“I chanced that you would return to a familiar place,” Quinn answered.
The compte switched from French to English. “What happened to my men?”
“Incapacitated.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
Montreux cursed vividly in French.
“Release Lady Traherne, and I will let you live,” Quinn declared.
“I cannot comply. She is my surety for my freedom. You will permit me to leave with her.”
“That will not happen, Compte.”
“Then she will die.”
When the knife blade pressed deeper into her skin, Venetia paled a little but lifted her chin.
It seemed they were at an impasse. Threats would likely not work, Quinn surmised, his desperation mounting. He would offer to take Venetia’s place, but Montreux would doubtless see that as a weakness. Judging from the hatred blazing in his eyes, the compte was clearly in no mood to give quarter or surrender.
Indeed, his next words conveyed an utter recklessness. “It would give me great pleasure to kill your lady-wife before your very eyes. You will know how it feels to lose the woman you love.”
Every muscle in Quinn’s body clenched. He had never felt so helpless. Inside he was shaking, yet he forced a scoffing sound. “The woman I love? You overstate the extent of my fondness for her. She was not the bride of my choosing. I was compelled to wed her.”
He glimpsed the stricken look in Venetia’s eyes, but it couldn’t be helped. If Montreux knew how deeply he cared, he would cut her throat on the spot.
“However,” Quinn added dispassionately, “she is my wife, and it would hardly be honorable for me to leave her at your mercy. I will make a bargain with you.” While he spoke, Quinn slowly stepped to one side, hoping to leave a clear line of sight to the doorway.
“What bargain?” Montreux asked suspiciously.
“Release her unharmed and I will let you escape unscathed.”
Montreux visibly sneered. “Do you think me a fool?”
“You may be many things, monsieur, but not a fool. You have my solemn word as a gentleman. I will even guarantee your safe passage back to France.”
“I must decline.”
Crushing his fear, Quinn took another step, meaning to circle the room partway and distract Montreux enough for Hawk to join the fray.
“Stand where you are!” Montreux exclaimed.
The sharp command was enough to halt Quinn in his tracks.
“Now lower your weapons and set them on the table.”
Quinn knew better than to comply. As soon as he was unilaterally disarmed, Montreux would shoot him, and perhaps Venetia as well. Quinn would do better to try and provoke the French nobleman.
Changing tactics, Quinn adopted his own sneer. “You are a coward, monsieur, using a woman to shield you.”
Montreux reacted with fury. “You dare to call me a coward?” Outraged, he took half a step toward Quinn, waving his pistol, which caused his knife to slip a little.
Then three things happened in quick succession:
Clenching her teeth, Venetia braced her feet on the carpet and pushed sideways so that her chair tipped over, catching Montreux by surprise and throwing him off balance.
The compte’s pistol jerked upward, leaving Quinn a clear shot.
And Quinn lunged forward and fired, just as Venetia’s cry of pain stabbed through his heart.
The gunshot sounded loud in the small parlor, making Quinn’s ears ring as he charged his foe. Evidently he’d hit his target, for Montreux shrieked and staggered backward before falling to the floor.
He was still armed and deadly, however, for he was only wounded in the shoulder, Quinn saw through the haze of powder smoke.
When the compte raised the pistol still in his grasp, Quinn brought his booted foot down hard on the Frenchman’s wrist, forcing him to release the weapon, which Quinn swiftly kicked away.
Crouching down, he let go a fierce punch to Montreux’s jaw, stunning him just as both Hawk and Jack stormed into the room behind them.
Quinn snatched up the compte’s fallen knife and hastened to Venetia’s side. He used the blade to cut away the ropes binding her hands to the chair, then knelt beside her, urgently searching her pale face.
Her grimace of pain eased when she saw he had come out the victor.
“Are you badly hurt?” he demanded.
“No…not badly,” she whispered in a rasping voice.
Savage anger filled Quinn. Venetia was alive, but there were visible abrasions on one cheek and dark bruises on her neck.
Wishing his bullet had found Montreux’s heart, Quinn carefully eased her from the chair and helped her to stand. He wanted to cradle her in his arms, but the battle with the compte’s men was not yet won. He could hear the sounds of a scuffle echoing from the other side of the cottage—thuds and shouts and breaking glass, followed by another gunshot and Hawk speaking abruptly:
“Wilde, if you have Montreux under control, I will see to Firmin.”
Jack responded with a curt command. “Go.”
Quinn glanced over his shoulder. Montreux lay curled on the carpet, clutching his shoulder and whimpering, with an armed Jack standing guard over him.
Quinn returned his attention to Venetia as she leaned against him for support. His heart still thudding painfully in his chest, he held her away so he could take stock again of her white, battered face, her trembling body. Fresh rage filled him at the cuts and bruises on her cheek and throat—and those were only the wounds he could see. He raised a finger to the abraded skin on her neck. “Montreux did this to you?” he ground out.
“No, it was his hired…mercenary, Armand. I tried to…escape through the rear garden…but Armand caught me and brought me…here so Montreux could watch me.”
Quinn clenched his jaw as he marveled at her courage in trying to escape her captors. She must have been shaken from Firmin’s brutality, yet she’d had the presence of mind to turn the advantage to him against Montreux, a testament to her mettle. “If you hadn’t turned over your chair when you did, I could never have gotten off the shot.”
She didn’t answer directly. “I knew you would come for me…and it terrified me. He meant to kill you.” A shudder vibrated through her.
The same shudder swept through Quinn. She had come so close to dying. They both had.
“Can you ever forgive me for putting you in such danger?” he murmured.
She lifted her head to search his face. Her eyes were shadowed and her mouth trembled a little. Then she looked away as if trying to hide her hurt. “It was not your fault…that Montreux was so set on revenge.”
Now was not the time to profess his love, Quinn knew, but he badly wanted to reassure her.
Before he could, however, she raised a hand to her temple and swayed. “I feel faint. May…I sit down?”
“Of course.” He helped Venetia to a chair, berating himself for forgetting her injuries.
Just then Hawk returned. “Firmin and his minions are in our custody, and our men suffered no serious injury. What of the compte?”
By now the smoke had cleared, but the stench of gunpowder remained. Montreux still lay on the floor, moaning in pain, with blood seeping through his fingers where he clutched his shoulder.
Apparently Jack had examined the wound, for he answered at once. “The ball is lodged inside him, and he is bleeding profusely. He will need a surgeon.” Jack glanced between Hawk and Quinn. “What shall we do with him?”
Quinn replied first. “I don’t give a bloody damn what happens to him. He abducted and nearly killed my wife.”
Venetia spoke up quietly. “That was not his only crime. He admitted…that he hired Armand to kill you…to prevent you from learning what happened…to your parents’ ship. I believe he somehow sabotaged…the ship so he could claim your mother’s jewels. He might even…have manufactured the explosion.”
A new kind of anger speared through Quinn. “I suspected he
might be involved. Nothing else made sense. If so, he caused the murder of my family and the entire crew.”
Montreux’s gasped reply was defiant. “You have…no proof.”
His jaw hardening, Quinn gazed contemptuously down at his nemesis. “I will find proof in time. I plan to find the shipwreck to determine if an explosion occurred. But if you wish to have a surgeon remove the ball in your shoulder, you will disclose the part you played. Otherwise your wound will putrefy and rot—if you don’t bleed to death first.” He smiled coldly. “I prefer you to survive long enough to stand trial and hang, but one way or another, I will discover the truth. You may choose.”
Montreux refused to comment. When Jack pulled him upright, the compte groaned and gritted his teeth.
“What is your decision?” Quinn demanded.
Montreux’s glare was full of hatred. “Very well, I…will…reveal to you what happened.”
Hawk volunteered his services then. “Traherne, your presence will be required to resolve his fate, as well as that of Firmin and the others. I can deliver them to the authorities tonight. I will find the nearest magistrate and summon a surgeon. But eventually you will have to press charges.”
Quinn nodded. He wanted very much to lay charges and to hear Montreux’s confession, but he hesitated when Venetia raised her hand to her temple and closed her eyes. No doubt she was suffering from shock as well as physical pain. She needed care and comfort at once.
Bestirring herself, Venetia said in a weak voice, “You ought to go with Lord Hawkhurst. I am well enough.”
Again Quinn hesitated. She was pale, frightened, shaky, but also grimly stoic.
He looked at his cousin. “Jack, will you escort her to the posting inn where Skye and Kate are waiting and accompany them home?”
“Of course.”
“And fetch Dr. Biddowes to tend to her injuries?”
“I will see to her welfare, Quinn, you needn’t worry.”
He was immensely worried, and reluctant to give over Venetia’s care even to his cousins and sister. Yet she didn’t appear to want his company just now.
When he nodded gravely, Jack handed his prisoner to Hawk, then moved to Venetia’s side. “Come with me, my lady.”
Although fiercely reluctant to let her out of his sight, Quinn stepped back. He would deal with Montreux as soon as possible, so he could return to Venetia tonight and try to make amends for the trauma he had put her through. He also intended to settle once and for all the question of their marriage.
Jack took her arm and supported her as she rose unsteadily. In that same low voice, Venetia issued a warning. “You must…beware, Quinn. Montreux divulged that…the cognac he gave…you was poisoned.”
She left then without another glance or a word of farewell. Quinn watched her go, knowing he would be gnashing his teeth until he could be alone with her.
—
When Venetia reached the posting inn with Lord Jack, she felt sore in both body and spirit. After battling Armand and the wrenching rope bindings, then being threatened at knifepoint by Montreux, she was still weak and shaking. Additionally, her head throbbed, her throat ached, her shoulder muscles burned, and her hands, which had grown numb, now pulsed with stinging needles.
She was grateful the nightmare had ended, though. Her greatest fear—that Quinn would be killed or hurt—was finally over. Indeed, hope and exultation had filled her at his sudden appearance in the small parlor. Yet his callous disavowal of any affection for her had cut straight into her heart.
Yes, his eyes had blazed with anger when he saw her physical condition. But his declaration about being forced to wed her had brought all her former doubts and uncertainty rushing to the surface. And when she’d desperately needed him to hold and comfort her, more important matters had demanded his attention—namely dealing with pure evil and the shocking truth that Montreux had likely caused the tragic deaths of his family and the ship’s crew.
Quinn’s professed indifference had left her with an unmistakable chill—a chill that continued as Lord Jack gently handed her down from his carriage and escorted her inside the inn.
Skye and Katharine were waiting anxiously for them in a private parlor. Visibly grateful that Jack was unharmed, both ladies embraced him warmly, then took custody of Venetia with even greater warmth.
It was comforting to have them fuss over her like protective mother hens—or even sisters—situating her on a sofa and plying her with hot tea and biscuits while Lord Jack quickly recounted the events of the past few hours.
He concluded his tale with the plans to incarcerate Montreux and his minions and added a prediction. “It may take the better part of the night for Quinn and Hawkhurst to complete their task. When you are recovered enough, Lady Traherne, we should be on our way.”
Venetia nodded. With sustenance, she felt less faint, although consternation still sat like a leaden weight in the pit of her stomach.
Katharine must have noticed her demeanor, for she asked quietly, “Would you prefer to rest here, my dear, or do you feel well enough to manage the drive home?”
Lord Jack interjected his preference. “It would be best if I deliver you to Berkeley Square and engage Biddowes to tend your injuries.”
Katharine agreed. “We can care for you better at home.”
“I can manage the drive,” Venetia assured them.
“No doubt your sister and parents will wish to see you,” Katharine added, “but that can wait until the morning. For now, it should suffice to send them a message saying that you have been found and are well but need to rest after your ordeal.”
Lord Jack left to make ready the carriage. Thus, it was not long before Venetia again found herself in his coach, this time with Skye sitting beside her, both of them facing Lord Jack and Katharine.
Once under way, Skye admitted her relief. “I confess I was worried for Hawk, although I know he has often faced similar situations. This will not be the first time he has been away all night, either. The waiting and uncertainty is most difficult to bear.”
Venetia agreed in part. Relief still coursed through her now that Quinn was safe, but her apprehension was impossible to deny—which was utterly foolish. She had no rational basis for being so upset. Quinn had only declared what she had always known: that he didn’t love her.
She ought to face the fact that he might never love her. Unquestionably his avowal had battered the fragile hope that had begun to blossom over the past few days—that they could have a happy future together.
The memory sent fresh pain lancing through her. When her chin started to quiver, Skye clasped her hand in silent sympathy.
Venetia set her jaw resolutely. She refused to cry. She alone was to blame for her false hopes. She’d spent the past few days deceiving herself, filling her foolish heart with love and dreams, but now she had to face reality.
Perhaps it was time to plan her immediate removal to France. Parting from Quinn would be like cutting out her heart, but plunging in the knife quickly might make the hurt a little less agonizing.
The hour was pressing four o’clock in the morning before Quinn at last concluded his business at the jail and climbed into his waiting carriage. Not only was he anxious to see to Venetia’s welfare, but an underlying urgency nagged at him. Now that the assassins had been captured, she had no reason to remain in England with him.
On his order, his coachman cracked the whip and sprang the horses. With a rising moon to light the country roads, Quinn made the journey to London in record time. As soon as his carriage delivered him to his Berkeley Square mansion, he bounded up the front steps and let himself in.
The sleepy footman standing duty took his outer garments and answered his rapidly fired questions.
Yes, Lady Traherne had arrived several hours ago, along with the Ladies Skye and Katharine and Lord Jack.
Yes, the doctor had come and gone.
And yes, Lady Traherne had retired upstairs to sleep.
Quinn also learned t
hat much of his family was presently staying at his house. Besides Skye and Kate, Jack had returned with his wife Sophie. And Ash had arrived with his wife Maura and their baby son, having driven through the night from the Beaufort family estate in Kent in response to Quinn’s summons. No doubt they all wished to be of service and remain close by rather than repair to their own London homes.
More concerned about Venetia, Quinn took a candle and climbed the stairs. Just as he suspected, she was in her own bedchamber, not theirs.
He quietly opened the door to her room and shut it behind him, then approached her silently, needing to assure himself that she was safe. She was dressed in a long-sleeved nightshift, the covers drawn up under her arms, her dark hair flowing down her back.
As he moved to stand beside her bed, Venetia slowly rolled over to face him. She looked so delicate and vulnerable that Quinn clenched his jaw.
Remorse filled him anew. If she had been killed, if he had lost her…a shudder ran through him.
When she blinked at the soft glow of candlelight, he spoke in a murmur. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I was not asleep. I didn’t wish to be drugged with laudanum.”
Although her voice was rather toneless, at least it was stronger and less raw than before, Quinn thought. “Did Biddy examine you?”
“Yes. He tended my cuts and bruises and gave me a powder for my headache. I am to rest for a day or two. Skye and Katharine also took excellent care of me, as did Lord Jack.”
She sat up slowly, arranging the pillows behind her back. “What did you learn from Montreux?”
The note of interest in her voice encouraged Quinn a small measure. Setting the candle on the nightstand, he drew up a chair beside her bed and sat down. Perhaps it was best to start with something less intimate than the fate of their marriage—the tale of how fourteen years ago, Montreux had carried out his scheme.
“I believe I told you that after the Revolution, the de Chagny family treasure remained hidden for years, and that following the Peace of Amiens, my parents went to France to reclaim it? What I didn’t know was that Montreux was a passenger on their return voyage.”
The Art of Taming a Rake (Legendary Lovers #4) Page 27
