Page 27 of Untaming Lady Violet
“You must have other talents,” Tristan offered. “Tell me some of the things you like to do.”
“A woman is not supposed to highlight her own interests.” Violet half turned toward him, her eyes sparkling. “But, as you’ve asked me directly, it will not harm anything to say I do enjoy reading. Although, I suppose that is not really a talent. I am fairly accomplished at writing poetry. And I do have a head for numbers. My father despises that fact. He thinks it is completely inappropriate that a female possesses such knowledge.”
Tristan’s head tilted, his dark eyes studying her. “That skill will stand you well once you are managing your own household.”
“Do you think so? I doubt Lord Gadley will appreciate it. His views are distressingly similar to my father’s. And those of my mother.” Violet sighed, unhappiness flitting across her features like a brief raincloud.
Tristan’s heart clenched.
“Perhaps Gadley will change his mind and choose another to become his wife.” His words were cavalier, but he felt anything but nonchalant. To think of that man dictating anything this lovely girl might do in the future left Tristan feeling slightly nauseated. With his cold, clinical reputation, it was highly probable Gadley would smash Violet’s gentle spirit to bits.
Tristan could not imagine a worse prospect for a spouse, with the exception of himself, of course. Her parents must be mad to even consider the man as an ideal husband.
Violet regarded Tristan, remaining silent in light of his statement. He could see in her eyes she had no hope of Gadley suddenly becoming a sensitive, caring human spouse.
Tristan quickly changed the subject, afraid of where things were leading.
“How is your new pet doing? Settled in?”
A quick smile transformed Violet’s features. Her adorably pert nose crinkled. “Bridgette, my maid, has declared him a minion of the underworld. I cannot blame her. Carrot hid beneath the bed then attacked her skirts when she walked past. It was quite unexpected and resulted in a little scratch on her ankle while he was caught upon the fabric. But the skin was not broken, and he meowed quite mournfully in response to her terrified scream. He was very sorry, after all.”
Tristan unsuccessfully smothered a laugh. “Such behavior is to be expected from a half-wild creature.”
“He’s quite intelligent. Bridgette set up a pan filled with sand, and he’s learned that is where he should do his business. He’s such a smart rascal, but prone to mischief. Already, he’s ruined one lace shawl.”
“If you insist on keeping him, my dear, I imagine he will destroy a few more of your belongings.”
Violet giggled. “I will introduce you again, now that he’s had a proper meal and a warm bed to sleep in. You will see he’s quite charming. It makes it easier to overlook his shortcomings.”
Tristan leaned forward, remembering how this girl’s lush form felt pressed against his own body. She tasted as warm and decadent as a strawberry tart. He wanted another sample. “I despise cats, but for you, I shall endeavor to make friends with the beast.”
“Violet, darling, come play a hand or two of whist with Lord Harvey and me.” Celia slid into the open space upon the bench, placing Violet in the middle of the Buchanan siblings. Leaning past her friend, she gave her brother a mischievous grin. “You may join us, Tristan, if you don’t mind losing.”
“I trounce you at whist every time,” he drawled with an indulgent smile.
“Only because I allow it. Your pride being such a fragile thing, I don’t dare crush it,” Celia teased. “Besides, you would face off against Violet. And she would have no qualms destroying your ego. She may look forward to it, actually.”
“Oh, I would certainly not go so far as that.” Violet blushed furiously, and Tristan reveled in the way her face glowed pink.
“I’m game if you are, Lady Violet,” Tristan said, taking her elbow. “And I look forward to your efforts in crushing my… um, ego.”
* * *
“We must set the wagers,”Celia claimed as they settled about the table. “Harvey, you should go first.”
Lord Harvey grinned wolfishly. “Your hand for every waltz the night of the May Day Ball.”
“Greedy, but I agree to your terms.” Celia appeared bored by the man’s request. Rolling her eyes, she nodded at her brother. “Tristan?”
Tristan rolled the whiskey so it glided up the sides of the tumbler he held. His eyes, dark and wicked, gleamed as he considered Violet. She squirmed a little under the intense scrutiny. “To paint Lady Violet’s portrait is my fervent wish.”
A scandalized gasp went up around the group of onlookers. Fiona Blackerby appeared as if she might explode with jealousy. Henry Bowman puffed up in righteous outrage, and Celia, bless her little misguided, matchmaker’s heart, grinned with sheer delight.
But Tristan didn’t care about any of that. He was already thinking ahead to the moment he had Violet under his paintbrush.
“Seems rather risqué a wager,” Bowman sputtered from the sidelines.
“Daring, actually. Provided the lady agrees,” Tristan murmured, his gaze never leaving Violet. She was blushing again, but she also looked determined not to let him intimidate her. It was strangely endearing.
