Page 44 of Untaming Lady Violet
“For you, yes. Before any real damage is done to your reputation, do as I say.”
“You do lead a girl on a merry chase, Longleigh,” Fiona simpered. “Everyone knows how terribly persistent I am.”
Peeking around the piece of furniture, Violet’s eyes widened at the sight of Tristan. Dear heavens, the man wore only loose drawers resembling a pair of trousers held up by a drawstring and a dark green robe which hung open. Golden in the light of the sconces, his bare chest rippled with muscles. A line of dark hair began at his navel and tracked to the waistline of the pants.
Fascinated by the expanse of flesh, Violet helplessly watched him take Fiona by the shoulders. He then spun her around so she faced away from him.
Leaning forward, he whispered something in her ear.
Fiona’s eyes closed until Tristan gave her a little shove that placed a small distance between their bodies.
Her tone carried a husky promise of sex as she glanced back at him. “Don’t offer unless you intend on delivering, darling.”
“Go back to your room and remember what I said,” Tristan replied, tersely.
“Oh, I’ll remember,” Fiona trilled, coming toward Violet who quickly ducked out of eyesight again. “I’ll dream of it every night.”
Tristan’s response was to shut his door. Fiona simply shrugged, seemingly unfazed by the viscount’s rudeness. Continuing down the corridor, a smug smile lit her features.
When the woman’s light humming could no longer be heard, Violet ventured out from her hiding place.
Fury shook her. How dare he? How dare he carry on with that hussy? And all while acting like her champion against Fiona’s cruelty at the same time.
The preening peacock. The insufferable cad.
Before she realized her feet were moving, Violet stood at his door. Her fists banged on the oak in a series of rapid knocks.
Tristan flung open the portal at the racket, and Violet barely had time to register his surprise before she was snatched from the hallway and into his rooms.
The door slammed shut behind her. The click of the lock struck with an ominous note.
“You’ll have a devil of a time explaining why you are lurking outside my bedroom, kitten,” Tristan purred. He easily held Violet against the wall with one hand lightly gripping the base of her throat. The other braced against the wood paneling beside her head, caging her in. “But oh, how I look forward to hearing why you are. Now, start talking.”
Chapter 18
Violet was magnificent. All flowing auburn hair and flashing amethyst-blue eyes. A flimsy concoction of ivory muslin wrapped around her body fired Tristan’s blood to the point of boiling. Had she traversed the halls wearingonlythat?
Sweet Jesus.It was sinful. And arousing. And innocent. And infuriatingly distracting.
She glared up at him, a mixture of anguish and fury igniting the dark blue depths of her eyes. When Tristan thought she might speak, she did just the opposite.
The slap she delivered left a stinging red palm print on his cheek.
“How dare you,” Violet choked out. “Howdareyou prattle on and on of your desire for me. Yourneed.What a blessed fool I’ve been.I’m mortified that just because a known scoundrel said I’m beautiful, I abandoned all good sense and believed his lies. I allowed myself to hope, to dream. All while you consorted with that—that horrid woman. How taxing you must find it, keeping us separate while chasing us both. Well, you no longer need to worry about maintaining pretenses, keeping those pretenses up, Longleigh. In fact, you needn’t have bothered with this charade at all. I never asked for your attention, nor demanded it. I’m hardly one of those frivolous women, salivating over you. Fawning over you. Craving a crumb of your regard. You and Lady Fiona are welcome to each other, you duplicitous blackguard.”
Tristan felt a rising urge to clasp Violet against his chest, to quiet the outburst with kisses, but her fiery statement hit a sour note deep in his gut.
“The little kitten grows claws at last,” he breathed. “While you practice sharpening those weapons on my admittedly tough hide, let me make one thing absolutely clear. I have not, and will not pursue Fiona Blackerby. The woman deludes herself into thinking she might trick me into marriage, but I’ll have nothing to do with it, or her for that matter.”
“Then why is she in your rooms after midnight?” Violet cried. “In her nightclothes… sneaking about the corridors.”
“Why are you?” Tristan countered serenely.
His question shocked her. Violet gaped at him for a moment then fiercely blurted out, “I came to inform you I’ve no more desire to be alone with you than you do with me. Your intention to paint Carrot in such a public setting as your mother’s rose garden, rather than the woods as I requested, is evidence of that. You’ll recall I’ve been trying to avoid situations that might be considered improper—"
“You mean situations like appearing on my doorstep in your nightgown while the rest of the household are in their beds? Or perhaps the instances when you’ve sought me out in my studio, and instructed that I shut the door so we could be alone.” Tristan’s voice was silky-smooth. Dangerous. And on the edge of something even he didn’t quite comprehend. He felt strung tight as a bowstring as they stared at each other, tension and heat crackling between them like a flashfire.
Violet struggled against his grip. “Let me go. Only a heartless monster would kiss me as you have done and then blame me for responding to it.”
