When understanding dawned, Venetia gave Quinn an arch glance. “So I am the shrew?”
The gleam was back in his eyes, and so was the provocative devil. “You must admit you can be a real termagant when you choose. And you blighted your sister’s prospects of marrying me.”
“You never mentioned the parallels before.”
“Because I knew you would bristle. I was bristling myself at the idea of being Pygmalion. Kate should have known better than to think I would ever want a statue for my wife.”
“No, I can’t imagine you would,” Venetia returned with genuine amusement.
“I would rather have a shrew.”
“Would you?” she asked skeptically.
“A shrew is more interesting by far. I am happy with the sister I married.”
His announcement startled Venetia a bit, even though she knew he was jesting. For a moment, she stared up at him, wondering if he could divine that she was thinking about the possibility of pursuing him. His eyes were so blue and clear she felt as though he could see to her soul.
Finally he held out his arm to her. “Would you do me the honor of dancing, my love?”
At the endearment, she again felt that foolish, romantic surge of warmth. His tenderness was merely a show for the benefit of their critical audience, yet unbidden another small kernel of hope flared to life.
Quinn could so easily break her heart. But if she had to lose in the end, shouldn’t she at least have the satisfaction of going down fighting?
The warmth Venetia felt lasted throughout the evening and carried over on the drive home as she sat beside Quinn in the carriage. By rights she should be weary at such a late hour—nearly three o’clock in the morning—but her spirits were so light that energy surged through her.
“I believe we can count the ball a grand success,” she declared with elation. “Ophelia seems very happy to have so many potential suitors. Indeed, she was glowing.”
In the dim interior, Venetia saw Quinn smile. “I told you my original aim was to help her attract more suitable admirers than myself. I trust you finally believe me.”
“I do now that I know of your cousin’s theory about Pygmalion—and how Kate was pressing you to court Ophelia. But I can’t credit that you compared me to a shrew.”
“You are an adorably sweet shrew.”
With an arch look, Venetia adopted his bantering tone. “A shrew is precisely what every woman wishes to be called,” she complained sardonically. “And if you think you can tame me, Lord Traherne, you should think again.”
“Take care, darling, or I will attempt it.”
Perhaps it was the headiness of the moment, but Venetia took a deep breath and plunged in before she could change her mind. “I dare you to try.”
She could tell she had surprised him, but his answer came swiftly. “Would you prefer your bedchamber or mine?”
It took her a bit longer to respond. She would be wise to invite him to stay with her for the night, Venetia decided, rather than go to his bed, or he might think she was chasing him, as Katharine had warned against.
“You are welcome to come to my rooms.”
“I would be delighted.”
The air between them was suddenly charged with sexual tension, which lasted as they entered the house and handed their outer garments to a footman, and intensified when Quinn led her upstairs to her bedchamber door.
Instead of accompanying her inside, however, he bent to murmur in her ear, “I will come to you in a quarter hour. That should give you time to ready yourself for me.”
The words were ripe with meaning, and Venetia felt her mouth go dry. He meant to draw out her anticipation and leave her hungering.
Entering her room, where her sleepy lady’s maid awaited her, she changed out of her beautiful ball gown and donned her nightshift. Then, dismissing the girl with her thanks, Venetia sat at her dressing table, slowly brushing her hair. Her nerves were on edge as she waited for her husband to come to her.
Her husband. If only that were completely true.
Strange, how having a real marriage with Quinn now seemed so profoundly appealing. Moreover, tonight Katharine had started her thinking a great deal about trust and love.
It was not fair to judge Quinn based on her past wretched experience, Venetia conceded. He was strong and admirable, not weak and deceitful as Ackland was. Ackland had deluded her as to his true character, but once her eyes were opened, her disbelief and hurt had been replaced by anger. The truth was, her pride had been savaged far more than her heart.
She couldn’t help comparing the two men in other ways also. Curiously, Quinn treated her as a flesh-and-blood woman, not a fragile, delicate flower or genteel damsel to be set on a pedestal. Ackland had wanted her for his own material purposes and hadn’t shown her an inkling of the passion Quinn did with the simplest of kisses.
There had never been any spark between them, either. She had never kissed her betrothed with a fraction of the ardor she felt for Quinn—nothing like the explosive fire that had erupted between them from their first moments together at the gaming hell.
And she was willing to trust Quinn in many respects now. She knew he would keep his word and allow her to return to France once the threat was over. And yet…she yearned for a different future than her current path. If not for the danger to Quinn’s life, she might actually be glad for the excitement and adventure of being his wife.
Furthermore, at heart, she had a deep hunger for love. She’d learned that about herself these past few weeks.
In France, she had made herself believe that her dreams were hopeless. She had been determined to be content with her chosen lot, to accept the great yawning emptiness of her life. Yet returning home to England had forcibly reminded her of her sense of isolation these past two years.
I have been so alone.
Venetia shook off the dark reflection as her mind skipped ahead. If she didn’t act now, her future would only hold more of the same. All she could look forward to was a lonely spinster existence.
She wanted to change that dreary fate. She wanted to belong someplace, belong to someone. To Quinn. She wanted true love. A devoted husband. A chance at having children, a family. With Quinn. She felt a bone-deep longing for those things.
The brush stilled in her hand. What if she could permanently return from exile? What if she could become Quinn’s wife in more than name only?
In fact, what if he truly was her life’s mate?
The compelling thought aroused a deep ache inside her. She ought not deceive herself, of course. It was mad to think she could ever become his soulmate. She wanted far more than Quinn could give. Apparently he would risk his life long before he would risk his heart.
But I have to try.
Venetia gazed down at the brush, wondering if she could somehow turn the tables on him. They had jested about him taming her, but clearly she was the one who must do the taming.
So how did one tame a rake? By making him fall in love.
And how could she make Quinn fall in love? He was a pleasure-seeker. What would he want with love? But if that was so, was the way to his heart through pleasure? If Katharine was right, perhaps passion could lead to love….
Slowly Venetia resumed her brushing. If she thought she stood a chance, she wouldn’t hesitate to attempt a seduction, to tempt Quinn with every skill she could summon, to try and make him desire her beyond reason. And yet…he was so much more experienced at lovers’ games.
She took a steadying breath. Perhaps for now she simply needed to focus on increasing his desire for her. That much she could do.
Rising, Venetia went to the hearth to stir the coals, then snuffed the lamps so that the room was bathed only in firelight. As she finished her task, her hopes began to rise with her increasing confidence.
Shedding her nightdress, she stood naked before the floor-length cheval glass, her back to the door. She felt herself trembling in anticipation as she waited for Quinn. By the time a s
oft rap sounded on her bedchamber door, however, Venetia had strengthened her resolve.
Judging by her initiation to passion in the cave pool, when they made love tonight, she knew Quinn would want to make her beg and plead for him. But if she had her way, she would make him do the pleading this time.
—
When she bid entrance, he stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. He wore a crimson brocade dressing gown, she saw in the mirror’s gold-hued reflection, and his hair glinted amber in the firelight.
He faltered when he spied her nudity. Good. She had surprised him. She needed every advantage she could muster.
He crossed the room to stand behind her. “Are you ready for me?” he asked, his voice low and throaty.
As she met his gaze in the looking glass, a sizzling current arced between them. “Yes,” she replied shakily. She was wet and eager for him already.
In response, he brushed her hair aside and nuzzled the back of her neck. As his hands slid down her arms, the heat of his palms on her bare skin distracted her from her intent. She was supposed to be taking the lead here, but she was having difficulty concentrating. Quinn stood close behind her, his hands spanning her waist. His body felt hot and hard against her back, reminding her of his alluring caresses. Her stomach clenched as she imagined him touching her further, stroking her hot skin, tracing the swells of her breasts….
As if he could read her mind, his arms encircled her midriff. His breath ruffling her hair, he reached up to cup her bare breasts. The very air smoldered with seduction as he stared at the ripe mounds cradled in his hands.
“How beautiful you are,” he murmured, tracing the rosy areolas with his thumbs, lightly teasing the peaks, which were distended and hard.
The sight of him fondling her was supremely erotic, as was his brazen touch on her protruding nipples.
Then his hips shifted closer, sending a streaking heat shuddering through her. With her buttocks nestled against his groin, she could feel his arousal through the silk of his robe. Tingles radiated from every place their bodies touched, even before he parted the fabric of his robe to let his arousal spring free and began gently caressing her bottom with his hardness.
“Do you remember how it feels to have me deep inside you, love? How you moaned for me?”
Venetia drew in a sharp breath and arched back to press against his powerful body. The promise of having him inside her stirred a pulsing deep between her thighs.
“I remember, beautiful Venetia. I remember how hot and sweet you are….”
His manhood slipped between her thighs, probing purposefully her feminine folds. She shuddered helplessly at the throbbing thrust of him against her most sensitive flesh.
“I want you moaning for me again, sweetheart. I want you writhing in my arms.”
When the rush of pleasure intensified, Venetia dug her nails into her palms, fighting to hold on to her senses.
“Quinn…not so quickly,” she declared hoarsely. “You won’t seduce me as easily as you have in the past.”
“No?”
Easing away, she turned in the circle of his arms to gaze up at him. “If I am a shrew, you will have to work to win my favor.”
He smiled down at her from his wicked blue eyes. Her challenge apparently amused him. “What do you suggest I do to win your favor?”
“Take off your robe.”
Without protest, he complied, untying the sash and letting the garment fall to the carpet.
His nudity was enough to take her breath away. With firelight sculpting his arms and shoulders and powerful thighs, he was incredibly beautiful. How was she supposed to make a man like this feel overwhelmed by lust? Especially when she was so hot already. She was filled with tension and wild anticipation—
Take care, Venetia. She had to remember her role as a femme fatale.
Gathering her control, she tossed out another challenge. “I won’t make it easy for you to tame me, Quinn.”
“I would expect nothing less.”
The lightness of his tone told her he was too confident. Resolutely, she reached down and curled her fingers around his hard shaft. At the feel of him, Venetia’s stomach tightened. She couldn’t stop the wave of remembered desire that mere contact with him aroused.
And from his knowing eyes and sensual smile, he understood her dilemma.
Once more Venetia strove for casualness. “You would make a superb model for a sculpting class,” she observed.
He raised an eyebrow. “How many men have you seen nude?”
“Not many. And none were aroused as you are. I never realized a man’s…member could be so large.”
To her gratification he swelled further in her hand. “The credit belongs to you.”
“Does it?”
Covering her hand with his, Quinn wrapped their joined fingers around his erection. “This is for you, sweet Venetia. Only for you.”
Did he mean his desire, or was he also talking about fidelity?
Knowing it would be a mistake to continue in so serious a vein, she smiled up at him. “I think you are talking too much. You may kiss me now.”
His sensual lips and sinful smile were only a breath away, yet he didn’t obey. Instead, he reached out to gently squeeze her nipple. “You said there was no hurry.”
The brush of his fingers sent another bolt of awareness shooting through her. As usual, one touch was enough to make her breathless and mindless.
With a forcible effort, Venetia maintained her concentration and raised herself on tiptoe so that she could kiss him.
Quinn bent his head then to take her lips forcefully. It was the kiss of a man who knew exactly what he wanted. His mouth was hot and hungry, claiming hers and stealing her will. Her body came alive as a flush of heat—of pure, raw wanting—streaked through her.
You cannot give in, Venetia scolded herself.
Quinn kept on kissing her, though, arousing with silky strokes of his tongue, slowly driving, deliciously plundering, until she managed to pull away.
He merely lowered his head to her breasts. His fingers tightened on one stiff crest, while his mouth attended the other.
When Venetia gave a soft moan, he suckled harder. The pleasure was so intense she felt weak, almost faint.
Then slipping his hand between her thighs, he parted the slick folds and gently buried his fingers inside her. Venetia gasped. She wanted, needed to fill herself with him again—
No, she had to stop him.
Her fingers tangling in his hair, she held his mouth away. “No, Quinn,” she rasped. “That is far enough.”
He sighed with obvious regret. “Very well. Fortunately I am a patient man.”
She couldn’t say the same about herself. She felt impatient, restless, needy. She was already quivering from his sensual torment, and he had barely begun. Her breasts felt highly sensitized and tender from his suckling….
Venetia shook her head to clear it. “Lie down on the bed,” she ordered.
“What do you mean to do?”
“Pleasure you. Satisfy you.”
“Then I am happy to oblige.”
Crossing to the bed, where the covers had already been pulled down, Quinn stretched out on his back, leaving room for her to join him. When she moved toward him, he watched her avidly, his gaze raking her body.
His regard thrilled her. She wanted him to see her as a desirable woman. Her most ardent wish tonight was to be the lover he wanted.
Climbing into bed, Venetia knelt beside him, then stopped to study him. She was captivated by his golden splendor. His sleek, muscular body was beautiful, rawly masculine. And when her gaze dropped to the jutting length of his sex, her breath caught in her throat.
He was watching her in turn, his gaze frankly, sharply male. Venetia wet her suddenly dry lips with her tongue. She wanted to make him hard, as feverish and desperate for her as she was for him, to put an end to this restless, hot longing he’d kindled inside her.
“Now what?” he ask
ed, his tone faintly taunting.
“You must advise me on what you like,” she suggested, “since I have never done this before.”
His smile was slow and dazzling. “As you wish, sweetheart.”
Yet he did nothing more.
“Quinn,” Venetia said more insistently, “you will need to show me how to pleasure you.”
“I expect you can use your imagination.”
The excitement of yearning swept over her. Pressing her hands against his bare chest, Venetia let her palms glide downward, loving the play of light and shadow over his body…admiring how his muscles shifted, smoothly rippling under taut skin…her fingers skimming over his flat belly, toward his loins….
And there she faltered.
When she made no move to proceed, Quinn urged her along. “You can begin by touching me.”
She reached lower to brush the thick, pulsing heat of him with her fingertips. “Like this?”
He remained completely still, yet his voice was husky with desire when he replied. “Exactly like that.”
“I suspect I need more detailed instruction.”
He closed his fingers around her hand. For the next few moments, Quinn guided and tutored her, showing her how to stroke him with the same erotic rhythm he’d used to pleasure her in the cave, teaching her the points where he was most acutely sensitive. But eventually he released her hand.
“Feel free to take over and explore your natural womanly talents. I won’t lift a finger to interfere.”
The prospect exhilarated Venetia. When she continued fondling him on her own, the powerful, instinctive thrust of his hips was gratifying. It was a heady feeling, eliciting such a response from such a vaunted lover. And when she cupped the velvety pouch beneath his shaft, Quinn inhaled audibly. His eyes looked as hot as the hearth fire.
Encouraged, she bent to tenderly kiss his healing scar. Perhaps because he was letting her assume the power, she was ready to take her seduction further.
“I like this wanton side of you,” he said in an unsteady voice.
The Art of Taming a Rake (Legendary Lovers #4) Page 22
