A strange expression lit her luminous eyes. “You dream of me?”
“How could I not?”
She ducked her head but not before he saw her shy smile.
Quinn was aware of the rippling of tender emotions inside him. While Venetia was still dazzled by the lush mysteries of passion coursing through her body, passion was no mystery to him. This intoxicated feeling, however, was staggeringly unique in his experience.
He’d told himself that her sexual liberation was his goal. But he was fooling himself by pretending there was nothing deeper. He was becoming too involved, he knew. Coming to care too much. And yet it felt natural.
His silent contemplations, however, only served to rouse Venetia’s uncertainty again.
“I doubt I could ever measure up to your other lovers,” she murmured.
“You can and you did.” She was far better than his other lovers, but she needed more reassurance, he knew. “I have wanted to make love to you for years.”
“I never knew.”
“Honor prevented me from showing any sign while you were betrothed.”
“Do you suppose…Could we make love again?”
He couldn’t stop his smile at her unique combination of shyness and abandonment. Her eagerness was highly flattering, but he had to think of her.
“It was your first time. I don’t want to make you too sore.”
Disappointment crept over her beautiful face.
“Never fear, love. I promised you pleasure, remember?”
He guided her backward until they reached the edge of the pool, but there he hesitated. Venetia was looking up at him expectantly, her ripe lips parted.
Returning her gaze, Quinn was suddenly struck by the swift return of passion. He’d thought he needed time to recover, but he had already grown hard again where her hips cradled his.
How could he ever have thought they could keep apart when their desire was so strong? How could he ever have thought he could keep his need under control?
It was fortunate that she’d insisted on returning with him to London despite the danger. He didn’t want to leave her behind. For one thing, he needed a great deal more time to woo her, Quinn thought, wondering if an eternity would be enough to satisfy the craving he felt for Venetia just now, if anything could douse the unreasoning desire that seared him.
Giving in momentarily, he reached up and took her face in his hands, more roughly than he intended. Hunger drove his fingers deep into her hair to bring her luscious mouth to his. Her response was just as passionate and impulsive, though, and renewed all his thoughts of ravishment.
He kissed her ravenously, until they were both breathless. Then with a harsh, shuddering inhalation, he forced himself to break off and step back.
Shifting his hands to span her waist, he lifted her up to sit on the bank.
“Quinn…what are you doing?”
He was taking back control of his own riotous, helpless longings. “Lie back, sweeting.”
Urging her down onto the flat stone, he nudged her legs apart. Her breath hitched when he leaned forward and splayed his palms over her bare breasts.
With Venetia spread out before him like a sumptuous feast, he stepped between her parted thighs. “I have wanted to do this for years also.”
Lowering his head, he lightly kissed her slick cleft, eliciting another soft gasp from her.
The taste of her rekindled the fierce ache in his loins. And moments later, when she whispered his name—his given name—on a husky, needful rasp, the fire that ignited inside him was as powerful as he’d ever felt.
Quinn proceeded to have his way with her, aware that possessiveness had never gripped him so hard. He was also aware of an incontrovertible fact: With the consummation, he had made Venetia his wife. For better or worse, he had claimed her for his own.
And in so doing, they had crossed an invisible bridge and there was no going back.
Before they left for Portsmouth early the next morning, Quinn suggested once more that Venetia remain safely in Somerset, but she would have none of it. In good conscience, she could not possibly remain behind. What if he were killed while she was safe in hiding, sitting here cravenly doing nothing to help him? If he had to face danger, she wanted to be at his side.
Granted, Venetia reflected as Quinn handed her into the waiting coach, her about-face in so short a time was odd considering that she had wanted to do him bodily harm only a fortnight ago. But she felt linked to him now, in no small part because of the consummation of their union yesterday.
Her body still throbbed with the aftershocks. She had never realized passion could be so magical. Their joining had been like becoming part of him—profoundly intimate not only physically but emotionally as well.
Quinn was the consummate lover, by turns gentle and demanding, always captivating. Venetia flushed to remember how he had made her writhe and moan and then calmed her afterward with soothing whispers.
His remarkable skill explained why women threw themselves at his feet and lost their heads and hearts over him. Why former paramours tried desperately to hold on to him—Lady X causing a public scene to regain his favor, for example—and why Venetia’s own young schoolmate, Lydia Price, had fallen madly in love with him with absolutely no encouragement.
She herself was no less susceptible than those hapless victims of desire, Venetia conceded as she sat next to Quinn in the swaying vehicle. In truth, she realized, she felt decidedly different than she had during the journey that had brought them here. After yesterday’s experience, she understood how one could easily become addicted to lovemaking. She also better understood why certain men became rakes.
It was not just the incredible pleasure Quinn had given her with his masterful lovemaking. It was more that he had made her feel utterly womanly and desirable in every part of her being. And when she recalled spending last night in his bed, how the entire time he had held her like a cherished lover…the memory of how wonderful it felt made her throat ache.
Dawn had come far too early, to her mind. She had wanted to stay curled against him forever, warm and safe and treasured.
Waking beside Quinn was a newly cherished experience as well. Simply meeting his tender blue eyes made her breath catch. But then, breathlessness was becoming a habit every time he merely looked at her. And when he touched her—even if the gesture was as casual as assisting her into the carriage—she felt a warm, telltale swelling between her thighs.
Foolish, really, especially since his focus this morning had switched to more serious matters. Venetia had to shake herself from her blissful memories to concentrate on his reasons for detouring by Portsmouth on the southwestern coast of England: He not only wanted to check construction of his steamship but to alert his master builder and engineers to watch out for any signs of sabotage.
“My methods of fabrication are no secret,” Quinn expounded, “but if the villain is my main shipping rival, David Huffington, I would expect him to try to prevent our completion. If he hopes to corner the market on ocean steam transport, greed could be his motive. Otherwise, why would he try to kill me but leave my newly designed ship intact?”
His rationale made good sense to Venetia, and for the remainder of the journey, she listened with interest as Quinn explained the rudimentaries and scientific principles of propelling a wooden-hulled, three-masted, schooner-rigged sailing ship by auxiliary steam power.
He was obviously passionate about the subject. As he narrated the difficulties of design and manufacture, particularly the crucial relationship between weight and stability and the enormous scale of the endeavor, it became clear that he was not just the source of funding but was deeply involved in every aspect of the venture. And when they arrived in Portsmouth early that afternoon, she received a firsthand glimpse of Quinn in action.
A soft spring rain earlier had left the air smelling fresh and clean, but the more pungent scents of brine and fish and tar joined the mix when they reached the shipyard.
His construction crew, Quinn had said, was supervised by a master builder and three engineers but relied on seasoned sailors to advise on practical operations. A nearby foundry had made the single-cylinder engine, boiler, and twin collapsible paddle wheels, which had all then been transported by wagon in pieces and assembled on a dry dock.
Upon stepping down from the carriage, Venetia could see the decks swarming with laborers. The moment she boarded with Quinn, a small group of men broke away to greet him with enthusiasm, looking surprised once the introductions were made to learn that his lordship had married.
After that, Quinn became fully absorbed with the challenges and the smallest details regarding the new ship—so much so that he seemed to forget about her. Yet Venetia didn’t mind. It was fascinating to see this side of him, his sharp mind intent on solving problems, the intrigued light in his eyes as he interrogated his engineers about gear ratios and flywheels and housing frames for the ten-bladed paddles and inspected even nooks and crannies.
The construction efforts were still encountering obstacles, he was told, and although there had been no obvious instances of sabotage, his crew promised to be on guard during the final two months before launch.
“It is all quite amazing,” Venetia said honestly when she and Quinn returned to the carriage.
Her praise made him smile. “Several paddle steamers have served as river ferries here in England in the last decade, and one crossed the Channel to France last year. But none were designed for speed or have proved seaworthy for long voyages. Huffington’s steamship construction is six months behind ours and it hasn’t the increased capability of weathering storms. But even if I have no evidence to suggest he’s the culprit, it’s only wise to investigate him, if only to rule him out.”
Venetia’s expression sobered at the reminder they were returning to danger.
The closer they got to London, the more her nerves felt on edge. Their mission was to find and stop a potential killer, but they disagreed over the best way to proceed. Quinn’s plan was to flush out the villain by making himself more visible, which alarmed Venetia.
“I intend to take precautions,” Quinn assured her. “Hawk has experienced men I can call upon. I can hire a virtual army for protection if need be. In fact, I want armed footmen accompanying you at all times. If I am at risk, you will be also.”
“I trust you will do the same for yourself.”
“Yes, but I must be discreet about it. I cannot draw out my attacker while surrounding myself with guards and hiding at home.”
She gave a huff of exasperation. “You are supposed to have a brilliant mind. It seems witless and reckless to put yourself out there as a target. I don’t like it one bit.”
“I am flattered that you are worried for my sake.”
“I am not the only one. Your sister thinks you risk your own skin far too frequently.”
“In this case it is necessary. I’ll call upon Lisle first thing tomorrow so I will have the element of surprise. I will go armed, naturally.”
Her gaze clashed with Quinn’s. “If Lisle is guilty, he could kill you before you have a chance to defend yourself.”
“I promise I will be ready for him.”
Venetia bit her lip, remembering the shock of seeing Quinn’s blood, her stark fear when she realized that he had been shot. She couldn’t bear to think of him being hurt again, or killed.
“Come here, love,” he commanded in a soothing voice as he reached for her and drew her against him. He was obviously trying to mollify her, and as she laid her head on his shoulder, she felt an instant warmth.
Although her concern didn’t abate, Venetia reflected that she would just have to hope and pray his plan would succeed.
It was nearly midnight when they arrived at the Traherne mansion in Berkeley Square. Despite being roused from their beds at the late hour, the servants were far more welcoming to Venetia than previously, perhaps because Quinn had made it clear that she was now mistress of his household. He suggested, however, that she retire for the night while he checked his study for any messages from Hawk.
When Mrs. Pelfrey inquired if the lord and lady were to have separate bedchambers, Quinn said to give her ladyship the same rooms as before, then made for his study. As she followed Mrs. Pelfrey upstairs to her rooms, Venetia tried to stifle her disappointment at the sleeping arrangements and instead focus on the luxury and taste surrounding her in the beautiful mansion.
The distraction lasted as she washed off her travel dirt and donned her nightdress. To her dismay, though, when she climbed into bed she felt acutely alone and lonely. Rolling over, she punched her pillow, highly annoyed at herself. She had spent only her second night in Quinn’s arms and already she missed him.
Although weary from the long journey, Venetia lay awake long into the wee hours, assaulted by uncertain, chaotic feelings. Most likely Quinn was curtailing his pursuit of her since he had succeeded in making her his conquest. It stood to reason that he would no longer want her as ardently. Or perhaps the exact opposite was true: He wanted her to plead to be with him.
Which she would never, ever do. She couldn’t afford to forget that he had broken countless hearts, including her young friend Lydia’s. She was determined she would never fall in love with Quinn as so many other foolish women had done. Her heart had shut itself away, and she intended for it to remain so.
Still, she couldn’t shake her anxiety for him.
Venetia rose early the next morning, bleary-eyed and groggy, and after pulling on a dressing gown, joined him at the breakfast table.
Quinn, already dressed for the day, looked surprised and amused to see her. “Are you checking up on me?”
“No. I only wanted to implore you to be careful.”
“I intend to. If it eases your mind any, I plan to conceal a pistol in my greatcoat pocket and carry a sword cane. By the bye, Hawk sent a message saying he approves of my plan to confront Lisle.”
“I suppose that will have to suffice.”
“Have some breakfast, my love. You must be hungry.”
Venetia knew she couldn’t possibly eat just now, but she accepted a cup of tea from the footman hovering at the sideboard. The knowledge that Quinn could lose his life filled her with dread. Rationally or not, she would fear for him every time he left the house until the assassin was caught.
When he had finished eating, she followed him to the front door. After donning his coat and hat, he stepped closer to her. Molding a hand to her face protectively, he bent to give her a brief kiss, and for a fleeting moment his lips lingered on hers.
The gesture was casual yet affectionate, no doubt for the benefit of the servants, but it left Venetia flustered and hot and reminded her vividly of his lovemaking. And just now, she was glad for the diversion.
“As soon as I speak to Lisle,” Quinn assured her as he accepted his pistol and cane from his butler, “I will return home and give you a report.”
“I will be waiting anxiously. Please, take care.”
When he was gone, Venetia turned away from the door instead of watching him descend the front steps and enter his waiting carriage. She was firmly resolved to control her trepidation and shake the worry that she was possibly sending him to his death.
She told herself she oughtn’t feel ashamed of her fear for Quinn, or disconcerted that she felt such a strong alliance with him, even if they weren’t true man and wife. It was only reasonable that the threat of danger bound the two of them together. And it was all right that she wouldn’t breathe easily until he returned home to her safe and sound.
—
It was difficult, Quinn thought as he settled into his carriage, to leave Venetia like that, looking tousled and drowsy and heartrendingly beautiful, having just arisen from her bed.
A bed he regrettably hadn’t shared.
As the vehicle began to move forward, a searing memory flashed through his mind of their lovemaking in the cave that last day in Somerset:
Venetia’s expres
sion full of dazed wonder and urgency as he moved inside her.
Her soft cries of ecstasy as he released her inner fire, all that long-repressed passion…
He could still taste the sweetness of it, the hot stinging need in his body, the staggering intimacy he’d felt, the overwhelming tenderness. Her ability to fire his blood had never surprised him, but he still felt stunned by his feelings in the aftermath of their consummation.
He would find it even more difficult, Quinn knew, to wait for his plan for Venetia to bear fruit. He had forced her to wed him, but he couldn’t force her surrender. He had to let her come to him.
Quinn felt his jaw flex involuntarily. He’d long ago learned that there was an art to wooing women. In fact, he had deliberately honed his skills as a lover, his way of controlling his fate in small measure. After being pursued for his fortune and title at a young age, he’d wanted to be desired solely for himself, not his inheritance.
In Venetia’s case, he needed to build her desire to a fever pitch so that she would come to him willingly. So that she would stay with him willingly.
It would take all of his willpower, however, to curb his impatience.
At least he seemed to be making progress in one respect. She cared enough to be gravely worried for him. He felt similarly about her. Few women would be so stalwart in the face of danger. Venetia was not one to turn away from peril out of fear, he knew. Rather, she would cope with any crisis that came her way, even if it meant braving an assassin at his side. Her courage continued to impress him—and worry the devil out of him as well.
Quinn’s fingers closed reflexively around the handle of his sword cane. It would be unforgivable if she came to harm because he’d married her to save her family from ruin, only to make her a target for a killer. He had to solve the riddle of the assassin quickly and put an end to the threat to their lives. Only then would he relax his guard. Only then could he move on to solving the problem of his marriage—gaining Venetia’s trust and healing her past hurts.
Another thing was also becoming clear. He couldn’t let her conflict with her family continue to fester. She had been separated too long from the sister she cared deeply about.
The Art of Taming a Rake (Legendary Lovers #4) Page 18