Page 29 of Untaming Lady Violet
“I believe I shall take a turn around the terrace before retiring for the evening. I should check on Carrot anyway. He’s a very mischievous thing when left to his own devices for too long.” Violet gathered up her fan and shawl.
“I’ll escort you, Lady Violet. Have a look at my newest muse. Get an idea of colors and inspiration.” Tristan rose to his full height, tossing back the dregs of whiskey still lingering in the glass. His eyebrow rose when Violet’s apprehension became apparent in the way her grip tightened on the delicate fan. He thought he heard one of the piece’s thin ribs crack from being held so tight in her fist. “I should at least attempt making friends with the subject if I am to paint him in a realistic fashion.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Violet stammered. “That would be best, I suppose. I would hate if he were to scratch you.”
“I wouldn’t mind.” Tristan smiled, knowing the meaning behind his words was quite clear when Violet tugged her bottom lip between her teeth in disconcerted awareness. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been scratched by a hostile kitten.”
Chapter 11
Violet did not care it was rude. She strode ahead of the viscount as fast as her skirts allowed.
Oh! If this insufferable man does not cease referring to me as a… as akitten…I may slap any sense he possesses clean out of his egotistical head!
She did not stop until she reached the furthest end of the terrace where wide stone steps led down to the crisply manicured hedge garden. Gravel paths spread like tentacles through the boxwood evergreens, punctuated by iron lampposts flickering with oil-fueled flames and carved marble benches. The Chinese lanterns were unlit tonight, leaving the garden in a mysterious blend of dark shadows and pools of light.
The angles of the house concealed this portion of the terrace from view should anyone venture outside, and there were no windows here. It was an unexpected spot of privacy, and Violet gratefully took advantage of it.
Setting her ruined fan and shawl down on the terrace wall’s broad, waist-high surface, she leaned over the edge and sucked in a deep breath. But it did not help calm her volatile emotions.
Different noises permeated the evening. Crickets chirping merrily under the cover of darkness. The cry of a bird in a nearby tree, confused by the inky black sky, and the breeze ruffling the leaves of nearby trees. The faint sounds of music and guests enjoying themselves in the Earl of Darby’s elegant parlor.
But the one sound assailing her ears, the one sending shivers of apprehension up her spine and turning her mouth dry, was that of Tristan’s measured footsteps as he unhurriedly stalked her.
And,dear God,was the man actuallywhistling?
Whirling, she faced him, hands clenched tight at her sides.
Tristan stood within arm’s length of her, hands tucked in his coat pockets. He let out a low, admiring whistle before those full, pillowy-soft and somehow hard at the same time lips—damn her own memory of their exact, confusing texture—curved upward in a wicked grin.
“Go away,” Violet demanded. An irrational order, considering this was his family’s home.
“Sorry. Can’t do that.”
She nearly stomped a foot at his softly drawled refusal, then blurted, “Why are you following me?”
“Why are you so angry? Is it because you want me to paint you instead of that damned cat?”
“You are insufferable,” Violet shot back. “Egotistical. Unmannerly. And obtuse.”
“Don’t forget talented.”
She stared at him in stunned disbelief. “What?”
Tristan moved closer, trailing a forefinger along her arm until it reached the upper edge of her glove. A galaxy of stars swirled in the depths of his glittering eyes. His teeth flashed white again. “You said I possessed talents as an artist, so obviously, you have some admiration for my skill.” His dark gaze captured hers. “Now, tell me why you are truly angry.”
“You—you cannot continue referring to me as a kitten. It’s scandalous,” she finally managed. “You must stop.”
Tristan appeared vastly entertained by her demand. “You are a kitten. Scratching, hissing, and clawing. I mean it as a compliment.”
“Do. Not. Call me that again. I’m warning you.”
“Warning me?” Genuinely amused, Tristan chuckled. “Eventually, you will learn to get what you want in a more subtle manner, but right now, you are nothing more than a feisty, snarling kitten.”
Violet’s hand flew before she could stop it. The loud crack of her palm connecting with his cheek joined the other nighttime noises. She gasped in shock at the boldness of her own actions, then cried out in alarm when Tristan’s arm snaked about her waist and hauled her up against him.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Didn’t that feel good?” His breath landed hot on her face, laced with mint and the sweet sharpness of the whiskey he sipped while playing whist. He smelled like aman.Like arousal, traces of leather and bergamot and spicy things shy, inexperienced wallflowers like herself could not possibly understand.
“Slap me again,” he urged in a husky murmur, watching her closely. “Put me in my place because I’ve dared touch you. My arm shouldn’t be around you like this. I shouldn’t have you molded to my body. You’re so sweet and warm. Goddamn, Violet… I feel you in ways you can’t begin to fathom. Your breasts rising and falling against my chest as you struggle to catch your breath. The heat of you scorching me through our clothes.”
