quizzically.

“What is it, my lord?”

Perplexed by the train of his own thoughts, he frowned. “I do not know. It’s just that… one moment, you are the girl I barely remember from all these years past. Shy, quiet, and perfectly content to remain in the background. The next, you would defy your parents to keep a half-rabid hellcat after you attack my defenseless employee with a pitchfork. A girl who would change her gown so no one sees her beauty, but challenges every man in my family’s drawing room to discover for themselves whether she is a prude or not. These contradictions are driving me half-mad, if you must know the whole of it.”

“I am only myself, Longleigh,” Violet breathed.

But how could she truly respond when there was a world of truth behind his statement? She was a different person with him. A paradox that confused and muddled her own thoughts.

Tristan had the distinct ability to make her feel both invincible and vulnerable. Strong, but weak. Desired, and yet unwanted. It was a dizzying combination of emotions.

“Yes. Just yourself. I think I like you just that way. Fierce and innocent, but still the temptress. My sweet, wild Violet.” Tristan smiled faintly, tipping her chin skyward with a forefinger. His dark brown eyes searched hers. “I wonder. If I asked for that first kiss right now, would you give it to me or skewer me with a pitchfork?”

Violet swallowed hard. Would she let him kiss her? It was best to place distance between them. No good would ever come of allowing this man to toy with her heart or her emotions.

He seemed to know her struggle because his mouth quirked when she hesitated in answering him. But it was no use. She was irrevocably drawn to Tristan, and she could no more turn from him than a hungry beggar from a bowl of soup.

Slowly, Violet nodded her head.

“A kiss would prove less fatal,” she said.

“That all depends on you, sweetheart. I’ve the feeling you could do a great deal of damage, no matter the weapon you choose.”

The golden flecks in Tristan’s eyes glinted with something dangerous, calling to a piece of Violet’s soul buried deep beneath countless layers of respectability and demure behavior.

“Ask me to kiss you, Violet.”

“What?” She pretended she’d not heard him correctly. God, anyone could walk outside into the courtyard and find them against the wall, deep in the shadows. It would be ruinous, even if they were doing nothing more than sharing a conversation.

Tristan’s eyes narrowed. “You heard me. Ask me, kitten. And know when you do, I will take from you without hesitation. Without mercy. With complete and utter ruthlessness. As I swore I would.”

Violet was sure her hunger for him shone like a beacon. Sweat beaded in the valley between her breasts despite the coolness of the spring morning. The purr of the kitten in her arms faded away, and her heartbeat pounded like a drum in her ears. Her eyes locked with his until it seemed she was drowning in vats of rich, melted chocolate. So sinful, so deep, and so thick she would never escape.

“I-I, Tristan—” This kiss would ruin her forever. She would never forget it. Never forget him.

She couldn’t do it for that reason.

And yet, she must do it.

“Violet.” Tristan’s tone remained calm and smooth, his finger never leaving its place beneath her chin, keeping it tilted so there was no choice but to stare into his eyes. “Ask me.”

And Violet surrendered, toppling like a Saxon fortress overtaken by bloodthirsty Vikings.

“Please,” she choked out. “Kiss me. Be the first. Show me what your lips feel like on mine.…”

Tristan’s eyes glowed like that of a panther finally snagging its prey.

Violet sagged against the wall, suddenly alarmed. “The way you are looking at me right now…”

He stepped even closer, and there was no mistaking the starved light in his gaze. “How is that, Violet? How am I looking at you?”

“Feral. Hungry.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Like you… you might swallow me whole.”

“I am. Hungry, that is. And I will devour you if given the chance.”

When he leaned down, Violet held her breath, certain he would attack her mouth, take her so roughly that the very air would be stolen from her lungs. A whimper escaped her, but she couldn’t say if it was a sound borne of eagerness or apprehension.

Tristan smiled slightly but instead of claiming with savageness, his lips brushed across hers.

Violet let his gentleness soak in. His lips were so soft. Pillow-like, but insistent at the same time. Firm. Inescapable.

Tristan kissed her again, letting her feel his lips across the full surface of her own before he exerted more pressure.

Beneath the tenderness, Violet sensed his restraint. He was holding back. For her.

She moaned in her throat with the realization, parted her lips in invitation, and that was what Tristan seemed to be waiting for.

Growling in triumph, his tongue traced the seam of her lips, parting them so he could dip inside. Violet gasped in shocked delight as he kissed her with violent sweetness. Over and over, his tongue swept through her mouth, delving and retreating in languid, yet fevered exploration as if he possessed all the time in the world.

He tasted like mint, and the only part of her body he touched other than her mouth was the finger which still lifted her chin. It was all he needed to control her.

Violet trembled. She was lightheaded, knees buckling, and while gripping Tristan’s coat sleeve with her free hand, a low rumbling sound built around them. It slowly escalated into a screeching howl that sounded otherworldly.

Tristan tore his mouth away, swearing beneath his breath.

“Goddamn little beast…”

Easing back, his gaze dropped to the kitten cuddled against Violet’s chest. Its ears were laid flat, eyes large and round, and the noise it emitted became a disgruntled growl, interspersed with little hisses of displeasure aimed at Tristan.

“I think you frighten him,” Violet explained breathlessly. She stroked the cat’s head in an effort to calm it. And to calm herself. Her heart was galloping like racehorses turned loose on a fresh track.

“Do I?”

Violet smiled. “Yes, I believe so. Poor little thing. I’d best get him to the house and settled in my room.”

Giving Tristan an apologetic nod, she moved around his large form and stepped into the morning sunshine. She did her best acting as though that kiss had not irrevocably altered her forever. “Enjoy your ride, Longleigh.”

Hurrying away, she did not glance behind to see if he followed or simply watched her exit.

Regardless, she felt the heat of his gaze on her backside until she rounded a corner. Only then did she take a deep breath of relief.