His mind was fixed solely on Venetia Stratham. Had she fallen so low that she was now offering her body for sale? The possibility fiercely disturbed him. Remorse sent his thoughts winging back two years ago, when he’d last laid eyes on her.
She had shocked the ton by jilting her noble fiancé on the church steps, creating a spectacle by boxing his ears and aborting the wedding ceremony in front of over two hundred guests. She’d then flung Quinn a scathing glance as she passed him on the way to her waiting carriage, no doubt despising him for the role he’d played in her bridegroom’s dissipation.
The very public denunciation of her betrothed had been the talk of London for weeks, until another titillating scandal had come along to supplant hers.
Quinn badly wanted to know what the devil she was doing in a high-class brothel. And why was she observing him so surreptitiously?
Her unexpected presence was enough to distract him from the task he’d set for himself—gaining leverage over his current opponent, Edmund Lisle, by winning overwhelmingly at Faro tonight.
And watching a young fop proposition her was downright unsettling.
Quinn voiced an oath under his breath as he recognized the blade. Lord Knowlsbridge was in his cups, swaying as he embraced her. Evidently Miss Stratham was not welcoming his attention, though, for she had pasted a pained smile on her lips while trying to extricate herself from his grasp.
She was ill-equipped to fend off a drunken lecher, Quinn suspected, his protective instincts keenly aroused. And seeing the young lord attempt to kiss her was the last straw.
Experiencing a quiet swell of fury, Quinn tossed down his cards and surged to his feet, scattering the lightskirts surrounding him and surprising the pretty Faro dealer. It was poor-mannered of him to treat the pleasure club’s attendants so thoughtlessly, and supremely bad form to leave a game in mid-play. But even had his concentration not been shattered, he couldn’t sit still while a soused coxcomb pawed at Venetia Stratham.
With a faint smile of apology to the others, Quinn addressed his opponent. “Pray forgive me, Lisle, but I willingly concede. We must resume our game at some other time.”
He could feel Lisle shooting daggers in his back as he walked away. There was no love lost between them, with their contentious past involving a jealous mistress, and now the question of how Lisle had come to possess a distinctive jeweled pendant that might once have belonged to Quinn’s French mother. But solving the mystery of a missing family heirloom would have to wait.
As he weaved his way through the crowd, intent on rescuing Miss Stratham, he saw Knowlsbridge endeavoring to remove her mask while she strove to keep it in place. Quinn doubted she wished her identity revealed, for even if she had joined the muslin company—willingly or not—her family’s reputation could still suffer from a fresh scandal. And with a younger sister of prime marriageable age, Venetia would be wise to keep her affairs discreet.
He had nearly reached her when, despite her predicament, she saw him approaching and visibly flinched, whether in surprise or dismay, he couldn’t tell. For an instant, she started to retreat, then stood her ground, her chin raised, as if bracing herself for the encounter.
“There you are, my dove,” Quinn said easily as he came up to her. “I have been eagerly awaiting your company.”
When Knowlsbridge took advantage of her t
emporary distraction to cup her breast, another sharp wave of anger flooded Quinn.
“I’ll thank you to leave the lady alone,” he warned an instant before she managed to drive the point of her elbow into the sot’s flaccid belly and make him grunt.
“Sheesh not…a lady,” the young lord complained, wheezing for breath.
“Regardless, she is mine.”
Quinn slipped an arm around Miss Stratham’s waist and drew her close. “I have missed you, darling. Have you missed me?”
She possessed huge, lustrous dark eyes, which were mostly hidden behind her mask, but even obscured, her gaze held surprise. She was clearly wondering what he was about.
But Quinn knew the jackanapes beside her understood the situation quite well: a more powerful male marking his territory, showing possession.
“Are you not pleased to see me, love?” he prodded Venetia.
“I…why, yes, my lord,” she stammered, reminding Quinn how pleasantly musical her voice was.
“Perhaps you should show me how much.”
Bending his head, he captured that full, kissable mouth the way he had longed to do for years.
She gave a faint gasp at the contact and stiffened in response. Quinn could feel shock ripple through the graceful curves of her body, while his own breath quickened at the enticing taste of her.
Her lips were just as delectable as he’d imagined, he thought, relishing their softness. Lush, resilient, the texture of silk, ripe and warm as her body.
When she tensed further, he increased the pressure, parting the seam of her mouth and slipping his tongue inside to tangle with hers.
Her lips trembled under his. Encouraged, he changed the slant of his head and took her mouth more thoroughly, coaxing her to participate in her own seduction. When finally she opened completely to him, Quinn felt the unexpected impact like a jolt of lightning: heat, pleasure, excitement, sheer satisfaction.