Page 23 of Untaming Lady Violet
Before Tristan could demand what was going on, Violet took matters into her own hands.
In one smooth motion, she dropped the mysterious bundle and snatched up a pitchfork leaning against the last stall. Then, like an avenging angel of fire and brimstone, she rushed toward Mister Pope.
“Stop! Whatever you are doing to that poor kitten, stop! You’re killing it! Oh, you heartless monster!”
“Violet! Wait!” Tristan shook off his dazed astonishment. “Wait!”
Startled by the well-dressed young lady brandishing a pitchfork and crying murder, Mister Pope jumped up from the bench. The pail overturned, sending soapy water across the courtyard bricks.
Pope’s grip never loosened on the kitten. Or perhaps, its grasp never loosened on him.
“Violet!” Tristan reached her before the tines of the pitchfork found their mark. Wrapping an arm about her waist, he lifted Violet off her feet while ripping the weapon from her fists. It was tossed aside with a loud clatter.
“Mercy! Mercy, milady!” Pope scrambled back, knocking the bench over in the process. Ungodly caterwauling from the kitten accompanied his panicked pleas.
Slipping and sliding in the suds, the poor man tripped over the bench, falling with a thud on his backside.
“Let me go!” Violet wailed, grabbing Tristan’s hand where it pushed against her belly. She was crushed tight against him. “He means to drown the poor thing… Oh! He’s hurting it. Can’t you hear it screaming? Let me go, blast you!”
Tristan jerked her harder to him, his mouth against her ear as she struggled.
“Settle yourself, Violet. Rightnow. I’ll get to the bottom of this, but if you cannot calm yourself, I shall take you into an empty stall and do it for you the only way I know how. Do you understand?”
“Please, go help it…” In an absolute panic, she continued pushing at his hands until Tristan nipped her ear.
At her shocked gasp of breath, Tristan murmured low in the silence, “Settle. Down.Take a deep breath, now. That’s it. Easy. Shh. Easy, now. As long as I’m here, no one will dare hurt or kill anything. I swear to you. I swear. Do you believe me?” When Violet gave a slight nod, slumping almost defeatedly in his arms, Tristan’s lips brushed her temple in a fleeting caress. “Good girl. Now, I’m setting you down so we may determine what this is all about.”
Violet’s answer was a hiccup of a sob.
Tristan lowered her to the ground, curling his hand in hers. Pope watched warily, covered in soapy water and streaks of dirt. The kitten emitted a low, grumbling meow. It sounded as if it was in excruciating pain, but Tristan could see how carefully the man held the tiny thing.
“Mister Pope, explain yourself if you can. And for the moment, I’ll keep Lady Violet from running you through with a pitchfork.”
Chapter 9
Violet clutched Tristan’s hand tight.
Had she truly almost accosted a man with a pitchfork? Like a savage?
Hesitantly, she touched her earlobe with trembling fingers. It stung just a little. How odd that the viscount’s action both grounded her and inflamed her. She trembled, ashamed of her actions, grateful Tristan stopped her, but still overwhelmed with concern for the tiny kitten.
“It fell into a coal bucket,” Pope began earnestly. “A bath seemed the trick, but the little bugger—”
“Careful, man,” Tristan interrupted with a tilt of his chin toward Violet.
“Pardon, milord. I mean, the wee thing didn’t take too kindly to the notion of a bath.” Pope wrapped a towel around the kitten so he could finally pry it off his arm. “I wasn’t trying to hurt it. Honest. Oh, milady, you can’t think I’d do such a thing, do you?”
Violet’s face flushed. For the past several days, she had provided scraps from the kitchen for a mama cat who’d just given birth; Mister Pope proved kind and gentle during those visits. He let her sit in the empty stall where the cat was kept so Violet could feed the scraps. He even checked on her occasionally, making her feel safe amongst all the huge, scary horses with their dangerous hooves and enormous bodies.
Howcouldshe think he might ever harm a helpless kitten?
“I’m so very sorry, Mister Pope,” Violet said miserably. “It is inexcusable I thought the worst when there was no basis for it. Please forgive me. You’ve been nothing but kind to me and to those kittens and their mother. Where do you suppose this one has come from? It’s much larger than the others. And much more vocal.”
“Aye, that it is. I think it might be a stowaway, ridin’ in on someone’s coach,” Mister Pope said. He held the kitten out to Tristan who accepted it with a raised eyebrow of disbelief. “It’s not one of Darby Meadows’ rat killers, I can vouch for that. And still covered in coal dust, so a bath is still in order.” The man set the bench to rights, handing the bucket to a stable lad with instructions that it be refilled with soapy water.
The kitten continued growling, but wrapped within a towel, it was not as dangerous an opponent.
“Let Mister Pope try this once more. Then we shall decide what shall be done with the disagreeable thing,” Tristan said with a smile for Violet.
