At the keen pleasure, Venetia gasped and arched against him. And with that helpless response, his carefulness ended. He turned ravenous, delving into her mouth with gloriously hungry kisses while plumbing her body.
Moaning, Venetia melted under his unexpected assault, loving the fever in his touch, the urgency in his lips. Heat erupted between them, around them. Their joining had never felt so frantic, so essential. Quinn was moving as if a fire raged inside him. He claimed and took and stole her will, his mouth and body possessing hers, fierce and demanding and wildly sweet.
In return, she clung to him, gasping, matching his frenzied movements with abandon. She was beyond needing him. She yearned, she ached. As he drove into her, a cry ripped from her, plaintive and primitive.
Pleasure spiking, she clutched convulsively with her inner muscles, until her entire world exploded in a soul-shattering burst of color.
A heartbeat later, Quinn followed with a savage shuddering, his arms clenching around her until finally he collapsed upon her.
When at last she regained partial use of her senses, Venetia found him splayed over her, breathing harshly. She didn’t mind his weight. Instead, she felt exquisitely possessed.
She was only slightly disappointed when he withdrew and rolled to one side, since he gathered her close against him. She relished the naked heat and strength of him, the feel of his hard body cradling hers. Quinn lay unmoving, his legs entwined with hers, as sated and spent as she.
Venetia sighed contentedly and shut her eyes, her thoughts drifting. Her plan to offer him comfort had transformed unexpectedly to something more profound. Tonight had somehow felt different, a laying bare of intimate feelings between them. Both of them were vulnerable but learning to trust. She smiled softly, assailed by the hazy knowledge that this was how true love felt—
Instantly her smile changed to a frown.
Oh, dear heaven.
She was in love with Quinn.
Venetia went rigid as she tried to make sense of the shocking realization. She heard the hushed crackle of the fire in the hearth, the quiet, even sound of his breathing, yet there was nothing hushed or quiet about the powerful emotion that had gripped her in the throes of lovemaking and still gripped her.
Dismay crept over her. Did Quinn feel even a fraction of the ardor she was feeling in such overwhelming measure?
Cautiously she shifted her head to glance at him. Thankfully, he seemed to be sleeping.
Venetia exhaled slowly, vastly relieved that he hadn’t guessed her secret. She could never confess the full extent of her feelings, either. She couldn’t tell him that he was the most wonderful man she had ever known, or that she had fallen madly in love with him, totally against her will.
Blast her foolish weakness for him. She had warned herself adamantly not to trust Quinn, but her heart hadn’t followed that safe, sensible course. She had tried to protect herself, but now it was far too late. She had exposed herself to an immense amount of pain. If he betrayed her, she would be devastated.
If he betrayed her.
The possibility was less certain than she would have believed even a week ago. Quinn had responded tonight with satisfying fierceness—or rather, his body had responded. At least that was something in her favor. She could take heart in his urgency, couldn’t she?
And she ought not give up hope so readily. Yes, it could be disastrous if she couldn’t persuade him to return her love, but she refused to accept defeat before she had truly put her pursuit to the test.
Fresh yearning sprang up in Venetia, so sudden and sharp it frightened her. She had no earthly idea how to proceed from here, now that she was willing to acknowledge the depth of her feelings for Quinn.
She only knew that she intended to fight for his love with every ounce of strength and determination she possessed.
Quinn found himself lingering in bed the next morning, holding Venetia as she slept. It was nearly impossible to leave her side, with her body so warm, so soft, her sleek, dark hair entangling them.
Once again he’d spent a night with her that was different from any in his experience. He could still feel her tight sheath clenching around his cock in a violent climax. Still feel himself sinking under sensation. Still feel the afterglow that was unique with her. Still marvel at how perfect she felt in his arms.
He could so easily lose himself in her—
Quinn felt a constriction around his heart. If he wasn’t careful his emotions would be so hopelessly tangled he would never break free. And yet…the prospect didn’t unnerve him as it should have.
His fingers playing in her hair, he gently stroked back the wispy tresses from her face. He would have to sort out his feelings soon, but now was not the time.
On that resolute thought, Quinn forced himself to rise. He had major work to do this morning.
While he washed and dressed, he took great pleasure in watching Venetia. He left her still sleeping in his bed. Upon descending the stairs, he wrote her a note, saying he would be gone all morning, expending some of his frustrated energy at Gentleman Jackson’s boxing salon. Over breakfast, Quinn checked the morning paper and smiled grimly to see that the bit of gossip he’d planted had made the society news.
He wouldn’t, however, tell Venetia until the last moment because she would disapprove or would demand to be involved, and he didn’t want to put her in any more danger than was necessary. She would likely spend the morning in her studio, and her sculpting should keep her occupied until he could return and put her mind at ease.
At Jackson’s, he met with Hawk to set plans for flushing out his assassin. They discussed options and contingencies in minute detail, and then spent another satisfying hour in a bout of fisticuffs.
Upon returning home, Quinn was told that Lady Traherne was indeed in her studio. He started to climb the stairs in order to share his scheme, but just then the butler admitted a visitor. When he saw who it was, he gave a mental start.
“Speak of the devil,” Quinn murmured under his breath. Only yesterday, Phillipe Rieux, Compte de Montreux, had been a prime subject on his mind.
Quinn turned around and descended the stairs in order to greet his unexpected guest. Montreux was a slightly built, elegant gentleman, with graying dark hair, olive complexion, and serious features. However, he smiled broadly at Quinn before speaking in perfect English with only the barest of French accents.
“Lord Traherne, it has been some years since last we met. Perhaps you remember me?”
“Certainly, monsieur le compte,” Quinn replied, accepting the proffered hand to shake. “Will you accompany me to the drawing room, where we can be comfortable? Wilkins will bring refreshments.”
“Merci, I would like that.”
“Would you prefer tea, or something stronger?”
“Wine, if you please.”
Quinn nodded at Wilkins, who silently heeded the request.
“I confess to curiosity,” Montreux said as he accompanied Quinn down the corridor from the grand entrance hall. “You have many footmen in your employ. I encountered several who were armed. May I inquire as to why?”
“I recently escaped a few accidents that seemed intentional.”
Montreux’s expression registered dismay. “Mon dieu, I trust you are unharmed!”
“Thus far, yes. I am surprised to see you, Compte. Only yesterday I was speaking to my wife about you.”
“Ah, oui, I received news that you had wed. I hope to meet your lovely bride today.”
Entering the drawing room, Quinn waved his visitor toward a sofa and took an adjacent armchair for himself. “What brings you here to London?”
“I had business affairs that required my attentions. Also, I confess, you provoked my interest. I received your query about the de Chagny jewels—in particular, the prize pendant of diamonds and rubies. Yet I never heard what progress you made in determining ownership.”
Quinn proceeded to tell the compte about the pendant being won by an elderly Frenchman, possibly a
nobleman, at a Paris gaming club called Le Chat Noir.
Montreux frowned. “But yes, I know of it. I have played there myself upon occasion. But you have no more information about who would give up such a magnificent piece?”
“Regrettably, no.”
The compte’s expression turned earnest. “I must ask, how may I assist you? I wish to offer my services in any capacity you require. I was very fond of Angelique and was desolate when she died.”
“Thank you, monsieur. I will let you know if there is anything you can do.”
A slight pause followed. “And what of my dear Angelique’s ship that sank with so many poor souls on board?”
Quinn hesitated to mention the sole survivor of the wreck or the rumors that an explosion had caused the Zephyr to sink. For whatever reason, it felt wrong. Despite Montreux’s genial air, he was nearly a stranger, even though very distantly related and had known Angelique well enough to seek her hand in marriage.
“There is no news of any significance,” Quinn said easily just as Wilkins carried in the tea tray.
Quinn dismissed the butler and poured a glass of Madeira for the Frenchman before expounding. “I may institute a search for the wreckage of the ship this summer.”
“I see.” Montreux eyed his wineglass, then pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his brow. Another moment passed before he inquired after Quinn’s sister and cousins and uncle.
“You heard that my uncle Cornelius married last year?”
“Oui, I did.” Montreux offered a smile. “I have brought you a gift in remembrance of your mother…several bottles of my finest cognac, which was produced by my own vineyards. You simply must taste this special vintage as soon as may be. I do not believe I boast overmuch to say it is the nectar of the gods. The bottles are in my carriage. I will have them carried to your wine cellars by my driver.”
“That won’t be necessary. My servants will see to it.”
“S’il vous plaît, I insist on helping.”
“I would be honored to accept,” Quinn responded, “but you will understand why I prefer to have my own staff carry them inside.”
The look Montreux sent Quinn showed clearly that he preferred having his own way and didn’t enjoy being thwarted, doubtless a product of his aristocratic upbringing. Then Montreux gave a Gallic shrug. “But of course, it will be as you wish, my lord. Angelique would have enjoyed this gift. She was very fond of French cognac.” He glanced around the room. “It is sad to think she will never grace these halls again.”
A light rap sounded on the open door just then. “Forgive me, I did not mean to intrude,” Venetia said politely as she entered the drawing room.
Montreux was the first to respond. He rose instantly and strode forward to meet her. “A visit by a beautiful lady is never an intrusion.”
Venetia did not look taken aback as Quinn thought she might. Instead, she answered in kind. “You must be my husband’s charming cousin.”
Montreux smiled and demanded an introduction from Quinn, who complied.
“Enchanté, madame la comtesse,” the compte declared as he kissed her hand.
“Spoken like a true Frenchman,” she returned lightly.
“Oh, you know the manners of a true Frenchman?”
“I had the pleasure of spending the last two years in Paris.”
“Ahh.” The compte studied Venetia intently.
She turned to Quinn. “May I speak to you briefly in private, my dear?”
Before Quinn could reply, Montreux spoke again. “You may have his lordship to yourself. I was this moment preparing to take my leave.”
Quinn rang for Wilkins, and when the butler appeared, gave specific instructions to collect the bottles of cognac and show the compte out.
After Montreux had said his farewells and left, Quinn gave his attention to Venetia. “What did you wish to speak to me about?”
She must have seen him frowning, for she asked a different question than the one he expected. “Did you press the compte about the pendant and the shipwreck?”
“Yes. He says he has no knowledge of either. But his timing is curious. Why would he appear in London just now? And there is something odd about his manner.”
“Perhaps he is ill?” Venetia mused. “Did you notice the way he was perspiring? Also, his hand when he took mine was cold and clammy.”
“You would have noticed those things with your artist’s eye. Now that you mention it…he made liberal use of his handkerchief during his visit.”
“The compte wouldn’t want you dead, would he?”
“A good question,” Quinn said thoughtfully. “He seems too soft to be an assassin. I remembered Montreux as something of a dandy, and he doesn’t appear to have changed much in the intervening years.” Quinn’s frown deepened. “I can think of no reason he would want to kill me. Besides, were I to die, he wouldn’t stand to profit. Before my marriage to you, Skye would have inherited my unentailed property and possessions, and now you will.” He shrugged. “If Montreux is involved, we will flush him out.”
Venetia suddenly gave a start, as if recollecting her purpose. “That reminds me…I just saw the Morning Chronicle. It says you will attend a professional boxing match in South Hampstead this afternoon.”
“Yes.”
Her expression turned anxious. “You can’t seriously be considering using yourself to bait a trap.”
“In fact, I am. Hawk is fully supportive and will provide the personnel. We have it all carefully planned. We mean to set up our villain and encourage him to make a move.”
“You deliberately intend to make it easy for him to kill you.”
“To attempt it, yes. With luck we will expose the culprit this afternoon.”
“You cannot depend on luck,” she retorted almost angrily.
“There is no call to be upset.”
“Of course there is! You are risking your life.”
“My life is at risk no matter what I do. This way I hope to have some measure of control over the time and place for an attack.”
“I am also upset that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me of your scheme ahead of time. I had to read about it in the morning newspaper.”
“I knew you would object. Additionally, I didn’t want you to become involved.”
“But I am involved—”
“Don’t rip up at me, love.”
She gave an exhalation, clearly torn between exasperation and worry. “You relish danger far too much, Quinn.”
“Hardly. I have been cowering behind my armed servants for weeks.”
“But you could lose your life.”
“Come here, sweetheart.” He drew her into his arms, despite her reluctance to be placated. “My demise is very unlikely. But even if it were likely to happen, I must act. We are making no progress as it is.”
Venetia shuddered. “I fear for you every time you leave the house. I couldn’t bear it if something were to happen to you.”
He suspected she had not meant to sound so ardent and emotional. But he was pleased to think she was more invested in his welfare than she let on.
“I knew it,” he murmured, his tone faintly teasing. “You are more fond of me than you admit.”
“I have a care for your skin, even if you don’t.”
“Oh, I have a great care for my skin.”
When she started to protest further, Quinn placed two fingers on her lips. “Venetia, you should trust me. I promise to take every possible precaution.”
“Oh, very well.”
Wrapping her arms about his neck, she raised her lips to his. Her kiss was brief but hard and fervent, conveying her unspoken fears. As she pulled away, something unlodged in his chest, a warm, unfolding sensation.
“Please, Quinn…come home safely,” she pleaded, looking up at him with her huge, luminous eyes.
He was struck by how badly he wanted to come home to her. A huge wave of affection and tenderness washed over him. “I will try my utmost.”
“I suppose that will have to do,” Venetia said grudgingly. “At least tell me exactly what you and Hawkhurst have planned.”
Settling with Venetia on the sofa, Quinn proceeded to outline the details of their trap. An hour later as he went upstairs to his bedchamber to prepare for the afternoon ahead, he let his mind drift back to her urgent kiss and contemplated how far they had come in less than a month—from Venetia threatening to shoot him to kissing him ardently of her own free will.
He had come a vast distance himself. How far? He’d started by seeing her as a challenge, but now he wanted so much more.
The thought brought Quinn up short in the middle of tying his cravat. He wanted a future with Venetia.
And yet…what he wanted wasn’t really the question. The question was, could he give Venetia what she wanted? He would have to promise her fidelity, which would be no problem. Honor alone would keep him faithful, and with a woman like her, he would never want to stray.
She wanted love, however.
Loving her wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility. He was a Wilde after all. Love and passion were in his bones.
He already felt a deepening affection for her. He’d become addicted to having her around, in his life. In truth, he could see himself with her several years from now, even decades from now, having children, growing old together. A bigger truth? He wanted a real marriage with her. He wanted Venetia as his wife forever.
Forever.
Something clutched hard in the region of Quinn’s heart. He was falling in love, he realized. He should have recognized the tenderness he felt for Venetia, the need to keep her from harm, to cherish her always.
Quinn shook his head in wonder. He couldn’t believe he was succumbing to his convenient bride.
But was his capitulation really so miraculous? Before meeting Venetia, he was determined to remain in control of his own destiny, refusing to become the unlucky victim of unrequited love again, to make himself so damned vulnerable. He’d thought he could escape any deep emotional entanglements with Venetia, yet he was being drawn in more irrevocably each day. She had chipped away steadily at his cool cynicism, thawing the ice in his heart with her warmth and caring. From the first, he had admired her inner fire, her passion, her devotion to her sister…and now he wanted that same devotion for himself.
The Art of Taming a Rake (Legendary Lovers #4) Page 24
