Page 18 of Untaming Lady Violet
“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.”
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.
