Page 68 of Untaming Lady Violet
Tristan Buchanan might be determined to fight whatever had grown between them, but perhaps the unthinkable had occurred.
Perhaps, she had wormed her way into his heart after all.
Chapter 27
Violet did not move when Tristan finally pulled away from her.
Leaving her on the sofa, he retrieved his trousers and slid them up over slim hips. His eyes lingered on her figure with such latent heat, Violet felt the need to conceal her nakedness. But her gown and corset lay on the floor, out of arm’s reach. Draped over one of the blank canvases near the window was her chemise, its haphazard placement the result of Tristan flinging it aside.
That left her with a pair of silk stockings which were certainly no help. They only provided cover from toe to just above her knees.
Biting her lip in consternation, Violet watched Tristan deliberately turn away.
He disappeared into what she assumed was a small water closet. There came the sound of drawers opening, then splashing water. Just as quickly as he left, he returned to her, the lamplight casting him in shadow.
“Here,” Tristan murmured, sinking into a sitting position by her side. In his hand was a small cloth and a glass containing clear liquid. “Drink this.”
Propping herself half upright, Violet was acutely aware of her nudity. Accepting the glass, she took a cautious sip. “It’s water.”
A smile tugged at Tristan’s firm lips. “Of course, it is. I’m sorry it’s a bit cold.”
Violet cocked her head. “I don’t understand.”
“Warmer would be better, but we must make do.”
Using his free hand, Tristan encouraged her knees to fall apart, exposing her in such a way she wasn’t sure if it was erotic or shameful. Before she could draw a breath, the cloth pressed between her legs.
“Oh!” Violet hissed, instinctively grabbing Tristan’s huge hand. Her fingernails dug into his wrist.
Her attempts at shoving him away proved unsuccessful. It was like trying to move a boulder with a twig. The private flesh he believed needed ministrations was tender. Sensitive. She tried wiggling free of his control, even while realizing the shock of the cold, damp cloth was rather soothing.
Tristan pinned her with an unreadable stare, dark brown eyes stilling her movements.
“Let me, Violet.”
There was no room for negotiation in his low tone. Trembling, and so embarrassed that her cheeks felt on fire, Violet slowly released her grip.
With calm, gentle strokes, Tristan cleaned her. The cloth, now tinged a faint pink with the blood of her virginity, was folded in half. The fresh side of the square was then used to wipe away the evidence of lovemaking from her belly.
Tristan watched Violet closely, his own expression solemn. There wasn’t even a glimmer of lust as he took care of her. When he was finished with the task, he stoked a fire in the fireplace grate, tossing the cloth into the flames.
Finally, he located her chemise and pulled it over her head, then settled onto the settee beside her.
With his back against the furniture’s cushion, he tugged Violet until she reclined against him. Tucked between his spread thighs, with her back to his front, she let him position her as he wished.
“Stay here with me for a while, Violet,” he said, his lips brushing the top of her head while he spoke. Muscular arms wrapped around her waist.
If she wanted to escape, he was not making it easy.
“You do not want me to go?” The question came out tremulous despite her best effort. She was tense, her spine so rigid it kept a small space between their bodies despite the close proximity.
“God, no.” Gathering the bulk of her hair in his fist, Tristan arranged it so the lustrous waves tumbled over her opposite shoulder. Now, he could kiss the side of her neck unimpeded. Running his large fingers through her hair, he patiently untangled a few snarls. “Quite the opposite, kitten. I want you to stay. Surely, no harm can come from simply enjoying each other’s company in the little time we have together. Do you not find this pleasant?”
Violet relaxed with his words, sinking into the hard planes of his bare chest. The heat of his skin burned her through the linen of her chemise. Molded against him like this, held with such exacting care, she felt secure. Safe. Cherished.
For so many years, she’d longed for something like this to happen between her and Tristan. Would it be so damaging if she took this for herself? Kept it as a secret treasure? It would be a moment to remember Tristan by long after they parted ways.
“Yes,” she shyly answered. “It is lovely. I wish—”
