“I like it also,” Venetia agreed in a whisper.
His body spoke to some primitive instinct inside her, while his virile maleness made her feel wonderfully feminine.
Feeling bolder now, she shifted her position, letting her hair glide across his belly. When she pressed a delicate kiss against the warm skin there, she shivered with yearning. Surely Quinn noticed her shaken response; Venetia guessed that she was affecting him nearly as much, since all his muscles had gone rigid.
Deliberately she fixed her gaze on his manhood. The hot flesh of his member was a temptation, his erection long and swollen and ready…She could only think of how he would feel when he plunged into her, how his splendid arousal would fill her.
A fresh curl of desire unfurled inside her. She could feel the pulsing in her core increase, as though he were moving inside her already.
She drew a slow breath then and kissed the satin heat of his arousal. Quinn shuddered, while his fingers threaded in her hair. As she stroked the smooth flesh with her tongue, the faint strangled sound he made in his throat could have been a growl or a sigh. And when she began suckling, his hips jerked.
She had taken him aback again, she realized. In response, she slid her hands beneath his buttocks to hold him still. It made her feel powerful to turn the tables on him, and her confidence grew further at his helpless reaction.
Resuming her seductive ministrations, she let her lips play on his hard rod. Apparently, though, she was driving him to a breaking point, for his hand clenched in her hair.
“Enough torment…” he rasped.
She raised her head to gaze up at him in the firelight. His features had become taut, and when he grasped his erection as if preparing to ignite his own climax, she refused to relinquish control. “No, let me…please.”
Desire dilated his eyes. Holding her gaze, he nodded. His wide shoulders were rigid with tension, the tendons in his neck straining, as if bracing for pain. Yet all she wanted was to give him the same kind of exquisite pleasure he had given her.
With renewed purpose, Venetia bent to him again. No longer tentative, she drew her tongue lingeringly over his arousal, tracing the swollen head with delicate pressure, loving how his breathing had turned ragged, the way his masculine buttocks hardened in her hands….
Surrendering, Quinn gave himself up to her control. When her mouth closed over his aching cock, he shut his eyes at the sublime sensation. Her caresses felt like silk, so soft on his skin, so incredibly erotic.
The innocence of her untutored mouth only heightened his arousal, and when Venetia began to explore him more feverishly, he was ready to claim her then and there. More than anything he wanted to spill himself in the welcoming warmth of her body, yet he resisted the urge.
Instead he let his mind drift into sweet fantasies about Venetia, imagining that he was taking her, surging into her….
The image was almost his undoing. Quinn barely had time to draw her mouth away and replace it with her hand before he gave in to the blissful climax that ripped him. Heat exploded through him, searing in its intensity.
When finally he stopped shuddering and opened his eyes, he found Venetia watching him uncertainly. The endearing insecurity on her beautiful face only compounded Quinn’s desire for her.
“You learn quickly,” he managed to rasp, his voice hoarse.
He caught the shy, pleased smile that hovered on her lips. “I had an expert tutor.”
“I’d say you require little tutoring. Your natural instincts are rather impressive.”
She laughed softly at that and pressed a tender, suggestive kiss on his bare chest.
Regretfully, Quinn held her away. “Forgive me, love, but it will take me a moment to recover my stamina.”
“I can wait.”
Venetia let him dry her wet hand and his loins with a corner of the sheet, then curled her delectable body against him. Quinn pulled her closer, so that she lay with her head on his shoulder, his arm tight around her. He very much liked this side of Venetia. He found her eagerness to please him thoroughly endearing.
Feeling a familiar wave of tenderness, he pressed a light kiss on her hair. Her fledgling power was unexplored as yet, but he’d felt it in her every caress. If she ever decided to wield that dormant power on him in earnest, well…he could be in deep, deep trouble.
Admittedly, though, he was to blame for her newfound sexual assertiveness. He’d set out to free her of her inhibitions and he was succeeding.
In fact, as far as he was concerned, tonight had settled the matter for him: He was not letting Venetia out of his arms. Despite how their union had begun, they could have a good marriage. It would take some doing, but he would somehow make her want to stay with him. As soon as the danger was over, he would focus solely on Venetia and dedicate himself to winning her over.
Frustratingly, however, there had been no progress thus far in catching his assailant. Hawk had interviewed various engineers, scientists, manufacturers, and dockworkers at the shipyard, but had found no indication that Quinn’s chief shipping rival was in any way involved in the attempts on his life. For now the investigation was at a dead end, and he was losing what little patience he had. As a consequence, he’d spoken to Hawk at the ball earlier tonight about their next steps, and together they had decided to stage a trap for his assailant, using Quinn himself as bait. They would need to plan carefully—
Realizing the decidedly unromantic train of his thoughts, Quinn gave a silent, ironic laugh. Now most certainly was not the time to be thinking of assailants and villains. Not with Venetia so warm and willing in his bed…except that they were lying in her bed.
“Next time,” he remarked lazily, “you will come to my rooms. My bed is bigger and more comfortable.”
“You are assuming there will be a next time.”
Glancing down at her beautiful face, Quinn returned her gaze steadily. “Won’t there?”
Venetia hesitated for a fraction of a second. “I suppose your bed would be better. Very well, next time we will use yours.”
Her agreement surprised him a little. “What changed your mind?”
“I realized you are right. We should enjoy each other for the moment…for as long as I remain in England. It need be nothing more serious than pleasure. Meanwhile, we are here, naked, together….”
Reaching up, she wrapped her arm around his neck. “You promised me pleasure, my lord, and I expect you to deliver.”
He chuckled at her deliberate provocation. She understood her formal address would result in his kissing her, and from her expressive, dark eyes, she wanted much more than a kiss.
“You know I can’t resist a challenge like that,” Quinn pointed out.
“I am counting on it,” Venetia retorted before raising her sweet mouth to his.
As luck would have it, the investigation advanced a step the following afternoon when Quinn received a message from George Bellamy’s landlord, saying the gamester had arrived in town.
Taking the same precautions as before, Quinn went armed for the interview, while Venetia waited for him impatiently at home. Upon his return, they repaired to Quinn’s study, where he shared what he’d learned.
“Bellamy claims to have won the pendant last winter at a Paris gaming hell. He recalled the name of the club but not the French gentleman who possessed the pendant, only that he was elderly and had the manner of an aristocrat.”
“Do you believe Bellamy?” Venetia asked.
“Yes. He seemed entirely forthcoming, and I could see no reason for him to lie to me. He also appears innocent of any designs on my life.”
“I suppose we should be relieved.”
Quinn gave a sigh of frustration. “This new lead may prove fruitless. There must be hundreds of elderly French nobles who gamble in Paris. And the pendant’s prior owner may have nothing to do with my would-be assassin. In fact, I’m almost convinced the two events are unrelated. It stands to reason a French nobleman could have salvaged the sunken treasure,
since the shipwreck occurred off the southern coast of France, but why would there even be a connection to my shooter if not through Lisle?”
“Didn’t you tell me that your mother’s distant cousin is a French nobleman?”
“Yes. Phillipe Rieux, Compte de Montreux.”
“Perhaps he can assist in discovering who gambled away the pendant to Bellamy at the Paris hell, or who might have tried to recover the valuables from the ship.”
“Perhaps. When I wrote to him two months ago, he promptly replied that he knew of no attempts to locate the treasure.”
Venetia pursed her lips. “If the compte is related to your family, is it possible he possesses pieces from the collection that weren’t lost with the rest of the jewels?”
“It’s possible, but he made no mention of it in his letter. And if he did own any of the jewels, why would he hide the fact, particularly when he knows I am searching for ties?” Quinn looked thoughtful. “I will have to write to him again.”
“How well do you know him?”
“Not well. I haven’t seen him in years, but I remember him visiting Tallis Court when I was a boy. For a short while he and my mother were engaged to marry. But that was before my father visited Paris and swept her off her feet.”
“So your father stole her away from the compte?” Venetia asked curiously.
“It was not a love match, merely an arrangement to unite their fortunes and bloodlines. My mother, Angelique, was an heiress, the only daughter of the Duc and Duchesse de Chagny. Although…I suppose Montreux could have been in love with her. She was a stunning beauty who reportedly had all of Paris at her feet.”
“Love match or not, he could not have been happy to lose her and her fortune.”
“Apparently they made up their differences. During the Revolution, he fled France to escape the savagery of Robespierre and his cohorts. Montreux spent several years in exile here in England and only returned home when the French royals were reinstated.”
“So jealousy was not a factor,” Venetia mused. “He must not have been too heartbroken by your mother’s jilting if he remained close enough to be welcomed into her home by her rival suitor.”
“And she was highly sympathetic to his plight, since her own parents were guillotined.”
Just then Quinn’s butler appeared in the doorway, holding a silver salver. “Forgive the intrusion, my lord, but you asked to be informed at once when any correspondence arrived from Mr. Macky.”
“Yes, Wilkins. I have been expecting it.”
Quinn accepted the letter and dismissed the servant, then settled back in his armchair and stared at the seal for a long moment. Venetia only understood his hesitation upon remembering it could contain information about his late mother’s death.
Finally Quinn broke the wax seal and opened the missive, which looked to be two pages long.
The silence that followed left Venetia on edge. With increasing concern, she watched the play of emotions cross Quinn’s face…foreboding, sadness, puzzlement, and resolve.
“What does Macky say?” she asked anxiously. “Did he learn the identity of the shipwreck survivor?”
Quinn’s troubled gaze lifted to meet hers. “Yes. It was Lady Beaufort, Kate and Ash’s mother.”
“Macky is certain?”
“As certain as he can be after all this time. Macky located the cottagers who cared for her after she washed ashore. She recovered consciousness only a short while before perishing from her injuries, but long enough to divulge her name and the name of the ship that sank. A marker in the church graveyard bears her name, Melicent. And the Zephyr was my father’s yacht. Additionally, she had distinctive auburn hair like Kate’s, and she wore a gold locket with the Beaufort crest etched on the face.”
Venetia wasn’t quite certain what to say to console Quinn…or whether he regretted that the surviving passenger had not been his own mother.
His expression remained grave when he continued. “Macky says there is more news…or at least suspicions that a storm might not have caused the Zephyr to sink. Melicent spoke of a fiery blast, and sailors in the vicinity reported seeing an explosion and fire—the kind that usually only occurs during military battles at sea. There were other indications of a fire as well—namely burnt wooden ship debris strewn on the beach. Macky speculates that a keg of gunpowder was set alight on board the Zephyr. But that begs the question, why would a passenger ship—a private yacht—have gunpowder on board?”
“Perhaps for protection?”
Quinn nodded. “They might have had cannons on board. Piracy is rampant along that part of the coast. If an explosion did occur, was it accident or foul play? The Zephyr could have been sabotaged. Macky means to remain in France to see what more he can discover. We may never know the truth unless we can locate the shipwreck.”
The silence resumed with Quinn deep in thought.
“Would you rather the survivor have been Angelique?” Venetia asked quietly.
“No, to be truthful. It would be harder to think of her suffering such lingering pain. It is difficult enough knowing that her life was ended so soon.”
“I am so sorry, Quinn. It must be horrible to lose one’s parents like that, especially at a young age.”
“I was devastated, Skye even more so.” His mouth curved faintly in a sad smile. “What I remember most is my mother’s charm and joie de vivre. She was the most lively, enchanting person I have ever known.”
Qualities he had inherited, Venetia thought to herself.
“My father adored her,” Quinn added softly, “and she, him. Perhaps it was best that they perished together.”
Quinn gave a heavy sigh. “I will have to let Ash and Kate know about their mother at some point. Ordinarily I would call a family meeting so I could tell them in person. Such unhappy tidings ought not come in a letter or from a near-stranger like Macky is to them. But I must wait until they are no longer at risk.” His jaw flexed in anger. “Just one more reason I want to be done with this interminable waiting.”
“At least a delay will give Macky time to investigate the possible explosion,” Venetia pointed out.
“When this is all over, I may go to France to see my aunt Melicent’s grave for myself, and to instigate a search for the shipwreck. But I can’t leave in the middle of danger to myself or to you and my family—or, for that matter, until my steamship is successfully launched.”
Quinn ran a hand roughly through his hair. Then, rising, he went to the sideboard and poured himself a snifterful of brandy. Downing a large swallow, he grimaced at the burn.
“Are you all right, Quinn?”
“Yes. This just stirs painful memories,” he answered, indicating the letter. “It is a grim reminder that I was helpless to save them.”
Venetia wouldn’t point out that although his regrets were not irrational, he was being too harsh on himself, and that he held no blame for his family’s deaths. At the time, he was only seventeen, long before he started on his quest to glean some meaningful results from the tragedy.
Moving across the room, Quinn flung the letter down on his desk, then gazed back at Venetia. “I would rather be alone, if you don’t mind.”
“Yes, of course.” She could understand his desire to mourn his parents in solitude.
“Close the door behind you,” he ordered quietly as she rose.
As he tossed back another gulp of brandy, she left him alone. If he needed to drown his sorrows in spirits, then she would not seek to stop him. But that didn’t prevent her from worrying about him. Dinnertime came and went with no sign of Quinn. Venetia spent the rest of the evening watching the clock as the hands slowly swept toward midnight.
Finally, she set down her book and returned to the study. She rapped softly on the door in case Quinn was sleeping off a drunken stupor.
When Quinn bade entrance, however, his voice seemed steady enough. He sat at his desk, poring over blueprints of his steam engine—a reminder of his obsession with exerting control over
his own fate.
Venetia felt relief that he seemed perfectly sober, but there was a bleak set to his features that twisted her heart.
“Cook kept your supper warm. May I bring your plate here so that you can eat something?”
“I have no appetite.”
His grim tone was curt and dismissive, but perversely, a surge of protectiveness and tenderness welled up in Venetia. She wanted very badly to comfort him and ease his sorrow.
“Well then, will you come to bed with me?”
His blue gaze sharpened on her. He considered her invitation for a long moment before he ultimately nodded.
As she took his hand and led Quinn upstairs to his bedchamber, the significance was not lost on Venetia. They would make love in the master’s bed for the first time, almost like husband and wife.
And yet this moment was unlike any other intimacy that had come before. Just now Quinn was not the alluring, seductive lover she had come to know. The firelight sculpting his high cheekbones in shadow exposed something vulnerable and unguarded in his expression that called to her.
His very nearness made her feel safe and cherished, and she wanted him to feel the same way. She needed to hold him, to show him that she cared. She gave no thought to her hope of taming him. This was no time for games. She needed to be there as his friend, his solace.
Silently they undressed each other, not speaking except with touch. Then tenderly Venetia put her hands on either side of his face and pulled his mouth down to hers. Her effort to comfort him, however, failed when he took command.
His passion was hot and insistent, spurring and controlling the rhythm of her breathing. His kiss sought and demanded. Without breaking contact, he scooped her up and carried her to the bed.
A yearning sensation spread in her chest as he laid her down and settled between her thighs. Her breathing sharpened. She felt his heated need, his unsated hunger as he poised above her, on the brink of plunging inside her.
Desire, hot and molten, unfurled in her belly when he slowly began to thrust. Swollen and iron-hard, he filled her, burying himself to the hilt. Then his free hand slid between her thighs, stroking her where they were joined.
The Art of Taming a Rake (Legendary Lovers #4) Page 23
