“No. I am devoutly attempting to keep my hands to myself.” At her puzzled silence, he pried one eye open to regard her. “You have no idea how incredibly appealing you are, do you?”
The rhythm of her heart changed perceptibly. The sexual awareness between them had returned with a vengeance. That same tingling, nervous, exhilarating sensation she had fought for days.
In self-defense, Venetia wrapped her arms around her upraised knees and averted her gaze to look out over the far meadow. “Did you have to go and spoil a peaceful afternoon?”
“Only you would think a compliment egregious.”
“Coming from you, it is. Your motives are always suspect.”
He sat up and eased closer to her. “I’ll have you know I have been at great pains to earn your trust.”
She shivered, merely from the soothing, cajoling sound of his voice, and tried to ignore him.
Traherne was having none of her dismissal, though. “Look at me, love.”
His touch on her arm sent a small shock of heat plunging through her veins. Against her will, Venetia obeyed. His slow, engaging smile was utterly heart-stopping, taking unfair advantage of her lowered guard. Yet the challenge in his eyes, the dark sparkle in their depths, were even more potent.
She was not sexually experienced, but she had no doubt what she was feeling. Desire. For him. Every time he touched her, she felt a sudden, sharp leap of hunger deep inside her.
And she was woman enough to recognize the heated sparks in his eyes. He wanted her, she was certain of it.
A tremor ran through her. She desperately needed physical distance between them, yet she couldn’t seem to move. Instead she sat there rigidly, holding her breath, afraid even to breathe the same air he did. He was so close, she thought surely he could feel the longing thrumming through her body.
Pressing his advantage, he raised a hand to brush the curve of her jaw with the back of his knuckles. Sensation skittered up and down her nerve-endings. “You’re so soft and warm and lovely, Venetia.”
“No, I am not,” she murmured in protest.
“You are. It is not just empty flattery. Repeat after me, ‘I am very desirable.’ ”
“I would feel foolish saying such a thing.”
“Then I will have to keep saying it for you. You are exquisitely desirable, sweet, beautiful Venetia.”
It was supremely gratifying to think he considered her a desirable woman, and yet Traherne’s objective was her surrender, Venetia reminded herself.
Then he bent and pressed a featherlight kiss to the side of her neck. The delicate sensation sent another shiver racing down her spine, but she remained tense.
“You might attempt to cooperate in your seduction,” he murmured, breathing laughter against her bare skin.
“You said you would not seduce me unless I wished it.”
“I collect that time has come. Can you deny it?”
His fingers lightly cupped her chin and turned her face to his. His eyes were mesmerizing, holding her spellbound. With forcible effort, Venetia lowered her glance, but only as far as his mouth.
A mistake, she realized, for she couldn’t help recalling how he’d suckled her breasts with such exquisite tenderness that morning at the inn. How he’d kissed her body and inflamed her to quivering, aching arousal and brought her to a shattering, unforgettable climax…
The disturbing promise of his mouth made tension race through her like fire, and suddenly she was unbearably hot, in part because she knew he was remembering the same things.
Then he smiled again, a lazy, dazzling smile that sent a sweet, treacherous stab of longing straight through her body to her heart.
“Beautiful Venetia,” he murmured in that same husky tone before angling his head to kiss her lightly. His breath feathered against her lips, warm and soft, while his hand stroked down her arm.
The heat from his palm burned through the fabric of her sleeve, but she fought the sensual sparking of her nerves and the desire flaring to full-blown life inside her.
“Traherne…” she warned raggedly.
“Call me Quinn, and I will cease prodding you.”
“You will?” she asked, her tone highly doubtful.
“For the time being.”
“Very well, then, Quinn, pray stop trying to kiss me and leave me be.”
He went still, then pulled backed reluctantly. “As you wish, darling…but I give you fair warning. Every time you call me by my title, I will kiss you again.”
To her surprise, Traherne—Quinn—resumed his position on the grass, as if nothing extraordinary had happened between them.
Venetia lifted a shaky hand to her mouth, still feeling her heart slamming against her ribs, and wondered why he was able to reduce her to such raw need with his shamefully practiced kisses.
The bulge in his breeches, however, suggested she had affected him nearly as much as he had her. And when he spoke, his voice remained husky and low. “Perhaps it’s time to discuss the state of our marriage.”
Thrown off guard by the sudden choice of topic, Venetia gazed at him with wary curiosity. “What is there to discuss?”
“Might I remind you that there is nothing wrong with enjoying each other now that we are wed?”
Comprehending his meaning, she sucked in an uneven breath. “You know how I feel about consummating our union.”
“True, but you ought to reconsider. There is no reason for us to endure sexual pain.”
“What…exactly are you proposing?”
“A modern marriage, of sorts. We can indulge our cravings and explore the pleasures of the marital bed without further obligations or entanglements.”
“You mean purely carnal relations.”
His eyes held hers, no longer flirtatious, just unsettlingly candid. “Precisely. It needn’t be complicated. Pleasure only, nothing deeper. We both want each other. We have since the first time we kissed at Tavistock’s.”
Her arrested expression turned flustered. “You are surely overstating the impact.”
“Not in my case. Kissing you was like being struck by a lightning bolt.”
She stared in disbelief. Certainly she had experienced that staggering, electric feeling at the first touch of his mouth, but she couldn’t credit that he had felt similarly. “I very much doubt you felt lightning bolts.”
“It is the honest truth. It surprised the devil out of me.”
When she shook her head, Quinn went on. “Think about it. We could have the ideal arrangement. We each cherish our freedom—you perhaps even more than I. Once we ferret out the assassin and it is safe, you can return to France as we agreed.”
At her hesitation, he added to his rational argument. “Simply because Ackland betrayed you is not ample reason to deny yourself fulfillment.”
“It is not only that….”
“I understand. You don’t want to be wed to a brute. But I am hardly like your friend Cleo’s late husband. The fact that her marriage was so miserable is regrettable, but most marriages are not like hers.”
“I am astonished that a consummate rake would defend the institution of marriage,” she remarked archly.
“As am I.” A dry smile hovered on his lips. “But we are married for better or worse, so we might as well make it for the better.” At her cautious look, his tone changed to gentle reassurance. “Never fear, angel. I have hopes of convincing you one of these days, but as I told you, the choice to become lovers must be yours.”
A telltale quiver shivered through Venetia. The truth was, she was supremely tempted by his offer. She wanted to know what Quinn’s lovemaking would be like. She wanted to explore her feminine longings, to satisfy her yearning for his tender touch. Most of all she wanted an end to the loneliness.
She didn’t want to be a barren virgin for the rest of her life, yet that would likely be her future unless she embraced his proposal. Now that she was Traherne’s—Quinn’s—wife, she could never, ever consider taking any other man for a lover.
Those seditious thoughts and more flashed through her mind momentarily, but Venetia put off answering and began packing up the remains of their lunch. “I believe I will return to the cottage. Will you come with me?”
“Not just yet. I mean to remain here and take a nap. It is exhausting work seducing nubile damsels who refuse to be seduced.”
She couldn’t help smiling, but as she left her thoughts were preoccupied by his proposition. Once the idea was planted in her mind, it was difficult to dismiss.
Over the following week, she couldn’t help listening to the traitorous voice inside her head: What would be the harm in taking solace from her husband sexually, for their mutual pleasure?
When he’d originally promised a marriage in name only, she had expected—hoped—that physical relations would play no role in their marriage. Clearly her notion was a pipe dream with a man as sensual and physical as Traherne…Quinn.
His restraint surprised her, though. Surely this was not how he behaved with his usual sexual conquests. He managed to entertain her and enchant her instinctively rather than from obvious calculation.
Of course, enchantment was inherent to his very nature, as innate as breathing, but she would have expected him to be the very essence of devilish seduction. Instead, his attempts to persuade her were not overly overt. He relied on mere looks, the occasional touch, a tender tone of voice. It was almost as if he were wooing her.
He was also giving her a glimpse of the real man behind the captivating facade. In addition to fishing and picnics and visiting the cave, they went on long, ambling walks together through woodlands and meadows, where they debated favorite books and artists and food. Quinn questioned her about her art studies and the intellectual salons in Paris. In turn he shared stories about his close-knit family, including his antics as a boy and his sister’s and his uncle Cornelius’s recent marriages.
Venetia appreciated that he didn’t press her about her own family, since the subject was so painful. He seemed sensitive to her moods and feelings, as a world-class lover should be.
And although she struggled with conflicting emotions, it grew easier each day to imagine them becoming lovers.
She was intently aware of the burning desire she felt for Quinn. The fact that he was actually her lawful husband made him even harder to resist. As did sleeping in an adjacent bedchamber with only a door to separate them.
She deplored his masculine beauty also.
Her attraction was not only physical, though. Her feelings were evolving the more time she spent with him.
Her own vanity played at least a small role, undoubtedly. Quinn made her feel wanted, made her feel like a desirable woman again, repairing her shaken self-esteem and restoring her confidence in small measure.
Venetia tried valiantly to keep her distance, but by week’s end, she knew she was failing. Indeed, she could no longer remember why it was so crucial to oppose him. She couldn’t deny the taut awareness, the bone-melting attraction, the stab of longing deep in her belly each time he merely looked at her.
Nor could she ignore a simple realization: He not only was giving her the power of choice, he was waiting for her to seize the initiative. It was up to her to take the next step.
Quinn came slowly awake in his bed, his body hot, his cock throbbing as usual. His dreams during the night had been rife with sexual fantasies of Venetia, derived from scalding memories of their first morning together at the inn.
His mind lingered on those searing images now. Her soft, creamy skin. Her rose-tipped breasts. The stiffness of her nipples as he’d suckled her. Her moans of ecstasy as she writhed beneath his claiming mouth…
Murmuring a low oath, Quinn reached beneath the covers and took hold of his aching rod, then brought himself to quick relief. Sated but not fulfilled, he rose to wash while letting his mind wander to the afternoon of their most recent picnic together. How enchanting Venetia had looked—more country beauty than elegant countess.
Images continued to assault him as he shaved. Her hair tousled, bonnet flung aside, her feet bare and showing her delicate ankles and shapely calves. Her amusement at his alleged fish-cleaning prowess, her lovely face expressive, her huge eyes glowing. His compulsion to devour those luscious lips, to plunder that sweet body.
A feeling that was becoming more and more prominent of late, Quinn reflected.
It was sheer torment to keep his hands to himself—and impossible to repress the excitement he felt around her, his keen awareness of her scent, the sound of her voice.
Purposely Quinn shifted his thoughts to her solemn confessions about her broken betrothal. Her admissions hinting at her lost dreams had twisted his heart. And the look crossing Venetia’s face—bittersweet, haunting, sad—had sent a surge of pure tenderness pulsing through him. He’d wanted to wrap his arms about her and heal her hurt.
Another prominent feeling that was increasing daily in urgency.
He was coming to care too much, Quinn knew, yet he couldn’t summon much regret. Despite his growing frustration at being forced to hide out here, he relished having Venetia all to himself. Even more remarkable, he wanted to be closer to her.
He also wanted to share more of himself with her. Normally he kept matters about his life very private from his lovers, but he’d willingly told Venetia about his drive to create some meaningful consequence to his parents’ tragic deaths. Not that his goal was a secret. Merely that he’d long ago learned to keep his relationships purely sexual and shallow.
He couldn’t maintain that same dispassion with Venetia now.
In truth, he’d meant his offer of a modern marriage. He wanted her to be free to choose her own fate. After insisting that she wed him, he owed her that much. Yet for the first time he wondered what a real marriage with Venetia could be like.
Wondered what it would take to make her want to remain in England with him.
Quinn shook his head in amazement. He couldn’t believe he was actually contemplating trying to build a lasting future with Venetia—or at a minimum, give their union a real chance to blossom.
Her issues would not easily be overcome. She mistrusted intimacy even more than he did. He’d almost laughed when Venetia had claimed to be liberated, knowing that she was still shackled by her painful past. He wanted to be the man to set her free, to make her forget her betrothed had ever existed, to ease her hurt and teach her how special she was.
Pondering the challenges he faced, Quinn grimaced wryly. Since the moment they’d met, he hadn’t measured up in her eyes and had more than once earned her disappointment. More important, unjustly or not, she felt warranted in questioning his honor and his ability to remain faithful.
He would have to prove he would never betray her, obviously, Quinn reflected. But how to convince her was much less obvious.
Love would be an excellent reason for him to remain faithful, but he wasn’t ready to entertain such a drastic step. He had his own problems with trust, admittedly. He was still unwilling to leave his own fate in a woman’s possibly callous hands, rendered impotent and helpless, his heart at the mercy of fickle providence.
Even if he couldn’t offer Venetia love, though, he’d vowed to give her a good life, to ensure her happiness.
And perhaps there could be much more between them than simple pleasure after all.
He would definitely have to think on it, Quinn decided, since clearly he would never be able to conquer his ever-burgeoning desire for her.
—
Shortly after midday, their situation changed abruptly. As they were finishing luncheon, a message arrived from the Earl of Hawkhurst. Quinn bade the courier to see to his horse and wait for a reply, then studied the missive intently.
From her place beside him at the dining table, Venetia watched anxiously as Quinn frowned. “What does Hawkhurst say? Did he find evidence linking Lisle to the attacks on you?”
“No. He had Lisle followed and also questioned a number of servants and acquaintances, but uncovered
no suspicious behavior. Hawk now believes Lisle is unlikely to be the culprit. But he sent news of greater import.”
“What could be greater?”
“A report from Macky in France.”
“About the shipwreck?”
“Yes.” Quinn’s grave expression worried her. “Macky found no indication of a salvage effort or recently discovered treasure. As far as he can tell, my parents’ schooner is still there at the bottom of the sea. But there were rumors of a survivor from the wreck. A passenger who lived several weeks before dying of her injuries.”
Venetia felt her heart skip a beat. “Weren’t all the passengers thought drowned at sea?”
“Yes, but these rumors claim that the day after the violent storm, a woman washed ashore near a coastal village some twenty leagues from the port where my parents embarked.”
She furrowed her brow as she tried to calculate the meaning of the news. “Could it have been your…mother?”
When Quinn lifted his gaze to hers, she could see the troubled emotion there in the blue depths. “It’s possible. Or it could have been Ash and Kate’s mother, Lady Beaufort. Or a maid or some other female servant. Hawk warned that it is too soon to draw any conclusions. Macky needs more time to identify the woman and locate those who tried to nurse her back to health. It happened so long ago, though, the trail is ice cold.”
Quinn ran a hand through his hair in obvious frustration. “Macky’s investigation has only spawned more mysteries, but his report settles it for me. I am returning to London on the morrow.”
His adamant declaration disquieted Venetia. “Is that necessary?”
“I want to be ready to sail to France in the event there is any news about my mother.”
Of course if his mother had survived for even a short time, he would want to know more about what had happened. Even so…“But in London, you will still be in grave danger.”
“I have cowered here long enough.”
“Can Hawkhurst not continue investigating in your absence?”
“It grates, relying on Hawk and Macky to solve my problems. I intend to take back control of my life.”
The Art of Taming a Rake (Legendary Lovers #4) Page 16