Page 43 of Untaming Lady Violet
“No wife of mine shall be gallivanting back and forth wherever and whenever she pleases. God only knows the disease and pestilence you might contract from those disgusting creatures.” His eyebrow arched empirically.
“I’m not your wife yet.”
The moment the words escaped her mouth, Violet realized she’d committed a grave error.
William drew himself up into a model of rigid indignation. “All in good time, my dear. As my wife, you will obey me or suffer the consequences.” Cold blue eyes flickered over Violet with a renewed spark of interest. “Your father assured me you were easily handled, and over the past months, I’ve found that to be annoyingly true. This current exhibition of insolence is most surprising. Quite out of character for you. A lack of discipline due to your parents’ absence is certainly the cause. We shall work extremely hard at overcoming this newly uncovered flaw. There are several ways one should deal with defiance, and I will take the greatest of pleasures in correcting your behavior.”
William’s statement confused Violet. How precisely did a husband ‘deal’ with an unruly wife? She certainly had no wish to find out. Nor did she have any desire that her parents discover she’d insulted the man. Should he withdraw the pursuit for her hand, the repercussions would not be pleasant.
“Please forgive my hasty words. I did not mean to offend but was only stating the obvious.” Violet glanced down at her hands, then rubbed them lightly down the sides of her gown. “If you will excuse me, I must go change my gown for tea and freshen up a bit. Good afternoon, Lord Gadley.”
Inclining her head in dismissal, she hurried past, but William snagged her arm, pulling her up short. His eyes bored into her own, lit now with a strange fire and something that resembled lust.
Violet stared at him in alarm. This man had never given her any regard other than that of bored acceptance. But there was an air about him now. It made her wonder; if there was no chance at being caught, what he might do to her. Skin clammy with fear, her heart rose in her throat as she prepared herself to scream for assistance if needed.
“Your father pressed me hard for a decision, Violet. And I obliged him before coming to Darby Meadows.” William leaned forward. In a shocking gesture, he ran his nose alongside hers and breathed in her fear. It was apparent he exalted in its presence. “When your parents arrive, our engagement will be formally announced. After this little display of rebellion, I wouldn’t dream of letting you go now.”
* * *
Violet crumpledthe note into a ball and in a fit of temper flung it into the fireplace. Watching it burst into a tiny ball of flames was momentarily satisfying, but not enough to ease her emotions.
“The gall of that man,” she muttered beneath her breath. “The absolute temerity.”
Tristan had selected the time and place for Carrot’s painting. Notification was sent to Violet via a hand-written message, delivered some hours ago by a servant rather than conveyed in person. Instead of the woodland setting she’d originally requested, he rather high-handedly deemed the fabulously ornate, overly large fountain in the center of his mother’s garden as the location.
The very center of Buckingham Palace would be less populated than the popular Darby Rose Garden in the height of springtime.
Obviously, Tristan wished to avoid any time in her presence now that William had arrived. And while Violet agreed with the sentiment, it stung beyond all bearing he was making serious efforts to that end.
It should not bother her so deeply, but it did. It should not anger her, but goodness, her palms itched with a need to slap the man. And it should not make her heart ache, knowing he wished to end their association, but it hurt more than she wanted to admit.
She stewed upon that pain while preparing for bed, and Bridgette combed out her hair.
“I shouldn’t care,” she whispered defiantly. “I shouldn’t care, and I don’t. Because he never gave a moment’s thought to anything other than his own pleasure. The selfish cad. Even when he was caressing me, it was for himself. Oh, how could I be so blind? So foolish? So eager to be used for his amusement?”
The longer she thought on the subject, the more upset Violet became until it was clear she must say something to Tristan or burst with the words seething inside her.
She waited until Bridgette left her for the evening, then waited another two hours for good measure. But even the passage of time did nothing to cool her temper. With a night rail pulled tight around her body and a self-righteous grimace stamped on her features, she shut the bedchamber door behind her with a decisive click.
“I shall simply inform the viscount I’ve no wish to be in his company any longer than necessary. In fact, it is I attempting to distance myself from him, rather than the other way around. He and Fiona Blackerby are welcome to each other…”
Violet mumbled this to herself as she made her way down the long hallway and turned down the corridor containing Tristan’s suite. From previous stays, she knew the viscount’s rooms were situated in a wing of the huge estate house affording both privacy and convenience to the rest of the residence. He was far enough away no guests would bother him, but close enough that he also wasn’t regarded as an outcast.
It was after midnight. The servants had turned down the hall sconces some time before, leaving the long corridor dark with deep shadows. This wing contained only Tristan’s rooms. There was no reason anyone else should be about at this time of the night, but as Violet drew close, the bedchamber door flew open.
A female form, her blonde hair barely covered by a pretty shawl, was suddenly thrust into the small pool of light cast by twin sconces bracketing Tristan’s doorway. She wore only a flimsy nightgown and robe.
Violet grimaced. Much like herself.
“Go back to your room, Fiona,” Tristan rumbled.
Violet ducked behind a tall armoire, holding her breath at the sound of the viscount’s voice. It carried a lilt of annoyance and something else. Exasperation? Desire? She couldn’t tell.
“But, Tristan, shouldn’t we just— “
“No, we shouldn’t. I warned you about this, that it can’t happen again. Go back to your room. Quickly, before someone sees you.”
Fiona’s sultry laugh set Violet’s teeth on edge. “Would that be such a terrible thing?”
