Page 26 of Untaming Lady Violet
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.
Chapter 10
Leaning against one of the pillars defining the drawing room, Tristan watched Celia sweet-talk her way into a game of whist where the prize was whatever the winner demanded.
She was a regular spit-fire, his sister. Too smart and too sassy for her own good.
That very nature of hers was both appealing and off-putting to the opposite sex. As such, he kept a close eye on her whenever they were in close proximity. Her fiery spirit needed reining in occasionally. Briefly, he thought of the times Grace Willsdown eclipsed Celia when it came to their wild antics. The memories made him smile.
But Grace was Richeforte’s now. Tristan had long ago come to terms with that fact. There had never been any real hope Grace would be his, not once she and Nicholas discovered one another. Those two.... It was damn eerie how in tune they were—to the point their union could only be called fate.
Tristan’s gaze slid over to Violet. She sat quietly at the pianoforte, plucking out soft notes to music he didn’t recognize. He wondered if she knew how to play or if the simple tune was a concession to societal mores which demanded a young woman play a musical instrument of some sort.
In the midst of the room’s loud gaiety, she kept to herself, which in itself drew attention. Tristan wasn’t the only one who noticed her quiet beauty or her contentment in being alone. Satisfied with loitering on the edges, she watched the other women in an almost clinical fashion as they reveled in the spotlight male adoration provided.
Tristan didn’t want anyone to discover the fire Violet hid from everyone else. Didn’t want another man to unearth the complex treasure buried beneath the creamy complexion and that pile of gorgeous auburn hair. He was slowly coming to realize she was a girl with terrible power. The power to ignite the passion of any man she came in contact with. The power to make a man forget his will was his own.
The damnable thing was Violet appeared blissfully unaware of her effect on others. She floated through the maze of men and dazzling women like an amethyst-eyed fairy. Untouchable and intriguing, and yet, there was something achingly vulnerable about her.
It needled Tristan. Poking and prodding as telling him someone should shelter and protect her. Take care of her. Grant her every wish and desire and make her smile with contentment every day of her life.
She would make men dance a merry tune if she ever embraced her potential.
If he were a man searching for a wife, he’d be wary of such a girl. Tristan wasn’t in the market for a bride, but recognizing Violet’s shyness incited a need to help her navigate through the world. She was much too beautiful for any man to run roughshod over. And too sweet to accept her parents treating her as a commodity. Given a push in the right direction, she might actually discover a bit of power. A minuscule amount perhaps, but enough that she could have an opinion over her own future.
Besides, it might be interesting to watch Violet come into her own. It would prove a distracting activity during his time at Darby Meadows, despite any misgivings he held on becoming too involved. She would benefit from his interaction, after all, becoming better equipped to handle men like William Gadley and Henry Bowman. Men interested in taking advantage of her.
Seeing his attention was fixed on her and had not swayed, Violet gave Tristan a tiny smile. Fingers gliding lightly over the keys, she continued playing, her gaze fixed with his as if inviting his company.
Tristan pushed away from the column. He should sit beside her before someone else decided that was a capital idea.
Sliding onto the bench, he grinned when her fingers faltered the tiniest bit.
So, hedidaffect her.
When she’d slipped past him after sharing their explosive kiss, Tristan almost doubted himself. She seemed too at ease for a first kiss. Too calm. Too… reserved. It perplexed him that all he could think of since that kiss was how Violet Everstone tasted like sugared peaches. And how he wished he could trace the tiny cleft in her chin with his tongue before moving on to more intriguing areas of her person.
“Do you play?” Violet asked, her elegant hands stilling.
“No. Never had the propensity for it.” He edged closer and experimentally touched a key. “I do enjoy hearing you play, however.”
She bit her bottom lip, containing a grin. “I play as well as I sing. Which is to say, abysmally.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“You wisely made yourself absent on the occasions Celia and I performed for our parents when we were young.” She shrugged. “Lucky for you.”
