Page 20 of Untaming Lady Violet
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.”
