The Art of Taming a Rake (Legendary Lovers 4)

In point of fact, he would not be a real husband to her. They were preparing to orchestrate a deception on the ton with a sham marriage.

She was grateful, however, that he had readily offered her a practical solution. Although she might deplore his rakehell ways, he was making an enormous sacrifice for her sake. More astonishingly, he was willing to let her have an independent life. She could think of no other gentleman who would give up his own future in so heroic a gesture.

And while he could be infuriating, he had also displayed moments of extreme kindness and generosity. She’d seen his protectiveness of his sister and cousin in the past, and now he wanted to extend his shield of protection to her. In years, no one but Cleo had cared enough to protect her, not even her own family.

Of course, marrying Traherne would be the end of whatever remaining dreams she might still have harbored about her own future. There would be nothing of substance to their relationship. He was offer

ing her no promises, no illusions, no expectations of love or romance, or even physical relations. He had made no mention of sharing a nuptial bed. Even if she could picture him as her lover…

Abruptly Venetia shied away from the beguiling image. That way lay danger. It would be difficult enough to keep her attraction under control without dwelling on his superior skills as a lover.

As it was, Traherne not only filled her with frustration and vexation, but also excitement and arousal. More remarkable, a treacherous part of her actually wanted to wed him. It was madness, most certainly. She didn’t want to admit her secret yearning even to herself, but some foolish part of her wanted to accept his proposal of marriage for its own sake.

She must be desperate or deranged or both. Cleo would surely think her insane for agreeing to wed Traherne.

She hoped Cleo could come soon. She badly needed her friend’s support if not her counsel.

Meanwhile, the oddest bubble of hope was rising up inside her. The morning had ended in utter disaster, and yet…she couldn’t help but feel strangely, inexplicably, foolishly optimistic.

—

Quinn ran a hand roughly through his hair as he returned to his invalid seat on the sofa. He was still dealing with the jolting shock of being shot and proposing marriage in the space of an hour.

The pain in his side, although throbbing, was not too agonizing, he decided. His discomfort came more from the realization that he—a dedicated bachelor—would be wearing chains of matrimony by this time tomorrow.

But he really had no choice. The savagery had already begun. His own congenial housekeeper and his friend Biddy had both leapt to the wrong conclusions. At the accusations against Venetia, a fierce protectiveness had welled up inside Quinn, and he’d made up his mind instantly. It was no more than his duty. She had been hurt too much already.

The irony was not lost on him, though. He’d spent the last decade avoiding serious entanglements, only to be forced to offer a hasty proposal to a beauty who disdained him.

In fact, he should be furious. He’d lost control of his future, when he’d vowed always to determine his own destiny, to govern his own fate. But remarkably, resignation more aptly described his present feelings.

Venetia had fought more against acknowledging the necessity of their union than he had. Quinn frowned as he remembered her expression—her chin locked in a position of pride when she declared she didn’t want his pity. Her despairing protests had roused a long-repressed tenderness inside him.

He could actually understand, however, why this particular woman impacted him so profoundly. For one thing, Venetia had true courage. His opinion of her mettle had gone up another notch when she had been ready to charge after the gunman unarmed. She had long ago won his admiration, but she was facing this current turn of events with remarkable fortitude. How many women would make such a sacrifice for a sister, no matter how beloved?

Marrying her would not exactly be a hardship for him, either. She was the sort of bride he would have chosen had he wanted to wed. With her elegance and grace, she would easily fill the role of his countess, and with her intellect and passion, she would certainly never bore him.

She was also one of a few women besides his Wilde relatives who were willing to stand up to him. Nothing like the numerous husband-hunters who had thrown themselves at his head since he was out of short coats. Just the opposite, in fact. Which was highly refreshing. Moreover, Venetia had proved she valued character over wealth and so was unlikely to covet his fortune more than himself.

There were other points in her favor as well. Their raillery amused him, and he felt a palpable desire for her. She was spirited enough to challenge him. Indeed, she would be a constant challenge. Yet there was a sweetness beneath her tart exterior, a vulnerability that called to something deep inside him.

She would never be quietly biddable as Ophelia would have been, though. Her wit, her fire, her independence, her gumption, all had earned his respect. Initially he’d thought Ophelia might possess some of those same appealing qualities as Venetia, but he was mistaken on that score.

He was also aware that he’d created a dichotomy by suggesting a marriage in name only. Usually when Wildes married, they mated for life.

And Venetia had said she wanted a husband who would love her. She deserved to be loved, to be cherished. But he was not that man.

For him, love was out of the question. He was not about to suffer the pangs and arrows of unrequited love as in his gullible youth. He would never make himself so vulnerable again.

From the time he had fallen victim to a fortune hunter, he had repressed his emotions in favor of cool, scientific logic. He wanted no intimate connections or commitments that would turn him into a helpless dupe.

Oh, he’d expected to wed eventually to gain an heir, but he wasn’t certain he even wanted children, since emotional attachments would make him too vulnerable to pain. Perhaps because he had experienced death and loss at an early age, he was not eager to risk more.

Consequently, a marriage of convenience to Venetia seemed the answer. They could both walk away in the end with their hearts intact. Meanwhile, honor and obligation would be satisfied.

He would be uprooting her life in shocking fashion, true, but he would make certain to give her a far better one than she currently endured in exile. A life of wealth and privilege she deserved.

Issues about their future together could be resolved at some later time. For now his first priority was to keep Venetia safe from harm from both his potential assassin and the nearly as lethal knives of the ton.