The Art of Taming a Rake (Legendary Lovers 4)

Jack responded with a curt command. “Go.”

Quinn glanced over his shoulder. Montreux lay curled on the carpet, clutching his shoulder and whimpering, with an armed Jack standing guard over him.

Quinn returned his attention to Venetia as she leaned against him for support. His heart still thudding painfully in his chest, he held her away so he could take stock again of her white, battered face, her trembling body. Fresh rage filled him at the cuts and bruises on her cheek and throat—and those were only the wounds he could see. He raised a finger to the abraded skin on her neck. “Montreux did this to you?” he ground out.

“No, it was his hired…mercenary, Armand. I tried to…escape through the rear garden…but Armand caught me and brought me…here so Montreux could watch me.”

Quinn clenched his jaw as he marveled at her courage in trying to escape her captors. She must have been shaken from Firmin’s brutality, yet she’d had the presence of mind to turn the advantage to him against Montreux, a testament to her mettle. “If you hadn’t turned over your chair when you did, I could never have gotten off the shot.”

She didn’t answer directly. “I knew you would come for me…and it terrified me. He meant to kill you.” A shudder vibrated through her.

The same shudder swept through Quinn. She had come so close to dying. They both had.

“Can you ever forgive me for putting you in such danger?” he murmured.

She lifted her head to search his face. Her eyes were shadowed and her mouth trembled a little. Then she looked away as if trying to hide her hurt. “It was not your fault…that Montreux was so set on revenge.”

Now was not the time to profess his love, Quinn knew, but he badly wanted to reassure her.

Before he could, however, she raised a hand to her temple and swayed. “I feel faint. May…I sit down?”

“Of course.” He helped Venetia to a chair, berating himself for forgetting her injuries.

Just then Hawk returned. “Firmin and his minions are in our custody, and our men suffered no serious injury. What of the compte?”

By now the smoke had cleared, but the stench of gunpowder remained. Montreux still lay on the floor, moaning in pain, with blood seeping through his fingers where he clutched his shoulder.

Apparently Jack had examined the wound, for he answered at once. “The ball is lodged inside him, and he is bleeding profusely. He will need a surgeon.” Jack glanced between Hawk and Quinn. “What shall we do with him?”

Quinn replied first. “I don’t give a bloody damn what happens to him. He abducted and nearly killed my wife.”

Venetia spoke up quietly. “That was not his only crime. He admitted…that he hired Armand to kill you…to prevent you from learning what happened…to your parents’ ship. I believe he somehow sabotaged…the ship so he could claim your mother’s jewels. He might even…have manufactured the explosion.”

A new kind of anger speared through Quinn. “I suspected he

might be involved. Nothing else made sense. If so, he caused the murder of my family and the entire crew.”

Montreux’s gasped reply was defiant. “You have…no proof.”

His jaw hardening, Quinn gazed contemptuously down at his nemesis. “I will find proof in time. I plan to find the shipwreck to determine if an explosion occurred. But if you wish to have a surgeon remove the ball in your shoulder, you will disclose the part you played. Otherwise your wound will putrefy and rot—if you don’t bleed to death first.” He smiled coldly. “I prefer you to survive long enough to stand trial and hang, but one way or another, I will discover the truth. You may choose.”

Montreux refused to comment. When Jack pulled him upright, the compte groaned and gritted his teeth.

“What is your decision?” Quinn demanded.

Montreux’s glare was full of hatred. “Very well, I…will…reveal to you what happened.”

Hawk volunteered his services then. “Traherne, your presence will be required to resolve his fate, as well as that of Firmin and the others. I can deliver them to the authorities tonight. I will find the nearest magistrate and summon a surgeon. But eventually you will have to press charges.”

Quinn nodded. He wanted very much to lay charges and to hear Montreux’s confession, but he hesitated when Venetia raised her hand to her temple and closed her eyes. No doubt she was suffering from shock as well as physical pain. She needed care and comfort at once.

Bestirring herself, Venetia said in a weak voice, “You ought to go with Lord Hawkhurst. I am well enough.”

Again Quinn hesitated. She was pale, frightened, shaky, but also grimly stoic.

He looked at his cousin. “Jack, will you escort her to the posting inn where Skye and Kate are waiting and accompany them home?”

“Of course.”