The Art of Taming a Rake (Legendary Lovers 4)

Quinn’s fear remained at a nerve-wracking level, however. They were literally making a stab in the dark. And time was passing at glacial speed. It took more than two hours to plan for their mission, and another for their procession of carriages to reach the posting inn at the village of New Cross, where they were able to ascertain the exact location of Montreux’s former lodgings. Leaving Skye and Kate at the inn, Quinn and Jack proceeded first, with Hawk and his entourage following closely behind. They traveled several more miles and set up a command post in a wooded area, a few hundred yards from the farm cottage where Venetia was possibly being held.

With darkness for cover, Hawk led the effort to scout the premises. Quinn’s dread increased with each passing moment until Hawk reported back.

“This must be the right location,” Hawk murmured. “Thus far we counted at least four guards stationed around the cottage. We must dispose of them before we can get closer.”

Amending his orders, Hawk had his men quietly overpower the exterior guards and drag their inert forms to their camp, while he managed to peer through several windows. Again, Hawk was able to claim a measure of success. In one of the front rooms, Venetia was seated in an armless chair, with her arms tied behind the chair back, attended by a well-garbed gentleman who fit the description of Montreux. And in what appeared to be the kitchens, several men were eating and drinking at a table, including one who might be Armand Firmin.

Quinn’s incredible relief was short-lived, for they still had to free Venetia without her being harmed.

After another brief consultation, they decided to act now while they still claimed the advantage, before the missing guards were discovered. Yet if they stormed the house, she could be caught in a crossfire.

Hawk sent his best confederates a

round back to disable the men in the kitchen while he, Quinn, and Jack secured the front. Although Firmin was likely the more lethal adversary, Montreux was the first priority, and Quinn insisted on being the one to confront him.

The three of them crept up to the cottage. Then Hawk carefully eased open the front door and studied the interior. At his hand signal, they slipped inside, with Quinn bringing up the rear. Keeping an eye out for more guards, they quickly crossed the small entry hall and ducked behind the staircase, where they remained, not daring to breathe, straining to hear.

After a moment, Quinn peered around the corner, down a dimly lit corridor. There was a man posted outside the parlor door, lounging back against the wall in a bored fashion. To lure him away, Quinn called out in a muffled voice, claiming that Firmin wanted him in the kitchens.

Appearing eager to be relieved of his duties, the fellow left his post and strode down the corridor, where Hawk silently dispatched him by knocking him unconscious.

With the way cleared, Quinn eased from his hiding place. Tightly hugging the wall, he stole forward until he could enter the parlor, holding two pistols at the ready.

His sudden appearance clearly shocked Montreux, who leapt to his feet, brandishing his own pistol as well as a knife. Moving at lightning speed, the compte backed away until he stood beside Venetia, with the knife at her throat, his pistol aimed at Quinn. “Ne t’approche pas ou je vais la tuer!”

Quinn’s heart almost stopped at the vow to kill Venetia if he came any closer, but he struggled to appear calm. “If you harm her, you will be dead an instant later.”

He risked a glance at Venetia, who was gazing at him with hope and fear in her eyes. Her hair and clothing were disheveled, her skirts rucked up to expose her stockings and garters.

Quinn returned her gaze, silently offering encouragement even though his own chest was so heavy he could barely breathe. Hawk and Jack were both behind him in the corridor, but could do little good from their position.

“Comment avez-vous me trouvez?” Montreux demanded, asking how he had been found.

“I chanced that you would return to a familiar place,” Quinn answered.

The compte switched from French to English. “What happened to my men?”

“Incapacitated.”

“All of them?”

“Yes.”

Montreux cursed vividly in French.

“Release Lady Traherne, and I will let you live,” Quinn declared.

“I cannot comply. She is my surety for my freedom. You will permit me to leave with her.”

“That will not happen, Compte.”

“Then she will die.”

When the knife blade pressed deeper into her skin, Venetia paled a little but lifted her chin.

It seemed they were at an impasse. Threats would likely not work, Quinn surmised, his desperation mounting. He would offer to take Venetia’s place, but Montreux would doubtless see that as a weakness. Judging from the hatred blazing in his eyes, the compte was clearly in no mood to give quarter or surrender.

Indeed, his next words conveyed an utter recklessness. “It would give me great pleasure to kill your lady-wife before your very eyes. You will know how it feels to lose the woman you love.”