Page 17 of These Violet Delights
He tucked his hands behind his back, lowering his shoulders, though the shift did little to address his immensity. An unexpected pang of sympathy attacked her as she wondered if he often felt the need to diminish himself. Cristabel had taught her to be a better observer; she studied his demeanor, his face, finding there were but traces of the boy she remembered flapping around in the pond, sunburned and joyful as he splashed and played. It was evident he still spent ample time out of doors, and an appreciation for exercise must be maintaining his great size. Such proof made his breeches fit so snugly she could see the competing swells of muscle over his thighs.
Her eyes snapped to his before further study of his legs could be made.
Either she was imagining the keen glint in his eyes or he was making a similar analysis of her body. Violet raised her chin. She would pluck his horrible eyes out of his horrible face if he tried that again.
“I am ready to hear your apology, sir.”
Mr. Kerr stared as if she had said nothing at all, and Violet did not flinch beneath his gaze.I drew in his nose too thin and his chin too short. He is prone to squinting, and it’s worn grooves into his forehead.
At last, he cleared his throat, his brow lowering and retracting swiftly. “Forgive my ignorance. Apologize? To you?”
“Yes.”
“For what offense, madam?”
Violet gasped with silent laughter, stepping away from the statue. “Yesterday you nearly frightened me to death, sir! Have you forgotten?”
“No, Miss Arden, I have not forgotten. It has been at the very forefront of my mind. It explains my presence before you now.” His shoulders returned to their correct form, his hands bunching at his sides as he moved toward her. The scent of late summer came with him, full of sedge and sun-warmed hillsides, reminding her of a longing for innocence nobody kept forever. Violet shrank away from him, and his expression softened. He stopped in place, exhaling a long breath. “I came only to return what is yours. A man from Sampson Park will arrive soon with the easel, and my brother is bringing the portrait of Miss Graddock to the lady herself now.”
No apology. No contrition. Violet pressed her lips together. “I hope he has not stained it with his gloves.”
“Because he is a Kerr?” His mouth mirrored hers, taut with fury.
“Your words, not mine.”
“Indeed. Your disdain is clear enough, madam.” Another step. She noted the instant his orbit intersected with hers, and the light charge of nervousness that skittered up her forearms at his approach. Violet straightened up, craning her head back to maintain eye contact. “And so, I will disgust you no longer, and go; my errand is complete, my message given, your things returned.”
Mr. Kerr huffed quietly and turned to go. Violet chased after him.
“Is that all, sir?”
“Absolutely,” he growled, showing her his back. “I will not stay to withstand further insult.” He had reached the open doors with Violet almost on his heels.
“Insults!” she cried. “It isyouwho bandies those about with thoughtless abandon!”
Mr. Kerr drew up short, whirling on her. A shock of real fear lanced through her, but Violet mastered herself and did not retreat. What a bully! An oaf! He could be six feet taller and still not frighten her in earnest. She declared it loudly in her mind until her body believed it to be so. His arm was still outstretched, his black hat poised there, a single tremor passing through his hand. There was a flicker of recognition in his golden eyes, his lips parting gradually.
“Mrs. Burton’s watercolor exhibition in June, do you recall it?” she asked.
“I do.”
He was likely remembering the outburst, the scandal, Violet’s public humiliation at the hands of the Frenchman’s fiancée. There was ugliness in his eyes now, judgment, and it spurred her on.
“You were free with your opinions there, with no regard for who might be listening, who might care!Derivative and silly…”
Her voice was rising; his eyes blackened.
“And for no one,” Violet finished, wrinkling her nose. “Those were your words, were they not?”
“I will not demean myself with a lie.”
Violet wanted to scream; she had never met anyone so cold, so constructed. He seemed to stare through her, as if she were no more than a pane of thin glass. Where was that silly, laughing boy rolling in the grass? Was he a summer’s dream?
“Then it must be a relief to be rid of my portrait. I’m sure it pains you to even be near it. But I wonder, why save it from the rain at all if the work was so objectionable?” she asked, fighting the urge to rise onto tiptoes to make herself larger. “What became of the self-portrait?”
Mr. Kerr’s top lip twitched exactly once on the right side, and then he shook his head, snorted, and ducked through the doorway. Slamming his hat on and tugging impatiently at each wrist edge of his gloves, he did not wait for Bloom or anyone else before charging out of Pressmore and back into the chill morning air. There was no hesitation from Violet, who stormed out after him. They were well beyond propriety now, and who could care? It was a wonder the whole world wasn’t locked in a feud with this odious family…
“And there are the manners I should have expected!” she shouted, struggling to match his stride, resorting to a trot to keep up. He didn’t seem to know where to go, since his brother was still inside the house. “Where, sir, is my painting? Did you throw it on a bonfire? Save it for a round of darts? Or is it already on the road to London so that you and your friends may titter over my deficiencies forevermore?”
