Some of his humor faded. “Your friend does not think much of men, does she?”
“No, not much. Her marriage was sheer misery. It was how she dealt with her husband so that he would leave her alone.”
“And you mean to follow her strategy.”
“It seems sage to. If I assuage your carnal needs, you won’t want me.”
There was more than a touch of irony in his muttered reply. “It would take too long to disabuse you of that daft notion.” In a louder voice, Traherne made an observation. “Cleo’s wretched experience is regrettable, but she has given you a warped perspective. You would find great pleasure in my lovemaking. I would make certain of it.”
Venetia hesitated. “Thank you, but I am not inclined to test your claim.”
“So that leaves us at an impasse.”
Grasping her wrist, he drew her hand away from his loins. “I cannot believe I am saying this, but tempting as it is, I must decline your sacrificial offer.”
Venetia blinked in disbelief. “But why?”
“First of all, there is a great deal more to lovemaking than climaxing. But more important, I am not interested in pleasure if it is one-sided. If there’s to be any lovemaking, we both need to enjoy it. Until then I will suffer in silence.”
Rolling gingerly onto his back in deference to his injured side, Traherne threw off the covers, then rose from the bed. “We need to be on our way if we are to make our destination by midday.”
Surprise flooded her, followed swiftly by disappointment. She was also strangely disgruntled that he had not allowed her to regain some small measure of power.
Before she could respond, though, he delivered another declaration. “Rest assured, Venetia, when we make love, the pleasure will be wholly mutual and reciprocal.”
When, not if, he had said, Venetia realized.
Frowning, she followed suit and rose from the bed in order to wash and dress. Traherne was far, far too confident for her peace of mind.
As they traveled the final few hours, Venetia took great care to stay on the opposite side of the carriage and avoid Traherne’s touch, but the taste of passion he’d given her was impossible to forget. She could still feel the heat of him pressed against her back, his hand caressing her breast, his mouth moving on her sex.
When we make love…
She shook herself roughly. They would be thrown together for heaven knew how long, so she had best control her traitorous urges.
Fortunately, Traherne took it upon himself to tell her about this area of Somerset south of Bath, which had been famous since Roman times for its warm mineral springs and where the ton flocked to bathe and drink the waters.
“The cottage where we will be staying has a hot springs welling up from the ground. Biddy approved my coming here because of its healing properties.”
Venetia viewed the attractive landscape with interest. The charming villages they passed boasted thatched cottages and stone houses interspersed with woodlands and orchards and rolling meadows full of grazing sheep and cattle.
Around midday¸ they drove through a wide gate. Eventually the wooded grounds gave way to more manicured lawns. On a rise overlooking an ornamental lake stood an enormous Tudor manor with gabled roof and mullioned windows.
“The estate has been rented out for years,” Traherne informed her, “but the family doesn’t make use of the cottage.”
“Why not?”
Traherne hesitated a moment before his mouth curved. “Because of its history. One of my Wilde ancestors built the cottage for his mistress.”
Venetia didn’t know whether to laugh or to wince. “You are taking me to your love nest?”
“Not my love nest. I have never occupied it before. I inherited the property from my father.”
She couldn’t help but rag him. “So your father brought his ladybirds here?”
“Not that I’m aware of. Certainly not once he met my mother. The current tenants are responsible for the upkeep. I wrote them two days ago and asked that the cottage be made ready for our arrival.”
He opened the small panel and conferred with the coachman as to the direction. They drove for another ten minutes, around the lake, to a more hilly area.
At the end of a secluded lane, they drew up before a large stone house surrounded by a lovely walled garden.
“You call this a cottage?” Venetia said. “It is large enough for a mansion.”
“It should prove comfortable enough for a week or two. I wanted to make up for putting you in this unfortunate position.”
“Oh,” Venetia said lightly, “you mean compelling me to marry you and flee London for a life on the run, in danger of being shot at any moment?”
Traherne flashed his most disarming smile. “Yes, that unfortunate position.”
Concern for him welled in her anew. “Is it safe for you to stay here, do you think?”
“I believe so. Few people know about this property. My father certainly never advertised his ownership. An elderly couple serves as caretakers of the cottage. No doubt they will hire extra servants from the village if necessary. I trust they have at least cleaned it by now and made it presentable.”
As predicted, when they dismounted from the chaise and made their way inside, several staff of varying ages lined up in the entryway to welcome them. The eldest man and woman identified themselves as Horton and Mrs. Horton. There was also a newly hired chambermaid, houseboy, and ruddy-faced cook.
They all seemed in awe to be serving an earl and his lady, for they bowed and scraped to the point of discomfiting Venetia.
Mrs. Horton seemed particularly nervous and eager to please. “Pray forgive the musty smell, my lady. We only removed the holland covers yesterday.”
Venetia smiled to put the housekeeper at ease. “It is quite all right, Mrs. Horton. You were just informed we planned to descend upon you abruptly.”
“Thank you, my lady. We have arranged for a cold luncheon and a hot supper, if that is acceptable,” Mrs. Horton added.
“Yes, of course.”
It felt odd to be addressed as “my lady” and be asked to approve the menu. Venetia glanced at Traherne, who was watching her with a glint in his eye, as if wondering how she would handle her new role.
When they toured the house, she noted the luxurious appointments and gilt furnishings done in expensive velvets and brocades. She was very glad to know they would have separate bedchambers. Perhaps newlyweds should share a bed, but the aristocratic class often slept apart, which suited her perfectly.
Traherne left her to change out of her travel gown and wash. When she joined him in the small dining room a half hour later, he rose to hold out her chair for her.
“I trust the accommodations meet with your approval,” he said lightly as he seated himself beside her.
“I did not expect such elegance for a house of ill-repute. Apparently your ancestor spared no expense for his cher amie.”
“It was designed as a bower of bliss.”
“But a gold chamber pot is rather extravagant, don’t you think?”
“We Wildes rarely do anything by half measures.”
They were interrupted just then by servants who carried in platters of ham and cold duck, with cheese and fruit for a second course.
Alone with Traherne once more, Venetia returned to the earlier conversation. “I am surprised the Hortons were able to hire a staff on such short notice.”
“Wealth has its advantages.”
“Evidently. It feels rather awkward, however, being addressed as ‘my lady.’ ”
“You will grow accustomed to being my countess in time. You aren’t living in exile any longer.”
Venetia arched an eyebrow and gestured with her hand at their surroundings. “What do you call this if not exile?”
“Hopefully Hawk can track down information on my mysterious assassin and our time here will be short-lived.”
She shuddered at the reminder.
Seeing her gesture, Tra
herne frowned. “I have not yet properly apologized for putting you in danger.”
“I suppose it was not strictly your fault that I was caught in the crossfire. And you didn’t deserve to be shot. I understand why Edmund Lisle would resent you if he believed you were trying to win back Lady X, but rake or no, you ought not have to die for stealing his mistress.”
“Your support is touching.” He smiled lazily, then distracted her by changing the subject. “What shall we do this afternoon? If you like I can take you to explore the grounds.”
“Is it wise for you to be tramping around the property? You could break open your wound.”
“I refuse to remain bedridden. Biddy said that an easy soak in the spring would be good for my wound, but I think I will wait another day before testing the waters. I may need your help bathing tomorrow, though.” At her hesitation, Traherne’s blue eyes flickered with amusement. “The sooner I recover, the sooner I can protect us myself and we can return to London.”
Venetia started to decline but changed her mind. She wanted to help him heal quickly so they could end their enforced intimacy quickly. “Perhaps I will,” she said noncommittally.
“In any case, we ought to make the best of the situation,” Traherne said. “A week or two in Somerset will be deadly dull—unless we find some other form of entertainment to occupy us. How do you feel about fishing?”
“Fishing?”
“There are several streams and lakes nearby. The sport should be adequate to pass the time.”
“I have never fished before, but I enjoy the outdoors. I will be happy to take my sketch pad and try my hand at drawing the countryside while you do battle with the fish.”
At the completion of their meal, he found a fishing rod and line in the gardener’s shed behind the cottage, then led her along a footpath through the woods to a meadow scattered with wildflowers.
And so it was that they spent the lovely spring afternoon beside a rushing stream. The climate was significantly warmer here than London in recent days, and Venetia was comfortable in a pelisse and bonnet as she settled on the grassy slope. Traherne stretched out beside her, half reclining on his elbows, and idly dipped his line in the water while she sketched the pretty landscape with a charcoal pencil.
Her gaze drifted to him frequently, though. She kept wanting to sketch his handsome profile instead of the country vista. Sunlight played with the elegant planes of his face and heightened the gold glints in his hair and the shadow of stubble on his strong jaw.
It would have been a companionable silence, except that she was far too aware of him and her regrettable lapse in judgment this morning. Her lips still tingled and burned from his kisses; her skin felt the imprint of his body against hers.
Whatever had possessed her to allow his caresses to go so far?
She was asking herself the same question later when he interrupted her wayward thoughts. “May I see what you are drawing?”
When she passed over her sketch pad rather reluctantly, he studied her rendering of the meadow scene with interest.
“You show talent.”
His praise warmed her, even if it was not strictly warranted. “Thank you, but I am still a rank amateur. My ability to portray inanimate objects and landscapes is rather mediocre at best. I am actually better at depicting people. For some reason, I have a knack for capturing facial expressions.”
“Is that why you took up sculpting?”
“That, and as a way to occupy myself. When I first arrived in Paris after the…debacle of my broken engagement, I had a great deal of time on my hands. I dislike lazing around, feeling useless with no purpose.”
He gave a short laugh. “I can well understand that sentiment. Our interval here will be the longest I have ever gone with nothing to do. I would imagine sculpture is a very different art form than sketching or painting.”
“It is. But I discovered that I like working with my hands. I have concentrated primarily on learning how to make busts. I start by fashioning a model out of clay, then create a final version in stone or bronze.”
It was hard to explain the joy of creation, shaping and carving the clay, replicating a specific facial expression. Then choosing the best stone and deciding on each chisel stroke. Her hands would be covered in clay, her apron smeared and spattered as she became lost in her work. When it came time to convert the model to stone, a fine sheen of dust would replace the bits of earth.
“Fortunately the academy I attended had some excellent tutors who were not averse to training ladies.” She made a wry face. “Had I attempted to sculpt here in England, it would have tarnished my reputation even further. As you know, female artists are not welcomed by society and in fact shunned in most circles. Having the freedom to explore my artistic talents was one of the few benefits of the scandal.”
“A pity women are so limited in their choices—as my sister and cousin regularly remark.”
“Yes it is—”
His fishing line jerked just then, and Traherne turned his attention to his catch, but by then her nervous tension had been broken. When ironically he hailed his triumph over the small carp wriggling on his hook, Venetia found herself laughing with him.
The amiable mood continued for the remainder of the afternoon. Indeed, she felt more comfortable and in tune with Traherne than she ever thought possible.
Their camaraderie even lasted into that evening when they returned to the cottage. In keeping with his wish to remain informal, Venetia kept on her gown of blue kerseymere. When she joined him in the parlor before supper, she noted that Traherne had donned a comfortable-fitting coat but that he had shaved for the occasion. They dined together on three courses this time—beef consommé and braised lamb, followed by rhubarb tarts for dessert.
After dinner they again retired to the elegant parlor, where a cozy fire now burned. Once again Traherne spread out his sheaf of papers on the small writing desk while Venetia read on the sofa.
When the tea tray was brought in, he joined her on the sofa. To distract herself from his nearness, she ventured to make conversation.
“What are those documents you have been studying so intently?”
“Specifications for a new ship design.”
“Your sister mentioned your endeavor with a steam engine for sailing ships.”
He shot her a glance. “Oh, you spoke to Skye about me?” There was a slight note of provocation to his voice.
“I was curious in a general sense. I know so little about you. It is only natural to have questions about the man I was about to marry.”
“What did she say about me?”
“That you are driven to pursue this design in an effort to save lives.”
His lips pressed together. “It grates that I cannot be present for the final stages of construction. The engineering can proceed without me, of course, but I like to be kept abreast of our daily progress.”
So he was not as sanguine about his confinement as he appeared. On the contrary, a moment later he confessed to being impatient with his injury and more than a little restless.
“I despise feeling weak and dependent, but I detest even more feeling impotent. It seems cowardly to be forced to hide in the country.”
Indeed, Venetia thought, more than most men, Traherne would dislike feeling helpless and vulnerable, but she disagreed with his characterization. “It is not the least cowardly to withdraw from the battlefield while you recuperate,” she countered. “A wise general would say to marshal your resources and regroup and live to fight another day.”
A faint smile twisted his mouth. “How obliging of you to champion me. Will wonders never cease?”
She formed a retort, but Horton appeared just then to inquire about any further needs they might have. Traherne dismissed the caretakers and servants to return to their own homes. When they took their leave, Venetia became highly conscious that she was alone in the house with her new husband.
Traherne continued sipping from his glass of port while she
took a large swallow of tea. Suddenly the parlor seemed far too intimate. And yet she couldn’t prevent herself from watching him, admiring how the firelight found the threads of gold in his hair and illuminated his blue eyes, his sensual mouth….His sensual, magical mouth…
When a quiver ran through her, she tried to cover up her weakness by rolling her shoulders.
“Are you cold?” Traherne asked. “Shall I stir the fire?”
“No, I am merely stiff from the long hours of travel.”
“Come here,” he commanded and caught her arm to draw her closer.
“Why?” she asked warily.
“So that I can massage your shoulders. Have no fear, I won’t proceed any further without an invitation.”
He turned her sideways so that her back was to him; she held herself rigid as his hands gently began moving on her shoulders. It was deplorable how his simplest touch made her breathless…
“Relax, love,” Traherne admonished. “I intend to keep my promise to protect you.”
Oddly enough, she believed him. Why is it that this man can make me feel so safe, so secure, and yet so flustered by his very nearness at the same time?
He began kneading more deeply, working out the tight knots in her muscles. When he found a particularly sore spot and brought her relief, she almost sighed with bliss.
At the soft sound she made, his hands suddenly stilled. A moment later his touch became lighter. For a heartbeat, his fingers played on the bare skin of her neck above her gown.
Then slowly he bent his head to kiss her sensitive nape. Venetia gave a start and pulled away. “Traherne!”
When she gazed over her shoulder at him accusingly, he held up his hands innocently. “Mea culpa, I couldn’t resist. Your skin is too lovely.”
His gaze drifted lower to her breasts, as if he was recalling their lovemaking this morning.
Silently cursing her response, Venetia set down her cup and rose to her feet. He had only to look at her and she felt desire flood her. “I believe I will retire to my room.”
The Art of Taming a Rake (Legendary Lovers #4) Page 13
