However, sharing his family’s schemes and altercations about matrimony was not a conversation he particularly wanted to have with Miss Stratham, so he said merely, “Perhaps the union would not be ideal.”
“Are you courting her, then, my lord?”
“I’ve made no formal offer.”
“But you have raised her expectations and those of our parents as well.”
In truth, Venetia was the reason he was showing Ophelia such marked attention. Elevating the younger sister in society would reduce the stigma of scandal that hung over the Stratham family. And in small measure make up for the role he’d played in Venetia’s broken betrothal. But explaining his feelings of guilt was not something he cared to do just now, either.
Venetia apparently was losing patience with his vagueness. “If you don’t wish to marry her, then I can only presume you have seduction in mind.”
“I believe you are leaping to conclusions.”
“Can you fault me? Accounts of your affairs have traveled all the way to France. I still have friends in England, and even if I didn’t, Mrs. Newcomb keeps a regular correspondence with her numerous acquaintances here.”
“You have clearly assumed the worst about me.”
Her smile was sweetly false. “With good reason. I predicted your debauchery, and this evening I was proved right.”
It annoyed him a little that she considered him so dissolute. “I am not as depraved as the gossips paint me.”
“I found you here, did I not? When I arrived, there was more than one lady of the evening draped all over you.” Her frown expressed censure.
“Appearances can be deceiving.”
“Do you deny you are here for the carnal sport?”
“Actually, I do.”
“Then you have another purpose for being here? Please, enlighten me.”
Divulging his private affairs and discussing family secrets that went back nearly three decades went against his grain. He wouldn’t tell her his real reason—that he wanted to unearth information about a treasured family heirloom. The situation was much too complicated and delicate just now, particularly since it involved his temperamental former mistress, which would only be more ammunition for Miss Stratham to use against him.
“Perhaps I came for the cards and the cuisine more than camaraderie and companionship. They serve a good dinner here.”
She cocked her head, skepticism rife in her expression.
“I do not have to justify myself to you, Miss Stratham.”
“No, of course you do not. And truly, I cared nothing for your dissipation until I heard rumors that you were pursuing my sister. She is not in your league, Lord Traherne. You shouldn’t take advantage of young, green girls. You should keep to women of experience who understand the danger you present.”
“You assume I am pursuing her and not the other way around.”
That gave her pause. “Are you saying that Ophelia is throwing herself at you?”
He’d found Ophelia a bit tongue-tied but earnest and eager to please him—understandable since she was desperate to regain social acceptance. “Perhaps a little. It would not be the first time I have been the target of marriage-minded females. What does your sister say about my supposed courtship?”
Venetia looked uncomfortable. “I haven’t spoken with her since I left for France. We have merely corresponded by letter.”
“So you haven’t seen her in two years.”
“Regrettably, no.”
He’d heard that her parents still refused to speak to Venetia even now, two years after her rebellion, a true shame. But she seemed to shrug off any vestige of self-pity when she remarked, “I can understand how Ophelia would have stars in her eyes. It is flattering to be sought after by a wealthy, handsome nobleman.”
“Your parents certainly seem pleased by my notice.”
“No doubt they are,” she muttered with a trace of bitterness. “They were distressed that I would not become a viscountess, and you are an even greater prize than Ackland. But you are cut from the same cloth as he.”
Matthew Waring, Viscount Ackland, had been a friend since their university days, but the comparison stung Quinn a little. Unlike Ackland, indulging in extended bouts of carnal pleasure was no longer satisfying. His passion now was developing the possibilities that lay within the realm of science and cultivating the innovation that might have changed his parents’ tragic fate when they’d perished at sea during a storm all those years ago.
Quinn crossed his arms over his chest, irritated that Venetia thought so poorly of him. “Your insulting me is hardly the way to persuade me to your point of view.”
She drew a deep breath, as if forcing herself to control her frustration. “I do not wish to insult you, my lord. I simply came to ask you to please leave my sister alone.”
“Have you considered that my attentions might actually be good for her?”
“Not if you seduce her and destroy what remains of her good name.”
It rankled that she thought he would stoop so low. Particularly when he was actually attempting to help her sister. His notice would garner Ophelia greater cachet with the ton. And attention from a wealthy earl could go a long way toward making her a desirable candidate for some young buck looking for a genteel wife. “I am not in the habit of ruining young girls.”
“No?” Her lips pressed in a line. “You are a libertine of the worst sort.”
“Surely not the worst. Your own betrothed was worse.” His drawl obviously riled her, but at his added remark, she looked wounded for a moment.
“No doubt you are right.” Another tinge of bitterness laced her tone. Then she pulled back her shoulders and drew herself up to her full height. “I hoped to reason with you, Lord Traherne, but I can see it is pointless.”
Venetia was staring at him accusingly, and he could almost feel the sparks shooting from her eyes. Her spirit was one of the things he liked most about her. And he applauded her passionate defense of her sister.
In fact, when he’d first begun Ophelia’s social rehabilitation, he’d hoped that she would have some of her elder sister’s spirit but had quickly realized his error. Ophelia was sweet and bland with little of Venetia’s inner fire. The five-year difference in their ages also contributed to his preference.
He’d clearly angered Venetia—but then, she had angered him, making him out to be a villain. She thought he was lowly scum, dishonorable enough to harm her sister, when he was actually doing a good deed. He’d soon regretted embarking on his altruistic endeavor, but once started, he needed to follow through or risk leaving her reputation worse off than before. He knew how to play the courtship game, even if it thoroughly bored and often irritated him.
“You are maligning me unjustly,” he remarked, “relegating me to the same category as your former betrothed.”
“You were Ackland’s partner in crime.”
“We were hardly criminals.”
“But you were complicit in his lechery. You delivered him to the church, an hour late for his own wedding, drunk and disheveled, straight from the bed of his mistress.”
She had a point, Quinn acknowledged self-consciously. He’d known of his friend’s plans and hadn’t stopped him. Ackland had spent the night before his wedding in the arms of his mistress. Quinn had found the laggard bridegroom, roused him out of bed, and driven him to the church where Venetia was waiting on the front portico.
He could remember the scene vividly: Ackland still dressed in his previous night’s evening clothes, unkempt, unshaven, and reeking of cloying perfume; Venetia looking incredibly lovely in a virginal gown of ivory lace and satin.
He could tell the moment she fathomed the extent of her betrothed’s betrayal: The man she was promised to had come straight from a prostitute’s bed to be united in holy matrimony.
Venetia had deserved much better. She was proud, rightly so, but she hadn’t simply been reacting out of wounded pride, Quinn was certain. He was close enough to see the
pain in her eyes. No doubt her romantic dreams of a loving marriage had been shattered. She had loved Ackland, or so he’d claimed. Her stricken look had awakened Quinn’s protective instincts, especially since he felt partially to blame for not doing more to rein in his friend’s dissipation.
He thought she’d handled her humiliation with great aplomb, though. After her very public quarrel with Ackland, she had walked into the church, head held high, and announced there would be no ceremony. While the crowd collectively gasped and burst into conversation, she apologized sincerely to her shocked parents, then turned on her heel and marched out to her waiting carriage, brushing past Quinn on the way.
Ackland was a triple fool—for flaunting his liaison, for publicly shaming her, and for driving her away. How he had chosen his mistress over Venetia was an utter mystery. But it was no mystery why she had felt betrayed by both men.
Still nagged by an uncomfortable measure of guilt, Quinn swallowed his instinctive retort. He might be vexed at her charges, but they were justified. And rather than respond defensively to her accusations and rile her further, he would do better to let her have her say, then disarm her with charm and endeavor to change her poor opinion of him.
That would prove a challenge, obviously, when sparks crackled between them. There was fire in her eyes and frustration as well.
Uncrossing his arms, Quinn leaned back against the chaise longue. “You are right, Miss Stratham. My past leaves much to be desired. But I give you my word, I will not seduce your sister.”
Venetia hesitated, examining Traherne with mistrust and puzzlement. The softer, almost tender light in his eyes was wholly inexplicable. “I don’t know if I can believe you. I am no longer the naive, trusting girl I once was.”
“I can understand your caution,” he said gently.
“Then you can also understand why I mean to prevent Ophelia from making the same mistake I made, falling under the spell of a rake. I don’t want her to suffer the way I did.”
“You were wounded in love, so you believe your sister also will be.” It was not a question.
“If I thought you could love her, I would not be so worried.”
Traherne gave a faint grimace, as if loath to discuss the subject of love. “You should return home, Miss Stratham. Where are you staying?”
Realizing he was attempting to dismiss her, Venetia felt her frustration surge. “With Cleo—Mrs. Newcomb. She has a country home on the outskirts of London, in Kensington. But I am not leaving until I secure your promise to abandon your pursuit.”
“I can make no such promise.”
Venetia inhaled sharply. She had planned to persuade Traherne with reason, using honey rather than vinegar, but he was making it very difficult for her to remain sweetly calm and in control.
Perhaps it was time for more forceful arguments.
“I wish Ophelia could see you now, sporting with those women. I can still smell their perfume on you.” She didn’t bother to hide her distaste. “You remind me of Ackland. At least he had only one mistress in keeping at a time, and he never stole another man’s inamorata, to my knowledge.”
“Nor have I.”
“What about Lady X?”
“What about her?”
“I understand she was so outraged when you took up with another Cyprian that she caused quite a row in the middle of Hyde Park. And reportedly, you lured her away from Mr. Edmund Lisle in the first place.”
His mouth curved in a sardonic twist. “You should ascertain your facts before making accusations, sweeting.”
“What do I have wrong? Was that not Mr. Lisle you were playing Faro with when I arrived? It seemed odd when you are said to be archrivals.”
“Our dispute was overblown.”
“Granted, I don’t know all the particulars, but it hardly matters. Your mere presence here confirms that you are living up to your reputation—or should I say, living down to it? You could ruin my sister so easily.”
Traherne delayed responding while visibly calling on a reserve of patience. “I assure you, my intentions are entirely honorable.”
“That gives me little comfort,” Venetia retorted. “Even if you were to wed her, you would make her a terrible husband. You will break her heart.”
His sigh held exasperation. “I can promise you I will not.”
“You cannot help it. My friend Lydia Price learned that to her despair.”
His eyebrows narrowed at her.
“Surely you remember Miss Price?” Venetia demanded about her former classmate whose first Season had ended in disaster. “Three years ago when you spurned her love, she was sent home in disgrace and went into a decline from a broken heart.”
“Trust me, I never encouraged her. I scarcely knew her. Hers was merely a schoolgirl infatuation.”
Venetia could completely sympathize with her friend’s captivation. Traherne was dangerously, sinfully beautiful. His physical appeal combined with his enormous charisma and charm made him irresistible to women. She’d always thought him the most compelling man she had ever met, and she now had firsthand experience of his allure: His unexpected kiss earlier had knocked her silly.
“Ophelia is likely to develop the same infatuation for you,” she pointed out.
His annoyance was obvious in his expression, but he refrained from replying.
“I will ask you once more,” Venetia finally said, “will you please call off your attentions?”
“No.”
She sent him a look of sheer frustration.
“It would be ungentlemanly of me to withdraw now,” he said in explanation.
“What of it? If Ophelia truly is pursuing you, you could end her aspirations with a single word.”
Traherne shook his head. “At this stage, if I suddenly drop my attentions, it can only harm her. The ton will wonder what is wrong with her and the gossips will suspect the cause has something to do with your return to London.”
Venetia frowned, examining his rationale. “That is less of a risk than your continued pursuit.”
“I disagree. Any withdrawal will have to come from her. You should speak with your sister.”
Venetia felt her fingers clench into fists. There had to be a way to make him reconsider. Ophelia would not end his courtship on her own. Venetia had tried to meet with her to no avail, smuggling a message to her via loyal servants and then corresponding several times by letter, but Ophelia was reluctant to heed any warnings. She worried that her marital chances had been severely damaged, and was anxious and fearful that her romance with Traherne would be spoiled.
Hence, Venetia had come here seeking proof of his debauchery to show her sister, hoping to catch him in a lascivious act, as it were.
She took a deep breath, knowing that threatening to expose him was her last resort. “Ophelia will be distressed to learn you frequent a house of ill-repute.”
His brows pulled together again as he appeared to deduce her meaning. “I would imagine she knows. You said it was common knowledge.”
“But now I have proof.”
“You did not find me in any sort of compromising position.”
“The night is still young,” Venetia rejoined. “If I wait long enough, I have no doubt you will oblige.”
“So you plan to tell her you found me here? You would have to admit you followed me.”
“I will if you leave me no choice.”
His blue gaze sharpened on her. “I don’t take kindly to extortion, darling.”
“Extortion has nothing to say in the matter. It is my only leverage against you.”
He considered her a long moment. “Perhaps I could be persuaded.”
His sudden about-face took her aback. “What do you mean?”
“I will give you the chance to sway me. Come here and kiss me.”
Venetia felt a shiver run down her spine. “Surely you are jesting.”
“Not in the least. You say you want me to end my courtship. You will have to convince me.”
A shock of titillating awareness coursed through her. It was mad even to think about responding to such an absurd proposition. She’d been thoroughly shaken by his kiss—his mere touch was like a lightning bolt streaking through her. She would be wise to avoid any physical contact at all costs.
“What would I have to do?”
“Kiss me, just as I said.”
“And then you will give up?”
“I will consider it.”
He was merely playing games with her, she decided with disgust. “I won’t kiss you, Traherne.”
“Then I will escort you to your carriage.”
He started to rise from the chaise, but Venetia stopped him. “No, wait!”
His smile was lazy and full of charm as he settled down again. “It is your choice. I have all night. Indeed, I would rather not leave just yet. We should be giving the appearance that we are lovers, and I have a reputation to uphold. It will look as if I cannot keep my woman entertained and only care about my own satisfaction.”
“I am not your woman,” she exclaimed in exasperation.
“No, you are too fainthearted to ever fill that role.”
His tone was subtly teasing, which eased the barb. “I am not frightened of you, Traherne.”
“No?”
Frightened was not the right description for what she was feeling. Yes, it was unnerving to be here alone with him looking at her in that tender, sensual way, but strangely exhilarating as well.
He was a provocative devil, taunting her, almost daring her to take up his challenge. But she couldn’t allow him to know she was the least bit intimidated.
The Art of Taming a Rake (Legendary Lovers #4) Page 3