The Art of Taming a Rake (Legendary Lovers #4)

by Nicole Jordan

  Both Strathams turned red-faced and hastened to stammer contrite apologies, claiming they had merely acted out of concern for Ophelia.

  Venetia accepted their explanations graciously, while giving Quinn a grateful glance. It was a novel feeling, knowing he was not only looking out for her and taking her side, but going to battle for her.

  Yet her sorrow was only increased. Quinn was right; her parents wouldn’t dare refuse him. Her rift with them, however, would never truly be mended, she realized. They had never been effusive or overly affectionate toward her, but they were her flesh and blood. If they had stood by her two years ago, the harsh judgment of society would have impacted her far less, and now they were only relenting due to coercion.

  Venetia ached to think Ophelia would feel similarly. She had been protective of her younger sister since her birth and couldn’t bear the thought of forever being separated.

  “I should like to speak to Ophelia if I may,” Venetia said quietly in the uncomfortable silence.

  At her father’s hesitation, Quinn intervened in a commanding voice that most mortals would jump to obey. “You will make Miss Stratham available to her, Stratham.”

  “Y-yes, certainly, my lord. I will have Ophelia summoned by a servant at once.”

  Venetia might have mustered a smile at her father’s alacrity if not for the knots in her stomach at the thought of finally meeting her sister after so long. “I would prefer to see Ophelia alone, if I may.”

  “She is in her room,” Mrs. Stratham offered stiffly. Venetia interpreted her mother’s tone to mean they had hidden her there, not wanting to expose their younger daughter to the elder’s shameful tarnish.

  Quinn said he would wait here with them in the parlor, then smiled at Venetia and brought her gloved fingers to his lips in an obvious—if false—display of romantic affection. “Take all the time you wish, my love.”

  With a forced smile, Venetia excused herself and, with trepidation, climbed the stairs to the floor above. She devoutly hoped it was possible to gain back her former loving relationship with Ophelia.

  When she reached her sister’s bedchamber door and rapped lightly, she was swiftly bid entrance. She found her sister half reclining on a chaise longue, reading a book.

  “Venetia!” Ophelia exclaimed breathlessly. She rose hurriedly but then stood gazing at her, not speaking.

  Venetia did the same, drinking in the sight of her. Ophelia was more slender and not as tall as she, with hair a shade lighter than her own.

  Then, with a tremulous smile, Ophelia launched herself across the room into Venetia’s arms. “Oh, dearest sister, I have missed you so dreadfully!”

  Relief flooded Venetia, along with a poignant gratitude that her sister had not adopted their parents’ rigid coldness.

  Ophelia drew back, her expression mournful. “Can you ever forgive me for shunning you?”

  “Of course I can forgive you. You were only obeying Mama and Papa.”

  “But I was horrid to you. I never even met with you as you asked me to. Mama and Papa were adamant that you were to be cast out of our family. I am so very sorry, Venetia. I should have had the courage to rebel as you did.” Ophelia hugged her hard again. “I have missed you so much,” she repeated fervently, her declaration almost a sob.

  Venetia felt tears well in her own eyes. “And I, you.”

  “You must have been so lonely.”

  Indeed she had been. “Yes, but that is all over now.”

  She returned her sister’s embrace fiercely and found herself openly weeping at the release of her great fear.

  Realizing Ophelia was now crying inconsolably, though, she fought for control. “This will never do, Phee. Our reunion should be a happy occasion.”

  “Yes, you are r-right.”

  With a shuddering breath, Ophelia pulled back and went to her bureau to fetch two handkerchiefs, one of which she handed to Venetia. When they began sniffing and drying their eyes in unison, they both gave watery laughs.

  Linking arms, they moved over to the chaise and settled there as they had so many times when they were girls. For a time they spoke of less consequential matters before returning to the heart of their estrangement.

  “I feared you might think I had stolen your beau by marrying Traherne,” Venetia said tentatively.

  “Oh, I was angry for an instant,” Ophelia replied, “but not terribly. From your letters, I knew you were worried for me.”

  “I didn’t want you to make the same mistake I made, falling in love with a libertine.”

  Ophelia smiled. “There was little danger of that. I was always nervous around Lord Traherne. He is too clever for me by half and a bit overwhelming. From the first, I could tell he was not interested in romance. He was never the least amorous. But until now, I never understood why he showed me such favoritism. His attentions would make sense if he was only helping me for your sake, Venetia.”

  “Still, I am sorry to have blighted your hopes of marrying an earl.”

  “It was Mama who harbored such fanciful dreams for me.” A mischievous glint shone in Ophelia’s eyes as she sighed theatrically. “It would have been pleasant to live on a great estate with servants and lovely clothes and jewels, but I doubt Lord Traherne would actually have wed me. I am very glad for you, though. But why did you marry him, Venetia? I would have thought he was too much like Ackland for your tastes.”

  “It seemed the only way to avoid further scandal after I was suspected of shooting him.”

  Her sister’s eyes widened. “But you did not shoot him, did you? The rumors were many.”

  “No. His assailant is still at large.”

  Ophelia frowned. “How disturbing.”

  “Indeed, it is.”

  “Does your presence here now mean that you have mended fences with Mama and Papa?”

  Venetia responded with a wry smile. “Regrettably, no. I doubt they will ever forgive me.”

  Ophelia made a face. “Mama especially was outraged by what she terms your public shaming. She believes you willfully sullied your reputation and left us the object of speculation and pity. I understood why you balked, however. Honorable gentlemen do not parade their doxies in front of respectable folk, and certainly they do not flaunt their indiscretions shortly before the wedding ceremony. You would have been miserable as Ackland’s wife. I trust you are not too unhappy with Traherne.”

  “Strangely enough, I am not unhappy in the least.”

  Venetia saw no point in elaborating just now about her agreement with Quinn to go their separate ways.

  “Of course,” Ophelia went on, “Mama will disregard her objections now that you are a countess. She will see Traherne as the best way to recoup our social fortunes.”

  “Luckily, he agrees. And we both believe my new rank should aid in finding you a good match. I promise I will do everything in my power to help you, Phee. And Traherne’s sister, Lady Skye, now Lady Hawkhurst, and his cousin Lady Katharine will lend their influence also.”

  “That would be capital!”

  Venetia hesitated. If she succeeded in promoting a match, she would no longer feel quite so guilty for dashing Ophelia’s prospects with Quinn, but even more than that, she wanted her sister’s happiness. “You ought not be compelled to marry Mama’s choice, Phee. You deserve to have love.”

  Ophelia cocked her head thoughtfully. “Perhaps I do. And now that you have fulfilled Mama’s wishes and married an enormous fortune and illustrious title, I may be able to marry for inclination rather than duty.”

  They spoke for a few moments more before Venetia said with real regret, “I had best return to the parlor. Traherne was kind enough to keep Mama and Papa occupied while I met with you, but he should not be obliged to keep up the pretense for long.”

  Ophelia accompanied her downstairs, and they entered the parlor arm in arm.

  To her surprise, her parents were much more welcoming, even going so far as to invite her to stay for tea. Quinn declined, claiming business
matters to attend to, and shortly rose, extending a hand to Venetia so they could take their leave.

  After she bid a fond farewell to her sister, Venetia went to her mother, who actually unbent enough to embrace her, albeit awkwardly. Thus, she left far more hopeful than when she had arrived. Venetia and her mother would never resume their former familial relationship or regain a semblance of warmth between mother and daughter, but at least the outright animosity had vanished for now.

  —

  Once settled in the carriage beside Quinn, Venetia questioned his methods. “Whatever did you do to win over my parents?”

  “I charmed them with my enormous charisma, of course.” His slow smile was reminiscent of the devilishly captivating Quinn she had come to know.

  “Seriously, what did you say to them?”

  “I first used veiled threats, then sweetened the pot with bribes. In short, I promised our support in finding a husband for Ophelia.”

  “Mama must have been overjoyed.”

  “She was.”

  “I was overjoyed that Ophelia bears me no ill will….”

  When her voice broke on the last word, Venetia ducked her head in embarrassment.

  “What is this, tears?” Quinn asked.

  Forcibly, she sniffed and brushed away the telltale moisture on her cheeks. “I must thank you again for saving my family from more scandal.”

  “I believe you deserve the credit. In fact, I impressed upon your parents how much they owe you. At least they now clearly see the benefits of staying on your good side.”

  He was trying to make her feel better, for which she was also grateful. Not for the first time, she reflected on how amazingly generous and kind Quinn was—a character trait he often hid behind his provoking manner.

  Reaching up to brush her cheek with his thumb, he returned to his usual provocative self. “Did I ever tell you I can’t abide weepy females?”

  His complaint won a faint laugh from her, as no doubt he intended, and yet the emotional relief after so very long was difficult to suppress. Venetia accepted his proffered handkerchief and brought it to her eyes but couldn’t hold back a sob.

  “I beg of you, love, no more tears.”

  “I am s-sorry. I am not usually a watering pot.”

  “How well I know it. You are ordinarily given to confrontation instead.”

  Her quiet sobs didn’t abate, though. With an aggrieved sigh, Quinn pulled her close and wrapped an arm around her. “Very well, you may cry on my shoulder, as long as you don’t ruin my coat. This was tailored by Weston, I’ll have you know.”

  It took some time, but Venetia eventually regained control of her emotions. Then taking an unsteady breath, she gave a shaky chuckle against the blue superfine fabric and responded in his same vein. “It would be criminal of me to ruin your fine coat, you look so very handsome in it.”

  Holding her away, Quinn captured her gaze while letting his eyebrows shoot up in mock amazement. “Finally a compliment. Will wonders never cease?”

  His warm teasing had the same effect as usual, and just like that, the fierce sexual attraction between them returned full force.

  He didn’t act on it, though. Rather, he retrieved the crumpled handkerchief from her clutching fingers and proficiently began drying her tears while changing the subject to their plans for Ophelia.

  “I discussed with your parents the necessity of appearing in public together this week, the better to bolster your sister’s prospects. I have faith that Kate will develop a grand strategy for her, but the Season will be over if we don’t act soon. We will have to attend some functions, of course. If we vary our schedules and our routines and keep our social events secret until the last moment—and if our armed guards remain vigilant—we should decrease the risk. We need to be accessible, but give no advance warning or easy opportunity to my enemy.”

  Venetia nodded in agreement. “That seems wise.”

  “The question then becomes, how do we occupy ourselves in the immediate future? It will not be pleasant being confined to the house for long periods. What do you require to resume your sculpting?”

  The question surprised her. “What do you mean?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to sculpt again?”

  “Yes, very much.” She had missed her art a great deal.

  “What does it entail?”

  Her brow furrowed as she mentally reviewed the necessities. “I would need my tools and fresh clay and some proper stone…as well as a place to work.”

  “You can purchase supplies, can you not?”

  “Yes. Actually, I brought some implements with me from France, so I can fetch them from Cleo’s home. I would like to see her, in any case. I have missed her, and I feel guilty for abandoning her.” Venetia’s mouth twisted in a faint smile. “Not only was I supposed to be Cleo’s companion, she returned to England chiefly for my sake.”

  Quinn disregarded her lament. “We can build you a studio here in London, I presume.”

  “That isn’t practical. I would need a kiln to fire the clay molds, and a special table with vises to hold the stone in place while I chisel….”

  “There must be kilns in town that can accomplish the firing for you.”

  “Perhaps. But you needn’t go to such trouble or expense on my behalf.”

  “It is no trouble. Indeed, it is the least I can do. If you are able to work, your enforced confinement won’t seem so onerous.” He paused a heartbeat. “In addition to improvising a workshop here, I could always construct a larger studio at my estate in Kent. Tallis Court is your home now as well as mine.”

  Venetia wasn’t certain how to respond to his suggestion, but she noted how his shrewd gaze was studying her. “Your offer is extremely kind, but truly, I don’t want to establish anything too permanent or become too settled.”

  Quinn’s expression didn’t change overtly, but she sensed that he didn’t like the reminder that her future was not here in England with him.

  In truth, she would rather not even visit Tallis Court. She might fall in love with Quinn’s family home and grow too attached. If she intended to return to France, she was better off not risking temptation.

  She wondered if Quinn could divine her weakness. His eyes, so sharply intelligent, seemed to penetrate her thoughts.

  Yet he didn’t argue. He merely stated his intentions: “Then you will have to settle for a makeshift workshop here in town.”

  —

  Over the next several days, Venetia was astonished by the speed at which Quinn acted. For her studio, she chose an upstairs north-facing room with ample light, and in short order his army of servants had completed the transformation.

  Quinn himself took her shopping for proper tables and heavier equipment and looked on as she supervised the placement of various items and supplies, all the while asking curious questions and expressing fascination at her creative process.

  As for commanding his staff, as Quinn wished her to, Venetia instructed the butler and housekeeper to carry on as before her marriage. She had never been mistress of her own household, but although the notion was extremely appealing, she did not want to interfere if she was only to stay for a few more months.

  On the second afternoon—accompanied by armed footmen and grooms, at Quinn’s insistence—she set out to visit Cleo and fetch the sculpting tools she had brought to England with her.

  It was wonderful to see Cleo again, even if her friend was still highly critical of her marriage to Traherne and still gravely concerned for her.

  Over tea, Cleo quizzed her thoroughly about her time in Somerset. “You are not falling under Traherne’s spell, are you?”

  “No,” Venetia answered, knowing she wasn’t being entirely honest but hoping her hesitation didn’t show.

  Cleo seemed skeptical, even when Venetia explained about her agreement with Quinn and said that her plan was to return to France once the assassin was caught…although she was now thinking of remaining here in London until her sister’s mari
tal prospects were further along. The thought of resuming her former life in Paris was not nearly as appealing as it once had been, but Venetia didn’t like to dwell on her possible change of heart.

  Instead, she smiled at Cleo. “Enough about me. How have you been occupying yourself, Cleo? Are you eager to return to France?”

  After a pause, Cleo gave a soft, almost secretive smile. “I have been reacquainting myself with some old friends.”

  “Do I know them?”

  Cleo suddenly looked oddly flustered. “I don’t believe so. But in any event, I am in no hurry to leave England just yet.”

  Venetia sensed a subtle change in her friend but couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

  Two hours later, she bid farewell to Cleo with great regret. “It isn’t safe for you to visit me until the assassin is caught, but with all the footmen I have guarding me, perhaps I can come back here soon.”

  “You know you are more than welcome at any time. I have missed you immensely, Venetia.”

  “Not as much as I have missed you, my dearest Cleo.”

  The two women embraced each other fondly. Then Venetia made her way out the entrance door and down the front steps, through the walled garden and out to the curb where her carriage and footmen awaited.

  Once settled and on her way, she realized what was different about Cleo. There was almost a glow about her, a contentment Venetia had never seen before. Her friend seemed unusually…happy.

  Perhaps they were both withholding their deepest, most private confidences just now, Venetia thought wistfully. She could certainly sympathize with the desire for privacy. Some feelings were just too intimate to share. She wasn’t yet ready to confess her evolving feelings for her new husband, especially when she didn’t fully understand the incipient emotions herself.

  She did understand, however, how satisfying it was to apply her skills at sculpting again. Her plan was to present her mother and father with small busts of the entire Stratham family as a peace offering of sorts. When Quinn visited her new studio the following morning, he found her wholly immersed in the joy of creating—elbow-deep in clay, her apron mud-spattered, her hair escaping its knot in careless tendrils.