His observations and questions about her work made her supremely self-conscious, though, especially when he brushed back a wayward wisp of hair from her forehead and tucked it behind her ear.
Barely hiding her flush, Venetia cleared her throat. “I work best alone. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind leaving me to myself?”
His blue eyes gleamed with humor. “Are you banning me from your studio?”
“Forgive me, but yes,” she replied cordially. “I will never be able to concentrate with you hovering over me.”
“If you insist…but I am mortally wounded.”
Smiling, Venetia watched him leave, feeling thankful, but also with genuine regret. She would have liked to ask Quinn to pose for her, for the challenge if nothing else. It wouldn’t be easy to capture his essence in the clay beneath her fingers—to transfer the lethal elegance of his aristocratic features or show the intelligence of his eyes, the sensuality of his beautiful mouth. The distraction would prove too overwhelming. Even worse, she might expose some of the burgeoning, inexplicable feelings she was trying desperately to ignore if not repress altogether.
Instead, Venetia stifled a sigh and returned to the much safer task of depicting her sister’s pretty face in clay.
By week’s end, Venetia had finished clay molds of Ophelia and their mother, yet she was still no closer to sorting out her conflicting feelings for Quinn.
At least they were making progress on the social battlefront. Having agreed to attend only select engagements to keep their exposure to a minimum, they chose to make their debut at a grand ball hosted by Lord and Lady Perry, where the cream of the ton would be present, including Quinn’s adopted cousin, Lord Jack Wilde, and his beautiful wife, Sophie, whom Venetia was greatly looking forward to meeting.
Lady Katharine’s brother Ash and his wife, Maura—the Marquis and Marchioness of Beaufort—would remain in the country with their new baby son, but they sent their fondest well-wishes, and Maura wrote a long letter to Venetia welcoming her into the family.
The Wildes were clearly determined to rally around the Stratham sisters. Not only was Katharine developing a matchmaking scheme for Ophelia and arranging introductions to potential beaus, Skye commissioned her favorite modiste to design lovely gowns for them both. The night of the ball, when Venetia dressed carefully in her exquisite gown of apricot silk with a cream lace overskirt and descended the staircase to the entrance hall, where Quinn awaited her, his blue eyes flared with appreciation.
The admiration was reciprocal. He had a presence that made mere mortals seem insignificant. And garbed in evening clothes—black coat, gold brocade waistcoat, and pristine white cravat that set off his handsome face and dark blond hair—every immaculate inch of him screamed wealth and bone-deep nobility.
“You look amply prepared to face the wolves,” he commented as he offered her his arm.
“I hope so. I cannot believe how nervous I am,” Venetia confessed, “knowing I will be the target of every gossip and disapproving dowager out there.”
“You will be the most dazzling beauty at the ball.”
“It helps that your sister has impeccable taste.”
“A gown can only accentuate a woman’s loveliness, not create it.”
“Spoken like an experienced flatterer,” Venetia said with a wry laugh.
“If you have any doubts, you have only to watch the faces of everyone you meet tonight. I will be the envy of every man there and you the idol of every woman.”
The slow, captivating smile Quinn sent her warmed her inside, so that Venetia actually found herself anticipating their first joint venture into society with more optimism than apprehension.
Her only qualm came when Quinn escorted her to their carriage. They would be accompanied by the requisite number of footmen—sporting pistols, reminding her acutely of the danger. Venetia hated the feeling of being on guard at every moment, but she vowed not to let it ruin their evening.
Upon their arrival, after they made their way through the crowds to the ballroom, Venetia was greeted effusively by both Katharine and Skye, who quickly made her known to Sophie, a dark-haired beauty with an enchanting smile, and Lord Jack, a devilishly handsome rogue who obviously possessed the Wilde charm in great abundance.
Venetia instantly liked them both, but regrettably, she had little time to become acquainted with them, for a steady stream of people began approaching, begging for introductions—or in many cases, reintroductions. It was clear from the first moment, her reception would be far different than she’d feared, for most of the ball guests hailed her return into their midst.
The hypocrisy jarred her a little. The same hoity-toity class that had shunned her so viciously before now toadied to her because she was a countess supported by a powerful, noble family. But for her sister’s sake, Venetia smiled and did her best to charm her former detractors.
Quinn played his role extremely well. For the nonce, he was not the rake or celebrated lover that rumors portrayed him, but a protective, attentive, doting husband who gave every appearance of being in love with his new bride.
He showed her family every courtesy as well. When the Strathams joined their party, Katharine made certain their audience knew she had taken Ophelia under her wing, as had the entire Wilde clan, including the Earl of Hawkhurst.
When the orchestra struck up, Quinn led Venetia onto the floor while Lord Hawkhurst did the same for Ophelia. Quinn applied for Ophelia’s hand next.
It amazed Venetia to see him dancing with her sister. So much had changed in such a short time, she thought, amused by the irony. She had never dreamed her confrontation with Quinn at the sin club would turn out this way, with her wed to him. Even more unbelievably, she not only wanted to keep watch over him and keep him safe, but felt an ownership she had no business feeling.
Shrugging off her surge of possessiveness, Venetia kept a close eye on her sister instead, gratified to see that Ophelia had a steady stream of dance partners, many of whom were eligible young bachelors, thanks to Katharine.
Some while later, though, an incident threatened to shatter her pleasure for the evening. Her partner—an elderly gentleman—was escorting her to the punch table when she spied a stunning raven-haired beauty staring at her from across the ballroom. Venetia recognized her as none other than Lady X, as the gossip rags had dubbed Julia, Lady Dalton.
Venetia’s stomach lurched at the sight of Quinn’s former mistress. She busied herself thanking her elderly partner for the refreshment and quizzing him about his family and young granddaughters, but then a sultry voice spoke behind her.
“I wondered when you would be brave enough to show your face in public, Miss Stratham.”
Venetia first froze, then turned to find Lady Dalton languidly waving a hand-painted silk fan. Her manner was outwardly amiable for the sake of appearances, but the brittle tone to her voice suggested anything but friendliness.
The elderly gentleman suddenly recalled a prior engagement and bowed himself away. Although her stomach felt weighted by a lump of lead, Venetia pasted a smile on her face, conscious of countless pairs of eyes watching them.
“I don’t believe we have met,” she managed to say.
“But you no doubt know of my history with your husband,” Lady Dalton purred.
Caught completely off guard, Venetia struggled to think of a suitable retort. Evidently the widow saw her as a rival and was staking the advantage by boldly seeking her out in front of an inquisitive crowd. She had to give Lady X credit for audacity, even though she couldn’t stop the fierce pang of jealousy raking through her—or seem to make her tongue work.
Before she could deliver a reply, Lady Dalton continued. “I must applaud your cleverness, Miss Stratham. I initially thought you were supremely foolish to shoot Traherne, but I suppose it was the only way you could ensnare him.”
“I understand you failed to ensnare him yourself,” Venetia said sweetly. “Tell me, do you still covet my husband?”
Lady Dalto
n shot her an acrimonious look.
Just then Katharine appeared and slipped an arm around Venetia’s waist, ostensibly intent on coming to her rescue. “Tsk, tsk, Julia. Your claws are showing—an unbecoming trait when you profess to be a lady of quality. And you seem to have forgotten that Venetia is no longer Miss Stratham, but the Countess of Traherne.”
Lady Dalton turned her unfriendly stare on Katharine, who responded with a brilliant smile. “It must nettle you, Julia, to know Venetia succeeded where you could not.”
Lady Dalton arched a supercilious eyebrow. “You are mistaken,” she responded coldly.
“Am I? Quinn has fallen madly in love. It was so very romantic. He never was the least interested in marriage until Venetia came along.”
Venetia noted that Katharine showed no remorse for the blatant falsehood, and she couldn’t help but be grateful for her protectiveness—as well as feel a measure of justice and gratification when Katharine concluded:
“I advise you to go lick your wounds in private, Julia, and refrain from making a further spectacle of yourself, as you have done so regularly in the past.”
By now the widow’s eyes were shooting daggers, but she seemed to realize she had met her equal in Lady Katharine Wilde.
When Lady Dalton spun angrily and strode off, Katharine’s gaze followed her retreating figure. “She is fortunate she failed to land Quinn. He would have murdered her before the honeymoon was over. Luckily he saw her true colors….”
Breaking off her muttering, Katharine turned to Venetia and offered her a conspiratorial smile. “I have longed to tell that woman off for ages. Her scheming makes me livid—” Abruptly Katharine gave a charming laugh. “Oh, I know, I scheme and plot as well. But my intentions are entirely virtuous. My aim is to find true love for my siblings and cousins. Julia, on the other hand, has always been a witch, and she seems set on causing you trouble. She is green with jealousy because you married Quinn. She thinks you captured his heart.”
Venetia winced. “I am sure you know that is not true.”
“Pah, even if Quinn hasn’t fallen in love with you yet, he very well could. It is only a matter of time.”
“A month ago he was courting my sister,” she pointed out dryly.
“But not because he wished to. It is my fault he ever became involved with Ophelia.”
“What do you mean?”
“I plagued him to pursue your sister.” Katharine sent her a sheepish smile. “I have a confession to make, Venetia. When I was a young girl, I became obsessed with the notion of finding true love as so many of my Wilde ancestors have done.”
She paused while Venetia nodded kindly.
“In that vein, I began looking for possible matches based on legendary lovers throughout history. You know of the Greek myth of Pygmalion? Well, I thought Quinn could mold your sister into the bride he wanted. But I see now that he was absolutely right. They would not suit at all. Ophelia is a dear sweet girl, but you are a much better fit for him. Quinn can be stubborn and infuriating, and he needs someone who is his equal, who can stand up to him.”
She was indeed better-suited, Venetia agreed. Quinn would have eaten her sister alive—or at least crushed her tender heart.
“You might even be his ideal match,” Katharine added. “We Wildes often marry our soulmates.”
Venetia’s eyebrow lifted. “Quinn very clearly does not want a soulmate. And I cannot see him as mine.”
Katharine studied her face. “His past affairs have colored your perception, perhaps for good reason.”
Venetia couldn’t help a twisted smile. “For very good reason, I would say. His affairs are legion.”
“If you are worried he will betray his marriage vows, you shouldn’t be. Quinn is a man of honor. If he gave his word to you, he will keep it.”
He hadn’t actually promised fidelity, although he had intimated at such. He was not the libertine Venetia had thought him, however, and she was willing to admit she might have misjudged him on other counts as well.
At her silence, Katharine pressed on. “The thing is, women like us think with our hearts, but Quinn thinks with his head. He sees love as a cruel game, where he is the prize and the intended victim.”
Katharine hesitated, as if debating how much more to reveal. Then she lowered her voice. “He was taught to be so cynical. Shortly after his parents died, while Quinn was attending university, a fortune hunter sank her claws into him. That tale is not common knowledge, by the way. I was barely thirteen at the time and my uncle Cornelius was his legal guardian. Quinn asked for an advance of his fortune and the Traherne jewels to give to his inamorata. It was only years later that I happened to learn the story. I had asked Uncle Cornelius why Quinn was so resistant to my legendary lovers theory, and he let it slip that Quinn had once been in love. I wouldn’t rest till I learned the whole of it.”
Katharine paused again. “It seems to me that trust will be a chief barrier for you both. Quinn will have to trust you completely before he will ever risk his heart.”
Venetia pursed her lips thoughtfully. She had never really considered his perspective. Trust was such an enormous issue for her, yet she hadn’t realized it might be just as significant for him.
“But I promise he will be worth the effort, Venetia,” Katharine said earnestly. “I have it on good authority that reformed rakes make excellent husbands. My own brother Ash is a prime example. Love makes all the difference in the world. I suspect that is the secret to inspiring a man to embrace fidelity—making him fall deeply in love with you.”
“So how do you make a man fall in love, deeply or otherwise?” Venetia asked, intensely curious.
“I wish I knew,” Katharine said with a self-deprecating laugh. “I am supposed to be this grand matchmaker, but I’ve failed spectacularly for myself. I have never found anyone to love me in return. There was one man years ago….” The wistfulness on her face suggested a painful history before she gave a graceful shrug. “In the end, it didn’t matter. He was an American who left England when war broke out between our countries. After that, there was no hope. He owned a fleet of sailing ships and fought against Britain as a privateer, which essentially made us enemies.”
Katharine cut herself short. “How I am rambling! I have never told that tale to anyone but Skye. Certainly not my brother Ash.”
“I won’t betray your confidence, Katharine.”
“Thank you.” She sighed. “But enough about me,” Katharine said amiably. “My point is simply that I am still holding out for true love—although at four-and-twenty I am considered almost a spinster.”
Venetia herself was close to being considered a spinster, she reflected before realizing Katharine was still musing aloud.
“So how do you make a rake fall deeply in love? I think you start by first making him want you. Love may very well follow desire, I’ve always believed. But whatever you do, you cannot be overt about your pursuit. I learned that lesson the hard way. I could not persuade Br…my gentleman to want me, even when I offered myself. My attempt was disastrous, the most lowering experience of my life.” Katharine gave a mock shudder at the memory before continuing. “And Quinn has more bitter experiences at being pursued than most. He has escaped too many lures of debutantes and determined mamas not to be on his guard. He cannot realize you are chasing him or you will drive him away.”
Venetia’s initial response was amusement. She was not about to chase Quinn. At any rate, making him fall deeply in love with her would likely be an impossible task. At the same time, she couldn’t stifle a tiny kernel of exhilaration at the challenging prospect….
Venetia mentally shook her head. She shouldn’t let herself indulge in wishful thinking. It was purely a fanciful dream, that Quinn would love her so much that he would never stray from the marriage bed.
He felt something for her, however, she was sure of it. He made her feel warm and secure and wanted. Surely that was not all mere illusion? And unquestionably her own feelings for him w
ere deepening. Of late they felt new, sweetly raw and uncertain….
No, she would be utterly foolish to consider pursuing him, Venetia scolded herself. And yet…she could imagine what it would be like if Quinn were her lover, her love, her joy.
At that novel thought, Venetia was beset by a whole host of contrary emotions, yearning the chief among them. That and the urge for self-protection. If she were to fall in love with Quinn and he betrayed her, she would be devastated.
Yet was the chance worth taking? It was true that she couldn’t be hurt if she never gave her heart, but perhaps the possible pain was worth the risk—
“So this is where the two of you have been hiding.”
Venetia gave a start as Quinn appeared at her side. Evidently he had come in search of her when the music ceased.
While Venetia was finding her tongue, Kate smiled brightly up at him. “We were not hiding, cousin. I was just discussing my theory with Venetia.”
He let out a sigh of acute exasperation. “I hoped you would spare her your fanciful nonsense.” Shifting his gaze, he glanced down at Venetia. “I’m afraid this is Kate’s notion of matchmaking. She has made a nuisance of herself since she was a tot, badgering us all with her demented theory.”
“By now Venetia knows I am the romantic in our family,” Katharine retorted cheerfully. “And I collect I deserve to crow a little. If not for me, you wouldn’t be wed to her now. It all started with my theory.”
“But you had the wrong legend for me. Venetia and I have more in common with Shakespeare’s Shrew.”
Katharine laughed. “Perhaps you do. Your ripostes with Venetia resemble Katharina and Petruchio’s in the Bard’s comedy. I always thought my legend would be The Taming of the Shrew, but I can see now how it would fit you better, Quinn.”
Just then, a gentleman came up to claim Katharine for a pair of country dances. With a charming smile, she excused herself, leaving Quinn alone with Venetia.
Frowning slightly, she thought back to what she remembered of Shakespeare’s comedy. Katharina, the headstrong elder sister of modest daughter Bianca, had scared away all of Bianca’s suitors with her shrewish tongue until Petruchio appeared and promised to turn Katharina into an obedient bride.
The Art of Taming a Rake (Legendary Lovers #4) Page 21