Page 42 of Untaming Lady Violet
But while William glared his disapproval with the seating arrangements, Tristan was strangely remote. Seated just across the table with Fiona Blackerby beside him, he avoided eye contact with Violet. Like her, he escaped the evening activities planned after the meal. The knowledge he more than likely requested Fiona as a dinner partner made her heart hurt with such painful sharpness, she was left breathless.
Pleading a headache, Violet took the stairs as quickly as she dared following dinner, mindful of the curious stares her hasty exit garnered. A glance over her shoulder revealed William preparing to follow, a determined look on his features. Her pace quickened until she gained the safety of her room.
Legs trembling, she leaned against the bedchamber’s solid oak door.
Bile rose in her throat at the thought of William laying a hand on her. His newfound possessiveness was a disturbing development. One she didn’t know how to handle.
Strange how much easier she’d found it to stomach him before Tristan touched her. Before Tristan kissed her. Made her fall hopelessly, tragically, and even deeper in love with him.
Life before that, while hardly perfect, was certainly less complicated. The only expectation was that she should obey her parents. To do as they wished and marry whoever was chosen for her. She had resigned herself to a dull, loveless marriage, certain nothing of interest would mark her life. Before Tristan, Violet doubted she would ever experience the affectionate touch of a man.
It was almost comical, really, that she found herself in this position.Her.The most unremarkable, unmemorable wallflower of the past two seasons was utterly devastated by one of London’s most eligible bachelors.
She was essentially ruined. Oh, not in the classic sense. At least, not in a manner anyone would have any knowledge of. No one knew the liberties the viscount had taken with her, the places he touched her body, the ways he kissed her. If anyone discovered the truth of their stolen encounters, a wedding would probably be her father’s first and foremost demand.
She clenched her fists tight against a swelling of indignant pride.
I’ll never let that happen. I’ll not have any man forced to wed me against his will. Least of all the brother of my dearest friend. What has happened between Tristan and me must remain a secret.
Any chance of happiness with another man had been destroyed by chocolate-colored eyes and a pair of artist’s hands stained with faint traces of paint. And she could only blame herself for her current state of turmoil. If only she’d tried harder in keeping her distance from the charmer. Done more to resist. Hardened her heart. Hid her soul.
A sob broke free from the depths of her chest. “How will I ever forget Tristan when I am that awful man’s wife?”
At the sound of Violet’s voice, Carrot jumped down from the bed’s counterpane and trotted soundlessly to her. Weaving around her legs, he meowed until Violet complied with his demands to be picked up.
Burying her face in the kitten’s soft fur, Violet sniffled until her emotions were wrangled under control.
Carrot endured the moment stoically at first, then with a mischievous spurt of energy, he batted at a hunk of Violet’s hair and bit the auburn curls as though they were a tangle of yarn to be played with.
Carrying the kitten, Violet stood at the window, gazing out over the moonlit grounds below. The sensible thing to do would be to follow her plan and stay far away from the viscount. What he made her feel was dangerous.
Recalling his actions in his studio sent a tide of warmth throughout her body. She’d teetered on the cusp of something magical when his fingers danced upon her flesh. It was all very wicked and dark, and when it abruptly stopped, she’d known a great frustration mixed with eagerness.
She was aware of her body’s own physical reaction to his caresses; the dampness between her thighs that Tristan gathered on his fingertips being the most blatant of those physical signs. That he reminded her of this damning evidence with a teasing grin even while Lord Gadley stood in the foyer of his parents’ home was a stark reminder she was just a pleasant distraction. A dalliance. Certainly not worth forgoing his treasured state of bachelorhood.
“I have agreed he shall paint your portraiture, Carrot, and I shall not go back on my word. But when that is done, I vow I will stay far away from him, for my own sanity, at least.” She nuzzled the kitten’s nose, listening to him purr with pleasure at the unexpected attention. “Nothing good can come from this madness I feel for him. Nothing but heartache.”
* * *
Violet’s avoidanceof William lasted until teatime the following day. Upon returning from a daily check of the mother cat and kittens, he caught her on the terrace overlooking the stables.
“There you are, my dear.”
Impeccably attired in a dark green afternoon coat and trousers, William was dazzling in the bright sunshine. Hair the shade of the new champagne glinted with the sun’s rays, and his pale blue eyes narrowed as Violet slowly ascended the steps.
“Lord Gadley. It’s a pleasant afternoon for taking the air.”
“Yes. I had hoped you would join me. However, your maid informed me you were off on some errand when I came to your room earlier.” His eyes were sharp, taking note of her reaction. “Silly girl said you’d gone to the stables. I informed her she must be mistaken.”
Taken aback by William’s disapproving tone, Violet slowly answered. “Bridgette spoke the truth.”
William’s jaw clenched. “What was your business there? I know you don’t ride. Your father made that very clear.”
“I-I was merely looking in on a stray cat that recently had kittens. You see, I’ve been taking scraps…”
“What utter foolishness,” William mocked. “You shall refrain from such activities from this point forward.”
“Oh, but it is of no consequence to anyone else! Lord Darby’s cook says the scraps are not missed, and I am careful that my visits do not interfere with the workings of the stable.” Violet’s heart pounded from speaking so boldly, but there was no other way to explain herself. Surely, William would understand. “The poor thing was a bit weak, as one might expect with eight new mouths to feed, but she’s much better now and—”
