Her taste was keenly arousing and infinitely sweet. Sliding one hand behind her nape, he pulled her closer so that he could drink more deeply of her.
The crowd fell away so there was only the two of them, man and woman, enjoying an embrace powerful enough to shake them both. Her scent wrapped around him as he savored her mouth.
It was a slow, devastating, spellbinding kiss. When her entire body softened instinctively against him, her surrender only increased his craving for her. Painfully aroused now, Quinn felt a primal male urge to take what he wanted—and an even stronger need to heighten her desire.
When his tongue delved insistently inside her mouth, exploring, she gave a helpless moan and leaned into him. The sharp pleasure of it stabbed him in his loins, a pleasure that only heightened when her hand crept up to twine about his neck.
He felt another measure of triumph when her tongue met his willingly this time. Raising a hand to cradle her jaw, he angled his head even further, the better to devour her mouth.
Her breath faded to a sigh as their tongues mated. The tantalizing promise of her response stirred a searing need in Quinn. It had been a very long while since he’d experienced such a sizzling sexual attraction. Perhaps never.
Stark lust turned him hard and renewed his fierce feeling of possessiveness. The sensation rocked him—and Venetia, too, he had no doubt, aware of her shiver of aroused excitement.
When at last he broke off, he kept hold of her waist to support her as she swayed weakly.
Her eyes fluttering open, she raised her face to stare at him. Despite her demi-mask, he could see those lovely eyes were dazed. Her hand rose to touch her lips in wonder, as if feeling the burn there.
She was profoundly shaken, he knew. He felt her trembling as she returned his gaze speechlessly.
Quinn was at a loss for words himself. He couldn’t recall ever feeling such intense, unreasoning desire…
The sound of nearby laughter served to break the spell.
Venetia visibly shook herself and pressed her hands against his chest. Reluctantly, Quinn released her and cleared his throat, quelling the urge to adjust his satin breeches in public. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d lost control of his urges so blatantly.
When he heard another nearby sound, this one an admiring male scoff, he realized the other man was watching with resentment and envy.
“You have all the damnable luck, Traherne,” the young lord mumbled almost soberly. “ ’Tis a pity.”
“Pray take yourself off, Knowlsbridge,” Quinn ordered in dismissal. “You can see we are occupied.”
His voice was husky with passion but held enough authority that the drunken gamester did as he was bid and ambled away, leaving Quinn in sole possession of Venetia.
She was still flustered from his kiss, yet she recovered her tongue readily enough. “I should have expected you to act so outrageously, Lord Traherne.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What was so outrageous?”
“You did not have to kiss me.”
“It seemed the easiest way to prevent Knowlsbridge from pulling off your mask. I presumed you would not want to be recognized. Was I wrong?”
“No,” she answered reluctantly. “But I am not your dove.”
“You and I know that, but for his benefit, I needed to stake my claim to you.”
When her mouth curved in frustration, Quinn quizzed her. “I thought you would be grateful to me for saving you.”
“I did not require saving, my lord—”
Her voice had risen noticeably, and she cut off her exclamation upon realizing that they were the object of numerous pairs of curious eyes.
“Shall we take this discussion elsewhere, darling?” he suggested. “Unless you prefer to cause a scene?”
She clearly didn’t like his endearment, yet knew he couldn’t use her name if she was to preserve her anonymity. And she must have comprehended the wisdom of his proposal, for she nodded briefly.
When Quinn gestured toward the staircase at the rear of the gaming hall, however, she hesitated. “Upstairs, do you mean?”
On the floors above, carnal amusement was the prime entertainment.
“The pleasure rooms are the most appropriate choice if I am to command your services for the evening.”
Her lovely mouth fell open, but when he added in explanation, “It will give the appearance of your being my chosen inamorata,” she stifled her protest.
Before she could change her mind, Quinn swept out his hand, indicating for her to precede him. After another long study, she turned toward the stairs, the delicate line of her jaw set in a stubborn grimace.
Hiding a wry smile, he followed Miss Stratham. Anticipation lightened his previously sour mood and eased the physical pain of kissing the irresistible but resistant beauty, leaving him with a sense of unfulfilled promise.
His frustrating evening thus far was becoming more intriguing by the moment.
As Miss Stratham made her away through the crowd, Quinn watched her gently swaying hips with rapt male appreciation. For allure, her form and features rivaled any of the Cyprians present, yet her demeanor was wary.
She stole brief glances at him when they climbed the stairs together. Her expression held determination, as if she was girding herself for a confrontation, yet she also seemed nervous, a suspicion borne out when she faltered upon reaching the first landing. “Where are you taking me?”
“To one of the unoccupied chambers.”
“Must we use a bedchamber?” Her tone hinted at concern.
“It is our only alternative if you wish to converse in private.”
He took her elbow to guide her up the next flight of stairs, but she immediately pulled away as if burned by the contact. Quinn could sympathize. He still felt the effects of their impromptu embrace in his aching loins.
“You are safe from me, Miss Stratham,” he observed wryly. “I don’t intend to ravish you.”
Her wonderful mouth curved with fleeting amusement. “Given your conduct a moment ago, you will forgive my doubts.” She drew a steadying breath. “Very well. I suppose a bedchamber will have to do. Hopefully this will not take long.”
She clearly was trying to reassure herself. They climbed to the next floor, and when Quinn began moving down a dimly lit corridor, she accompanied him reluctantly. Her reticence gratified him. He did not like to think her familiar with the sinful sport to be found in the pleasure rooms. But it also added to the puzzle of why she had come here—one of many questions he wanted answered about her.
“Do you mean to tell me what brought you here?”
“I could ask the same of you, but I already know the answer.” She responded sweetly, but her tone held disapproval. “Gaming and wenching.”
“The two do not necessarily go hand in hand. And my presence here is not the issue. What the devil are you doing in a bordello?”
He could almost see her spine stiffening. “I wished to speak with you about my sister.”
So that was her motivation. He should have suspected. “Then you are not here to sell your wares?”
She gave him a startled look through her mask. “No. Whatever gave you that notion?”
His gaze drifted lower to her bodice, lingering on her ripe breasts. “Your attire might have provided a clue.”
At his calculated perusal, she gave him a quelling look. “I might have caused a scandal, my lord, but I have not fallen that low.”
Quinn was vastly relieved that she was not there to bargain her body. “As scandals go, yours was relatively minor.”
“I can see how you might think so. You are known for colossal scandals, as is most of your family.”
It was true. The Wildes were renowned for their flagrant love affairs, going back many generations. And his own liaisons had provided ample fodder for the gossipmongers over the years, particularly the most recent one with his former mistress.
“I wondered if you might be in financial straits,” he prodded. After she di
ssolved her betrothal, Miss Stratham’s parents had disowned her and cut her off without a penny.
“I am not so desperate. I earn a generous income as companion to my widowed friend, Mrs. Cleo Newcomb.”
“So I heard.”
Wealthy, genteel widow Mrs. Newcomb was a former schoolmate of Miss Stratham’s who had offered her a home and employment after the contretemps erupted. They had fled to the Continent so that Venetia could at a distance attempt to recover from her disgrace.
“Did she accompany you tonight?”
“No.”
“It is not safe for you to have come here alone,” Quinn pointed out.
“The risk is not all that great.”
“Knowlsbridge practically assaulted you. What did you expect, gowned as you are?”
She didn’t reply right away. They had passed several closed doors, and when Quinn halted before an open one, she peered inside. The lush, dimly lit interior apparently distracted her enough that she answered absently. “I could not visit your home in Berkeley Square for fear of being recognized. And here I could don a disguise.”
“That mask and turban of yours do little to conceal your identity.” Although they did hide her remarkable eyes and cover up her mass of rich, dark hair.
“I am surprised you recognized me, Lord Traherne.”
“I would know you anywhere.”
She gave him another quizzical look, but her attention was chiefly focused on the luxuriant scarlet and black furnishings inside the bedchamber.
“You were clearly in need of aid,” Quinn continued.
“Actually, I was not. I could have dealt with Knowlsbridge.”
He gave a knowing chuckle. “I expected a modicum of gratitude for rescuing you. At the very least, I thought you would want to avoid a public spectacle.”
Miss Stratham turned her gaze back to him. “You needn’t worry about me, Lord Traherne. I can fend for myself.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. And I have servants for protection.”
“Where are they?”
“Waiting with my carriage.”
“They won’t do you much good out there, will they?”
“I have a knife in my reticule.”
She held up the brocade purse whose strings were looped around her wrist.
“Let me see it.”
When she drew out a small blade perhaps five inches long, Quinn couldn’t help but smile.
“You find something amusing?”
“That is not much of a weapon.”
She took issue with his teasing tone. “Do you think I don’t have the skill to use it?”
“I trust you do. And I heartily approve of you carrying it. I taught my own sister to defend herself with various weapons.”
“I have a pistol at home also, but I did not believe I needed it tonight. I assure you, I could have wielded my knife if necessary. Paris streets can be hazardous for a woman.”
Her casual admittance made him frown. After the defeat of Napoleon at Waterloo, the British had flocked to France for the fashion and culture, but decades of war had left the country rather inhospitable, particularly to foreigners and former enemies. “Was your time in Paris so violent?”
She shrugged. “It is wise to be prepared.”
“I thought you were residing with Mrs. Newcomb in a fashionable neighborhood.”
Miss Stratham shot him another look. “How do you know so much about my circumstances? Oh, yes, my sister must have told you.”
He’d made it his business to find out about Venetia long before that.
They had been dallying in the corridor, and when he ushered her inside, her wariness momentarily turned to curiosity. “I have wondered what goes on in a den of iniquity.”
“You don’t know?”
“No, of course not.”
A single lamp burned softly, casting a golden-rose glow around the room. He watched as she took in her surroundings…the enormous satin-covered bed swathed in gauzy scarlet curtains, a chaise longue strewn with tasseled pillows, a table covered with an elaborate assortment of carnal equipment.
Quinn was glad for her wide-eyed reception, for it suggested she was still a novice at the erotic arts.
“One would think you have never been to a pleasure club before.”
“I have not— Well, I have, but only once, in Paris, and not upstairs.”
Her blush was rather endearing. Then she shook herself as if recalling her circumstances and turned the conversation back to him. “It is common knowledge that you frequent places like this regularly.”
“I would not say ‘regularly.’ ”
“According to the gossip rags, you do. The society pages follow your movements and report on your whereabouts. That is how I knew where to find you tonight.”
“I’ve made no secret of my patronage of Tavistock’s.”
“The Morning Chronicle speculated that you were meeting Lady X here tonight.”
Quinn felt his mouth tighten. His former mistress, Julia, Lady Dalton, was a baronet’s widow and went by the soubriquet Lady X. “You cannot believe everything you read.”
Venetia did not seem chastened. “The newspapers were not my only source. You know servants are experts at ferreting out information, and Mrs. Newcomb’s staff are particularly well informed.”
“How resourceful of you,” Quinn drawled. He was half admiring of her boldness in tracking him down at a brothel, even if he didn’t approve of her being here. It was the kind of action the women in his family would take. Like the Wildes, Venetia Stratham refused to conform or do the expected.
He admired her spirit as well. There was a fire inside her that her elegant, ladylike exterior couldn’t hide.
When he closed the door behind him, she glanced back over her shoulder and saw what he had done. “Must you shut the door?”
“Yes, so that we won’t be interrupted. The rules are simple. A closed door means the room is occupied.”
She digested that without replying but bit her lip in consternation.
“You can safely remove your mask,” Quinn said. “Here, let me help you.”
When he reached up to untie the strings behind her turban, however, Venetia flinched and drew away from him. “I prefer to leave it on.”
He felt a measure of disappointment that he wouldn’t get a better glimpse of her beautiful eyes.
She moved farther into the room, gazing around her nervously. He had caught her off guard with their smoldering kiss earlier, and she had quickly recovered her aplomb, but now she seemed flustered again. Perhaps her fidgets were due to being alone with him in a room designed for sexual pleasure.
With the door shut, Quinn also was more cognizant of the primitive sensations still streaking through him: possessiveness, hunger, desire. Sexual awareness was suddenly rife between them.
She felt it also, he knew. The tension in her body had returned with a new, sharp-edged tautness he could actually sense.
Obviously trying to pretend nonchalance, she cleared her throat. “I confess I am out of my element here.”
In an effort to put her at ease, he replied lightly, “You are the one armed with a knife, Miss Stratham. Perhaps I should fear for my virtue.”
He saw an unwilling smile tug at her lips. “I hardly think you are in any danger, my lord. From what I have heard, you lost your virtue long ago.”
Wincing inwardly, Quinn strolled over to the chaise and sat down, casually stretching his arms over the brocade back in an open, non-threatening gesture. In a strange way, her shyness was enchanting. He did not believe for a moment that she lacked courage. She was actually one of the bravest women he knew, including his own sister, Skye, and his cousin Lady Katharine Wilde.
Venetia Stratham had defied society at great personal cost and made herself an outcast by standing up for what she believed, even to the extent of losing the family she held dear. He had to respect that kind of courage.
“So what did you wish to discuss ab
out your sister?” he invited.
“I am highly concerned. The reports say you have taken a marked interest in her.”
He’d only stood up with Ophelia Stratham at several balls but already the gossip was rife that he was courting her. A nobleman with his reputation didn’t show marked interest in a well-bred young lady without stirring a whiff of matrimony, which indeed had been his intent.
“So you rushed home to save her?” he asked.
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
“You feel protective of her.”
“Certainly I do. She is my sister. You are very close to your own sister, are you not? I’m certain you wish to protect Lady Skye.”
“Naturally.” He’d been responsible for his younger sister since he was seventeen years old, but Skye had wed the Earl of Hawkhurst last year, so he needn’t worry about protecting her any longer. Hawk had assumed that role quite effectively.
Venetia bit her lip again. “It is my fault that Ophelia’s marital prospects are so poor. If not for the scandal I caused, she would have ample legitimate suitors for her hand.”
“And you don’t consider me a legitimate suitor.”
“No, my lord. You may be extremely eligible, but you are not at all suitable for her. You are not the marrying kind.”
It was true, he had no interest in marriage. He had good reason for avoiding genteel ladies who not only expected matrimony but connived for it.
When he didn’t immediately answer, Venetia pressed him. “I cannot believe you mean to propose to Ophelia.”
“Why not?”
“Because you are a rake—” She cut off the word, then went on, obviously choosing her words more carefully. “I mean…because of the sort of man you are…the excessive lifestyle you lead. You don’t truly want to marry her. Come, admit it. She is as different from you in temperament and situation as a young lady can be. And she is far too innocent for you.”
On that point he agreed entirely: Ophelia was too young and innocent for him. She most certainly was not his match.
He frankly had wanted nothing to do with the girl, but his cousin Katharine had chosen Ophelia for his future bride to fulfill some absurd romantic theory she’d had since girlhood. Kate firmly believed the five Wilde cousins of the current generation could find true love based on legends of the world’s greatest lovers. His tale was supposed to be the Greek myth of Pygmalion—a sculptor who was so enamored of his stone carving that the gods took pity on him and brought his creation to life. Kate thought the younger Miss Stratham was moldable enough to make Quinn an ideal bride, which would have been laughable if not for his cousin’s dogged persistence, and Skye’s as well. He would be fatally bored within a week of the nuptials, he had told them.
The Art of Taming a Rake (Legendary Lovers #4) Page 2
