Page 24 of Untaming Lady Violet
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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.
