Page 32 of Untaming Lady Violet
“That man is the very devil,” Violet muttered aloud. Rolling to her back, she stared at the ceiling.
Carrot meowed again, rousing himself for an exploratory journey of the hills and valleys created by the bed coverings. He pounced, pinning imaginary prey beneath tiny paws while biting the coverlet with an adorable growl.
The kitten’s antics distracted Violet from further thoughts of Tristan. She indulged her new pet’s playfulness, trailing the ribbon from the bodice of her nightdress and laughing when Carrot attacked it with feisty vigor.
“How fierce you are,” she admonished, tugging the ribbon from his sharp claws.
Carrot prepared to leap again, eyes bright with excitement and focused on the strip of fabric.
An unexpected tapping on the bedchamber door distracted both the cat and Violet.
Scrambling off the bed, Carrot took up residence beneath a chifforobe.
Only Bridgette would venture to her room at such an early hour, and the maid would not bother with the formality of knocking. But perhaps she’d fallen ill and another servant had overtaken her duties.
“Come in,” she called out, but the person on the other side of the door merely rapped the wood again.
“One moment.” Violet sighed. Rising from the bed, she donned a robe laid across the foot of the mattress. Knotting it tightly at her waist, she looked about for the matching slippers only they were nowhere to be seen.
Naughty kitten,she decided with pursed lips. Most likely, the missing footwear sat tucked beneath a piece of furniture. Carrot did like to carry things off as if they were fresh kill and he a great hunter.
Bare toes curled in protest at the chill of the hardwood floor when she stepped off the lush rug. At a tiptoeing run, she reached the door and flung it open.
“Good morning.” Tristan’s brow arched high, his gaze quickly covering every inch of Violet’s body. Those chocolate-hued eyes lingered on her exposed feet and the lower region of her ankles, his lips twitching with a ghost of a smile.
Violet clutched the neck of her robe; the other hand remained on the door to keep it from swinging open completely. “What are you doing here?”
Tristan’s eyes darkened, becoming twin pools of rich velvet that simultaneously caressed any exposed skin and ripped away her flimsy robe all at the same time. Violet shuddered, horrified that the idea of Tristan taking what he wanted at that very moment was somehow intriguing.
As if she could shut off those disturbing thoughts, she inched the door closed the slightest bit. Tugging her bottom lip between her teeth, she waited for his answer.
Tristan swore softly beneath his breath. His gaze shifted to focus on a point somewhere over her right shoulder.
“I hoped your maid would answer the door.” His jaw clenched as his eyes remained averted. “Here. It is for the beast.”
He thrust something at her, and Violet instinctively let go of the door to accept the offering.
It was a tiny collar. Small and delicately made from soft, butter-like leather, it had a small buckle crafted of gleaming brass.
“It’s a curb strap I pulled from a yearling’s first bridle.” His voice was gruff. “With a ribbon as a leash, you can safely take him outside.”
“Walk a cat?” Violet murmured, acutely aware of Tristan’s gaze drifting down until it landed where she clutched the collar below the lower curve of her breasts. “Whoever heard of such a thing?”
Tristan chuckled, a low rumbling sound that constricted Violet’s stomach in the strangest way. “It can be done. I believe the trick is beginning while he is young. Easier to handle and to teach.”
“Thank you.” Standing awkwardly, shifting from one bare foot to the other, she waited for Tristan to say more.
“It will certainly prove useful while painting my subject. Provided you accept my apologies for my behavior last evening and allow me to fulfill my debt,” he finally said.
“I accept your apology,” Violet agreed softly. “However—”
Tristan’s jaw tensed even more. “Of course, you accept. Even when you shouldn’t.”
Tilting her chin, Violet glared at him. “Why offer an apology you don’t mean? I don’t understand you.”
“I don’t understand myself either,” Tristan growled. He appeared so genuinely confused by his own behavior that Violet almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
