In the dim interior, Venetia saw Quinn smile. “I told you my original aim was to help her attract more suitable admirers than myself. I trust you finally believe me.”
“I do now that I know of your cousin’s theory about Pygmalion—and how Kate was pressing you to court Ophelia. But I can’t credit that you compared me to a shrew.”
“You are an adorably sweet shrew.”
With an arch look, Venetia adopted his bantering tone. “A shrew is precisely what every woman wishes to be called,” she complained sardonically. “And if you think you can tame me, Lord Traherne, you should think again.”
“Take care, darling, or I will attempt it.”
Perhaps it was the headiness of the moment, but Venetia took a deep breath and plunged in before she could change her mind. “I dare you to try.”
She could tell she had surprised him, but his answer came swiftly. “Would you prefer your bedchamber or mine?”
It took her a bit longer to respond. She would be wise to invite him to stay with her for the night, Venetia decided, rather than go to his bed, or he might think she was chasing him, as Katharine had warned against.
“You are welcome to come to my rooms.”
“I would be delighted.”
The air between them was suddenly charged with sexual tension, which lasted as they entered the house and handed their outer garments to a footman, and intensified when Quinn led her upstairs to her bedchamber door.
Instead of accompanying her inside, however, he bent to murmur in her ear, “I will come to you in a quarter hour. That should give you time to ready yourself for me.”
The words were ripe with meaning, and Venetia felt her mouth go dry. He meant to draw out her anticipation and leave her hungering.
Entering her room, where her sleepy lady’s maid awaited her, she changed out of her beautiful ball gown and donned her nightshift. Then, dismissing the girl with her thanks, Venetia sat at her dressing table, slowly brushing her hair. Her nerves were on edge as she waited for her husband to come to her.
Her husband. If only that were completely true.
Strange, how having a real marriage with Quinn now seemed so profoundly appealing. Moreover, tonight Katharine had started her thinking a great deal about trust and love.
It was not fair to judge Quinn based on her past wretched experience, Venetia conceded. He was strong and admirable, not weak and deceitful as Ackland was. Ackland had deluded her as to his true character, but once her eyes were opened, her disbelief and hurt had been replaced by anger. The truth was, her pride had been savaged far more than her heart.
She couldn’t help comparing the two men in other ways also. Curiously, Quinn treated her as a flesh-and-blood woman, not a fragile, delicate flower or genteel damsel to be set on a pedestal. Ackland had wanted her for his own material purposes and hadn’t shown her an inkling of the passion Quinn did with the simplest of kisses.
There had never been any spark between them, either. She had never kissed her betrothed with a fraction of the ardor she felt for Quinn—nothing like the explosive fire that had erupted between them from their first moments together at the gaming hell.
And she was willing to trust Quinn in many respects now. She knew he would keep his word and allow her to return to France once the threat was over. And yet…she yearned for a different future than her current path. If not for the danger to Quinn’s life, she might actually be glad for the excitement and adventure of being his wife.
Furthermore, at heart, she had a deep hunger for love. She’d learned that about herself these past few weeks.
In France, she had made herself believe that her dreams were hopeless. She had been determined to be content with her chosen lot, to accept the great yawning emptiness of her life. Yet returning home to England had forcibly reminded her of her sense of isolation these past two years.
I have been so alone.
Venetia shook off the dark reflection as her mind skipped ahead. If she didn’t act now, her future would only hold more of the same. All she could look forward to was a lonely spinster existence.
She wanted to change that dreary fate. She wanted to belong someplace, belong to someone. To Quinn. She wanted true love. A devoted husband. A chance at having children, a family. With Quinn. She felt a bone-deep longing for those things.
The brush stilled in her hand. What if she could permanently return from exile? What if she could become Quinn’s wife in more than name only?
In fact, what if he truly was her life’s mate?
The compelling thought aroused a deep ache inside her. She ought not deceive herself, of course. It was mad to think she could ever become his soulmate. She wanted far more than Quinn could give. Apparently he would risk his life long before he would risk his heart.
But I have to try.
Venetia gazed down at the brush, wondering if she could somehow turn the tables on him. They had jested about him taming her, but clearly she was the one who must do the taming.