Page 4 of Untaming Lady Violet
Dark of countenance, with lightly bronzed skin and richly colored hair, the viscount was devilishly attractive. Women, young and old, swooned over the fact his eyes gleamed like aged mahogany. Famously witty and possessing an affable nature, his firm mouth curved often in a smile.
Many inside their social circle, and even those outside it, considered him an important friend. An influential lord. Although Violet had never attended one, it was said he hosted fabulous parties, unrivaled in generosity and rumored to be quite scandalous.
The viscount was also very… fit. Broad shoulders strained the seams of his afternoon coat, while muscular legs and thighs spoke of a fondness for the outdoors and physical activity. He was an excellent rider, enjoying a hands-on approach with his horses. Such athleticism contradicted the artistic side of his nature.
Heavens, his chest is wider than the burlwood desk in Father’s study. And, oh yes, his hands…
Violet smiled dreamily at the wanton path her thoughts took. Should the viscount ever touch her, she imagined it would feel like raw silk brushing over her skin. Fine, but rough. Gentle, but sturdy. Those large hands of his would hold her firmly, and the viscount would…
“I’ll not marry simply because it fits Father’s vision for the future.”
The stick cracking in half punctuated the viscount’s fierce declaration. The pieces of wood were cast aside with a snarl of disgust and an oath so foul Violet let out a startled gasp.
She couldn’t help it, for it was a very wicked word, although she had no idea of its true meaning.
And because he’d not suffered a loss of hearing since she’d seen him last, the involuntary sound did not go unnoticed.
Violet’s heart pounded until she grew lightheaded.
Concealed by foliage, she pressed herself against the oak’s thick but her lone slipper suddenly snagged on the rough bark.
A bit desperate, she gave her foot a little shake, then watched the shoe fly off her foot. It tumbled through the canopy of leaves and bounced harmlessly off the top of the viscount’s head.
“Oh, no!”
Oh, no indeed.
Dark brown eyes, so dark with frustration and surprise they were nearly ebony in color, unerringly searched for the owner of that feminine voice. As if it might aid in concealment, Violet squeezed her own eyes shut, praying he could not see through the leaves where she cowered.
Another snarled oath slashed the air, and Violet’s pulse sprinted, slowed, then raced again.
“You, there.You!What is your business? State it quickly!” His command barked out in militant fashion.
Violet’s eyes flew open, clashing with the viscount’s as he bent and retrieved her shoe, his gaze never wavering.
A crisp breeze rustled the leaves but had little to do with the shiver rushing down her spine.
Lord Tristan Buchanan, Viscount Longleigh, had found her.
Chapter 2
“Come down.Show yourself at once!”
Tristan’s voice rang out in a staccato of clipped, hard notes.
Unforgiving.
Rigid.
In that moment, he was a far cry from the charming gentleman society knew so well.
“I warn you… trespassers are dealt with harshly here. Poachers even more so.”
Poachers? Good lord.Violet never considered there might be men of nefarious character trespassing on Darby property.
She considered her options. Should she throw herself upon his mercy? Or remain cowering amongst the leaves until he gave up and went on his way? He did not know her identity, and there was little reason that should change.
Still, nauseating shyness overwhelmed Violet.Thisman’s attention, sparse though it was, never failed to throw her emotions into a veritable whirlwind of panic. Countless times over the years he’d left her tongue-tied and blithering like a simpleton after simply bidding her good-day.
