Squaring her shoulders, Venetia made herself sit beside him on the sofa and start composing a list of immediate needs. She was not one to wallow in despair, or struggle against things she could not change, and this should be no exception. She needed to buck up and face her future with grace and dignity, even if her heart was still resisting vehemently.
It required every ounce of her willpower to join in the planning of her impending wedding, however. She still could not believe this was even happening. The moment seemed surreal, as if another person were inhabiting her body.
While Traherne mused aloud about two other of his closest relatives who would not be present tomorrow—his middle-aged uncle, Lord Cornelius Wilde, who had raised the Wilde orphans and was now enjoying recently wedded bliss in the country, and his aunt-by-marriage, Lady Isabella Wilde, who had returned to her home on a Mediterranean island—Venetia contemplated her own relatives.
“Perhaps I ought not tell my sister and parents of our marriage just yet,” she said with renewed gloom. “They will see my actions as a betrayal.”
“They won’t understand that you are saving them. It is better to wait until our union is a fait accompli. I will send a notice to the papers to be printed the following day.”
Venetia nodded. She badly wanted her family present at her wedding but knew they wouldn’t deign to come. Ophelia would be unhappy at losing a splendid catch like Traherne and their parents would likely be enraged.
“I would like to invite my friend Mrs. Newcomb,” Venetia said.
“Of course. In fact, you should send for her now, since you will be staying here for the night. You will need your friend to act as chaperone.”
“Is that really necessary?”
“Yes. I am not letting you out of my sight until I am certain you will be safe. I can protect you better here. I have an army of servants on the lookout for the shooter. Don’t fight me on this, darling. I would never forgive myself if you came to harm because of me.” From his deadly serious tone, Venetia knew it was futile to protest.
“You should have a care for your own skin,” she murmured. “You are the one in grave danger.”
“But our villain may target you or my family to get to me. Have Mrs. Newcomb bring you an appropriate gown for the ceremony and enough clothing for an extended trip.”
His instruction gave her a jolt. “What do you mean?”
“A wedding journey will provide us an excuse to absent ourselves from town.”
Venetia’s eyes widened. “You cannot have thought this through.”
“It is the best strategy I can devise on short notice. We need to leave London for a while to let the scandal die down. It will also give me a chance to heal and permit Hawk to launch an investigation. We are too vulnerable here in London after three attacks in two days.”
His mind had clearly been working while his wound was being stitched, but Venetia did not like where he was leading. “Would it not suffice for us to remain here while Lord Hawkhurst investigates?”
“No. Cowering and hiding away isn’t my style, and if I were the only one at risk, I would stay to fight. But I have you and my family and servants to consider as well. Wounded, I make an easy mark. I cannot defend myself or anyone else when I am this weak and helpless. It is not a pleasant feeling, I assure you.”
She could well understand how frustrating Traherne would find hiding, as he was a man accustomed to ruling his sphere. But he was not sitting by and doing nothing. Amazingly, he had already contrived the basic outline of a plan.
He also was obstinate about her accompanying him. When he stated outright that he was not leaving without her, for once Venetia made no protest. She would not abandon him now. Not when he was injured. Not when he was attempting to save her family.
“Where will we go?” she merely asked.
Traherne thought for a moment. “I have a minor property in Somerset, near Bath, that belonged to my father. Perhaps that would be the best choice, since few people even know about it. The less public my affairs, the better. I don’t want to alert the assassin as to my whereabouts. Regardless, by this time tomorrow we should be on our way.”
Evidently he saw the return of her distress, for that look of extreme tenderness returned to his features. Sitting upright, he leaned closer and reached up to cup her face. “It won’t be as bad as you fear.”
That is what I am afraid of. The unbidden thought unnerved her.
Traherne searched her face. “We should seal our engagement with a kiss.”
Venetia drew back with a start. “Surely you cannot be thinking of kissing at a time like this.”
“What better time? It will give you something else to think about and distract you from your despair.”
Venetia bit back her next argument, realizing he was attempting to ease her dismay rather than bent on seduction.
He must have misunderstood her silence, for he smiled that provocative smile. “Have no fear. I am in no condition to ravish you.”
His assertion brought a return of remorse. Venetia glanced at his shirtfront, behind which the bandage was concealed. “You said your wound was not serious.”
“It isn’t lethal, but pain dampens the amorous mood.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Do you mean there is actually something that interferes with your randiness?”
He gave a short laugh. “I am rarely randy. I simply enjoy pleasure, which you will learn about me in time. But enough of the future. At present we have a dozen missives to compose.”
Since it was unwise for Traherne to leave the house in his weakened state and give the shooter another opportunity to attack, he asked Hawkhurst to visit Doctors’ Commons and apply for a special license. In addition to that and the invitations and announcements, he also wrote a letter to a gentleman in Portsmouth, saying he would be absent for a time and to proceed with testing.
By the time they finished their task and dispatched the messages through his butler, Venetia felt almost a sense of camaraderie with Traherne. Which was absurd. How could she feel the least bit sanguine about having to wed a scandalous nobleman and flee London to avoid a murderous assailant?
Traherne next summoned a disapproving Mrs. Pelfrey and gave his orders to show Miss Stratham to a room for the night.
Before Venetia took her leave with Mrs. Pelfrey, he rose from the sofa in order to kiss her hand. “Tomorrow you will make me the happiest of men.”
At his ludicrous exaggeration, she gave what was nearly a snort. There he was again, trying to lighten her mood and make her feel better. An admirable gesture considering how wretched he himself must be feeling. He looked pale and weary, with lines of pain on his face.
Venetia made him promise that he would rest as Biddowes had ordered and left him with peculiar reluctance.
Upon being shown upstairs to an elegant guest bedchamber, she sank into a chair. In general she felt numb and incredulous, but deeper down, her feelings were a welter of confusion. Quinn Wilde, Earl of Traherne, was to become her husband tomorrow. It seemed impossible.
In point of fact, he would not be a real husband to her. They were preparing to orchestrate a deception on the ton with a sham marriage.
She was grateful, however, that he had readily offered her a practical solution. Although she might deplore his rakehell ways, he was making an enormous sacrifice for her sake. More astonishingly, he was willing to let her have an independent life. She could think of no other gentleman who would give up his own future in so heroic a gesture.
And while he could be infuriating, he had also displayed moments of extreme kindness and generosity. She’d seen his protectiveness of his sister and cousin in the past, and now he wanted to extend his shield of protection to her. In years, no one but Cleo had cared enough to protect her, not even her own family.
Of course, marrying Traherne would be the end of whatever remaining dreams she might still have harbored about her own future. There would be nothing of substance to their relationship. He was offer
ing her no promises, no illusions, no expectations of love or romance, or even physical relations. He had made no mention of sharing a nuptial bed. Even if she could picture him as her lover…
Abruptly Venetia shied away from the beguiling image. That way lay danger. It would be difficult enough to keep her attraction under control without dwelling on his superior skills as a lover.
As it was, Traherne not only filled her with frustration and vexation, but also excitement and arousal. More remarkable, a treacherous part of her actually wanted to wed him. It was madness, most certainly. She didn’t want to admit her secret yearning even to herself, but some foolish part of her wanted to accept his proposal of marriage for its own sake.
She must be desperate or deranged or both. Cleo would surely think her insane for agreeing to wed Traherne.
She hoped Cleo could come soon. She badly needed her friend’s support if not her counsel.
Meanwhile, the oddest bubble of hope was rising up inside her. The morning had ended in utter disaster, and yet…she couldn’t help but feel strangely, inexplicably, foolishly optimistic.
—
Quinn ran a hand roughly through his hair as he returned to his invalid seat on the sofa. He was still dealing with the jolting shock of being shot and proposing marriage in the space of an hour.
The pain in his side, although throbbing, was not too agonizing, he decided. His discomfort came more from the realization that he—a dedicated bachelor—would be wearing chains of matrimony by this time tomorrow.
But he really had no choice. The savagery had already begun. His own congenial housekeeper and his friend Biddy had both leapt to the wrong conclusions. At the accusations against Venetia, a fierce protectiveness had welled up inside Quinn, and he’d made up his mind instantly. It was no more than his duty. She had been hurt too much already.
The irony was not lost on him, though. He’d spent the last decade avoiding serious entanglements, only to be forced to offer a hasty proposal to a beauty who disdained him.
In fact, he should be furious. He’d lost control of his future, when he’d vowed always to determine his own destiny, to govern his own fate. But remarkably, resignation more aptly described his present feelings.
Venetia had fought more against acknowledging the necessity of their union than he had. Quinn frowned as he remembered her expression—her chin locked in a position of pride when she declared she didn’t want his pity. Her despairing protests had roused a long-repressed tenderness inside him.
He could actually understand, however, why this particular woman impacted him so profoundly. For one thing, Venetia had true courage. His opinion of her mettle had gone up another notch when she had been ready to charge after the gunman unarmed. She had long ago won his admiration, but she was facing this current turn of events with remarkable fortitude. How many women would make such a sacrifice for a sister, no matter how beloved?
Marrying her would not exactly be a hardship for him, either. She was the sort of bride he would have chosen had he wanted to wed. With her elegance and grace, she would easily fill the role of his countess, and with her intellect and passion, she would certainly never bore him.
She was also one of a few women besides his Wilde relatives who were willing to stand up to him. Nothing like the numerous husband-hunters who had thrown themselves at his head since he was out of short coats. Just the opposite, in fact. Which was highly refreshing. Moreover, Venetia had proved she valued character over wealth and so was unlikely to covet his fortune more than himself.
There were other points in her favor as well. Their raillery amused him, and he felt a palpable desire for her. She was spirited enough to challenge him. Indeed, she would be a constant challenge. Yet there was a sweetness beneath her tart exterior, a vulnerability that called to something deep inside him.
She would never be quietly biddable as Ophelia would have been, though. Her wit, her fire, her independence, her gumption, all had earned his respect. Initially he’d thought Ophelia might possess some of those same appealing qualities as Venetia, but he was mistaken on that score.
He was also aware that he’d created a dichotomy by suggesting a marriage in name only. Usually when Wildes married, they mated for life.
And Venetia had said she wanted a husband who would love her. She deserved to be loved, to be cherished. But he was not that man.
For him, love was out of the question. He was not about to suffer the pangs and arrows of unrequited love as in his gullible youth. He would never make himself so vulnerable again.
From the time he had fallen victim to a fortune hunter, he had repressed his emotions in favor of cool, scientific logic. He wanted no intimate connections or commitments that would turn him into a helpless dupe.
Oh, he’d expected to wed eventually to gain an heir, but he wasn’t certain he even wanted children, since emotional attachments would make him too vulnerable to pain. Perhaps because he had experienced death and loss at an early age, he was not eager to risk more.
Consequently, a marriage of convenience to Venetia seemed the answer. They could both walk away in the end with their hearts intact. Meanwhile, honor and obligation would be satisfied.
He would be uprooting her life in shocking fashion, true, but he would make certain to give her a far better one than she currently endured in exile. A life of wealth and privilege she deserved.
Issues about their future together could be resolved at some later time. For now his first priority was to keep Venetia safe from harm from both his potential assassin and the nearly as lethal knives of the ton.
Kate was the first to arrive at Berkeley Square. Despite her genuine worry about the danger Quinn faced, her reaction to his impending nuptials surprised him.
“Poor Miss Stratham,” she murmured when she had quizzed him on his marriage proposal and wedding plans.
“Why ‘poor Miss Stratham’?”
“It doesn’t seem fair that she should be forced to marry you after all the turmoil she endured with her last betrothal. You must admit you will not make her an ideal husband.”
He narrowed his gaze on his cousin. “Whatever happened to family loyalty?”
“Of course I am supremely loyal to you,” Kate declared.
“I thought you would be pleased that I finally succumbed.”
“Not like this. I am pleased you have the good sense to choose someone of her character, and I like her prodigiously. But a ceremony hastily cobbled together in this haphazard fashion? Ash and Jack and Uncle Cornelius won’t be celebrating with you, either, as they should be.”
“I explained why.”
“I know. And a possible assassin is terrifying. But could you have offered her a more unromantic proposal?”
“Romance is not high on my list of priorities just now.”
“It should be. I always hoped you would have much more than a marriage of convenience.”
“Leave off, Kate. It is enough that I am tying the knot tomorrow.”
“It is not enough, Quinn.” The vivacious, auburn-haired beauty was the most passionately romantic of the five cousins and always led with her heart. “You know I only want your happiness.”
“Aren’t I the fortunate one,” Quinn drawled cynically.
“Don’t be snide. You deserve nothing less than a love match, just as most of our ancestors have enjoyed.”
He understood her argument. He was a Wilde. Passion was in his blood, and so was love. He had generations of proof of his family’s predilection for spectacular love matches. Love led to ardent marriages where devotion, admiration, and respect formed the foundation of unbreakable unions.
“You must try to woo Miss Stratham,” Kate insisted. “Given your success with the ladies, it should not be difficult for you to win her love.”
She clearly had no notion of his past history with Venetia or the travails of his own amorous affairs. Wooing Venetia would be the height of folly, since even if it were possible to win her love, he couldn’t return i
t. And he didn’t want to hurt her further.
He would ensure that she never regretted taking this step, though. Her happiness would always come first with him. More, however, he could not pledge.
With effort, Quinn brought Kate’s attention back to the dilemma at hand. When he insisted that she leave London for a time and join Skye at Hawkhurst Castle, she agreed with surprisingly little protest, which alone gave him cause for suspicion. Kate was rarely so amenable, and absenting herself so early in the Season was not something he expected of her.
“With luck it will only be for a week or two,” he said.
She sighed. “Truly, I don’t mind, Quinn. These past few weeks have been decidedly dull. Some fresh country air should do me good. It will be no hardship visiting there, especially if I can ride some of Hawk’s magnificent horses and watch the new foals being born. Now, how may I help you for tomorrow? I presume you would like me to handle the details of the ceremony?”
With one hurdle down, he turned his attention to other wedding arrangements.
—
It was the mark of great trust that Hawk appeared an hour later, having already visited Doctors’ Commons and secured a special license for Quinn to marry Miss Stratham. Since Skye would not be joining them until later that afternoon, Quinn decided this was an appropriate time to discuss plans with Hawk and invited Venetia to participate.
Hawk agreed it was best if the groom and his new bride disappeared for a time while he attempted to unearth the villain. “And you believe Edmund Lisle is the perpetrator?”
“He seems the most likely culprit. He may be cowardly enough to attack me covertly rather than confronting me to my face.”
When Quinn explained the tangled web with his former mistress, Lady X, Hawk seemed amused upon learning that Lisle had given the pendant to her.
The Art of Taming a Rake (Legendary Lovers #4) Page 10
