“Just rakehells.”
“Deceitful rakehells in particular. Can you blame me? I nearly wed one. It is not at all heartening to know your betrothed preferred a prostitute to a marriage bed with you.”
His gaze turned strangely tender. “No, I cannot blame you. But not all rakehells are deceitful.”
“I suppose not,” Venetia agreed grudgingly. “All the same, I refuse to succumb to your blandishments.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You do realize what an irresistible challenge that is.”
Venetia’s pulse suddenly leapt as she locked gazes with him. When Traherne turned fully to face her, she stared mutely, feeling the fresh sizzle of heat between them.
As she floundered for a retort, his voice softened to a murmur. “I’ll wager I could make you want me if I set my mind to it.”
He was arrogant and outrageously self-confident, yet for good reason. “That is one wager I don’t intend to make,” Venetia hastened to say.
“Why are you so set against lovemaking? I can safely predict you would enjoy carnal relations.”
“I am perfectly happy without.”
“I doubt that. You clearly don’t know what you are missing.”
Except she did know. Or at least she had a strong inkling. Just yesterday morning Traherne had given her a powerful taste of what his lovemaking would be like. “I will forgo the opportunity to discover it, thank you. Furthermore, our marriage is not a true one, so there should be no consummation.”
“We needn’t consummate our union to enjoy ourselves.”
Venetia’s lips curved. “Is everything about pleasure for you?”
“Certainly not. But pleasure is preferable to the alternative. And you deserve some pleasure in your life after the past two years.”
“Oh, so now you are thinking about me?”
His slow, lazy smile was absolutely devastating. “Not entirely. But I do have your best interests at heart. You are my wife now. My countess. I have an obligation to ensure your well-being and happiness.”
“I hereby relieve you of the obligation.”
“What if I don’t wish to be relieved?” He considered her thoughtfully. “Before our union, you were resolved on becoming a dried-up spinster. Is that still your aim?”
Venetia eyed him narrowly, taken aback by the seriousness of his question. For a change, she sensed he was not trying to bait her. Even so, she had no immediate answer for him.
When she remained silent, he posed the question a different way. “Do you intend to remain a virgin for the rest of your life?”
“I have not given it much consideration.”
“You should. I know for a fact you are not passionless.”
Her flush was instinctive. “How did we come to be discussing my passion or lack of it?”
“Because you strike me as someone in need of reassurance. Trust me, you have no earthly reason to feel insecure in your appeal. You are one of the most desirable women I have ever known.”
“Ackland did not think so,” she couldn’t help but reply, then bit her tongue, ashamed of the hurt in her tone.
Evidently Traherne had taken note of her bitterness, though, for he said frankly, “Ackland was a fool.”
She looked at him in disbelief. “He was your friend.”
“He was still a fool for giving you up—”
Traherne seemed to catch himself then, for he cut off the remark and his mouth curled wryly. “I’ve had enough of bathing for one day—and enough sexual torment as well.” He waded toward her. “Do you mean to watch me dry off?”