The Art of Taming a Rake (Legendary Lovers 4)

“Hawk once worked for the Foreign Office and has experience with matters of this nature. And I want to keep this dilemma in the family for now.”

“He has encountered possible assassins before?”

Traherne nodded. “More than once, from what I understand.”

Venetia would have explored that intriguing comment, but shortly afterward Dr. Biddowes arrived. “Two incidents in one morning, my lord? Rather alarming, wouldn’t you say?”

“You only need to stitch my wound, old friend.”

“Let me examine you…”

He removed the blanket from Traherne’s shoulders and proceeded to investigate the damage to his side.

The two men seemed to share a fond familiarity, but when the doctor took a long look at Venetia, his frowning scrutiny made her flush. He clearly recognized her—perhaps because of her scandalous past—and was not particularly happy to see her. “Is this the young lady who shot you?”

Traherne replied coolly. “You are mistaken, Biddy. She was not the culprit. A lady would not shoot her betrothed so shortly before the nuptials.”

Venetia was certain she had misheard—until Biddowes’s frown deepened and then turned to a slow grin. “I’ll be damned. You are putting your neck in the parson’s noose after all this time, Tray?”

“Yes.” Traherne sent her an enigmatic glance. She couldn’t read his expression, and his succeeding announcement made her gasp. “Miss Stratham and I are engaged to be married. The ceremony will take place tomorrow by special license.”

The lie was so blatant, Venetia could give it no credence. “You have clearly taken leave of your senses, my lord.”

Traherne cast a sideways glance at the doctor, who was engaged in removing medical instruments from a leather satchel. “Will you permit us a moment of privacy, Biddy?”

Biddowes did not seem happy to oblige. “I am short on time, Tray.”

“Pray indulge me. It should not take long.”

Venetia was unsurprised when Biddowes withdrew from the dining hall. Alone with the earl, she gave him a quelling look. “That was an outrageous falsehood.”

“Not in the least. I wish to make you a formal offer of marriage.”

Her gaze skewered him. “If this is your idea of a jest, it is in extremely poor taste.”

“It is no jest.”

“Then you must be mad.”

Traherne chuckled without humor. “Desolated as I am to contradict you, it is simple logic. This affair will make your previous disgrace look like child’s play. Shooting a peer is a criminal offense, far more serious than merely jilting one at the altar.”

“So what of it?”

“Take a moment to consider. What do you think will happen to your sister’s marriage prospects if you are mired in yet another scandal? You don’t want her to suffer further, do you? If you want to save Ophelia, then you must marry me.”

As comprehension dawned, Venetia sank weakly onto the bench. The shock of his words filled her with gut-wrenching dismay. “There must be some other way.”

“I can think of no other. And I am not leaving you to face the wolves alone this time.”

He was set on trying to protect her? She couldn’t help but be grateful for his consideration, but she could not let him make such an enormous sacrifice. “You needn’t actually marry me,” she murmured. “A betrothal should suffice.”

“Not given how spectacularly your last betrothal ended.”

She glanced up at Traherne earnestly. “But I don’t wish to marry you. And I am certain you don’t wish to marry me.”

He didn’t try to conceal his look of irony. “Granted, I did not wake this morning expecting to offer for you. But we must make the best of a poor hand. Marriage to me is your only course if you don’t want to put your sister at risk.”

A nauseating, sinking feeling knotted Venetia’s stomach. As much as she wanted to protest, she realized that he was right. A fresh scandal loomed—one that would put her entirely beyond the pale of respectability and ensnare her sister with her. She would be convicted in the court of public opinion without even a trial.