Traherne occupied himself with studying a sheaf of documents he had brought with him. For a while, the silence was—remarkably—almost comfortable between them. Wounded, he seemed more approachable, not quite as imposing as the wealthy, powerful nobleman he actually was.
As the hour grew later, though, Venetia found herself growing tense. And when he put away his correspondence and rose from the table, her heart rate increased significantly.
Wanting to put off the moment of reckoning as long as possible, she offered to change his bandage. When Traherne agreed, she helped him remove his coat and waistcoat and then his shirt.
He had a magnificent body, she thought, watching the lamplight play on the wheat gold of his hair and the rippling muscles under his skin. The sight of him sitting there shirtless made her stomach curl with fresh nerves.
She concentrated on unwrapping his bandage and examining the wound. The ravaged skin had dried and tightened, she saw, but all in all it seemed to be healing. “The stitches do not look overly inflamed. Do they hurt?”
“It itches as much as it hurts. This morning Biddy sent me more of his special ointment. Will you apply some for me?”
She opened a jar of yellow paste and was met with a pleasant scent. When she spread a small amount on the wound, Traherne’s features relaxed. She was supremely aware of his nearness and her own body’s response to touching him.
When she was done, she wrapped a fresh strip of linen around his waist. While she washed her hands, he began taking off the rest of his clothes. Although she kept her back to him, Venetia felt her nerves skittering.
Several moments passed before he spoke again. “Come to bed, love. We both have had a long, tiring day.”
She risked a glance over her shoulder at him and was very glad to see that he had donned a nightshirt.
“You should retire alone,” she murmured. “I am not in the least sleepy after my nap in the carriage.”
A hint of amusement glinting in his blue eyes, he gave her a pointed look, as if to ask, Is that the real reason?
He didn’t challenge her prevarication, however, and only replied mildly, “You will be more comfortable if you take down your hair. Allow me to assist you.”
“I can manage,” Venetia hastened to say as he crossed to her side.
She removed the pins from her coronet and combed out the dark tresses with her fingers.
“You have lovely hair,” Traherne remarked.
She shot him a quelling look and found herself caught in his gaze. Was he trying to steal away her wits? She wanted to appear sophisticated and unaffected, but with him watching her so intently, it was impossible.
“Do you need help changing your gown?” he prodded, evidently knowing she was dallying.
She shook herself from her enchantment. “Thank you, no.” She found her nightdress but hesitated. “Will you put out the lamp first?”
“You needn’t be missish with me. I have already viewed your charms.”
He had kissed her breasts, he meant.
She felt herself flush, and yet she welcomed the teasing note in his voice. She liked it better when he was provoking her. Indeed, for her own self-protection, she wanted to keep their relationship adversarial so that she could resist him more easily. Yet maintaining their initial antagonism was much more difficult when one had to share a bed.
She waited until he put out the light before beginning to undress. The darkness enveloped them, relieved only by the flames from a lazy hearth fire. She heard the rustle of the bedcovers as he settled in the bed. Venetia felt her tension soar, knowing he expected her to join him. Eventually she climbed in beside him but turned her back to him and stayed as far away as possible on the narrow mattress. Perversely, the scent of him was alluring while his warmth surrounded her, and both were having an arousing effect on her.
“Try to relax, love. You are as jittery as a feral cat.”
“What did you expect? I have never slept with a man before.” She paused. “It feels strange being married to you, even if it is not a true marriage.”
“Trust me, it feels strange to me as well.” His voice was dry with humor. “But I told you, you have nothing to fear from me.”
“Why am I not reassured?”
“Because you attribute wickedness to my every motive, regardless of how innocent.”
Venetia could not let his comment go unremarked. “Just how innocent are your motives, Lord Traherne?”
“I am your husband now. Isn’t it time we left off such a formal method of address? My given name is Quinn.”