The Art of Taming a Rake (Legendary Lovers 4)

“And fetch Dr. Biddowes to tend to her injuries?”

“I will see to her welfare, Quinn, you needn’t worry.”

He was immensely worried, and reluctant to give over Venetia’s care even to his cousins and sister. Yet she didn’t appear to want his company just now.

When he nodded gravely, Jack handed his prisoner to Hawk, then moved to Venetia’s side. “Come with me, my lady.”

Although fiercely reluctant to let her out of his sight, Quinn stepped back. He would deal with Montreux as soon as possible, so he could return to Venetia tonight and try to make amends for the trauma he had put her through. He also intended to settle once and for all the question of their marriage.

Jack took her arm and supported her as she rose unsteadily. In that same low voice, Venetia issued a warning. “You must…beware, Quinn. Montreux divulged that…the cognac he gave…you was poisoned.”

She left then without another glance or a word of farewell. Quinn watched her go, knowing he would be gnashing his teeth until he could be alone with her.

—

When Venetia reached the posting inn with Lord Jack, she felt sore in both body and spirit. After battling Armand and the wrenching rope bindings, then being threatened at knifepoint by Montreux, she was still weak and shaking. Additionally, her head throbbed, her throat ached, her shoulder muscles burned, and her hands, which had grown numb, now pulsed with stinging needles.

She was grateful the nightmare had ended, though. Her greatest fear—that Quinn would be killed or hurt—was finally over. Indeed, hope and exultation had filled her at his sudden appearance in the small parlor. Yet his callous disavowal of any affection for her had cut straight into her heart.

Yes, his eyes had blazed with anger when he saw her physical condition. But his declaration about being forced to wed her had brought all her former doubts and uncertainty rushing to the surface. And when she’d desperately needed him to hold and comfort her, more important matters had demanded his attention—namely dealing with pure evil and the shocking truth that Montreux had likely caused the tragic deaths of his family and the ship’s crew.

Quinn’s professed indifference had left her with an unmistakable chill—a chill that continued as Lord Jack gently handed her down from his carriage and escorted her inside the inn.

Skye and Katharine were waiting anxiously for them in a private parlor. Visibly grateful that Jack was unharmed, both ladies embraced him warmly, then took custody of Venetia with even greater warmth.

It was comforting to have them fuss over her like protective mother hens—or even sisters—situating her on a sofa and plying her with hot tea and biscuits while Lord Jack quickly recounted the events of the past few hours.

He concluded his tale with the plans to incarcerate Montreux and his minions and added a prediction. “It may take the better part of the night for Quinn and Hawkhurst to complete their task. When you are recovered enough, Lady Traherne, we should be on our way.”

Venetia nodded. With sustenance, she felt less faint, although consternation still sat like a leaden weight in the pit of her stomach.

Katharine must have noticed her demeanor, for she asked quietly, “Would you prefer to rest here, my dear, or do you feel well enough to manage the drive home?”

Lord Jack interjected his preference. “It would be best if I deliver you to Berkeley Square and engage Biddowes to tend your injuries.”

Katharine agreed. “We can care for you better at home.”

“I can manage the drive,” Venetia assured them.

“No doubt your sister and parents will wish to see you,” Katharine added, “but that can wait until the morning. For now, it should suffice to send them a message saying that you have been found and are well but need to rest after your ordeal.”

Lord Jack left to make ready the carriage. Thus, it was not long before Venetia again found herself in his coach, this time with Skye sitting beside her, both of them facing Lord Jack and Katharine.

Once under way, Skye admitted her relief. “I confess I was worried for Hawk, although I know he has often faced similar situations. This will not be the first time he has been away all night, either. The waiting and uncertainty is most difficult to bear.”

Venetia agreed in part. Relief still coursed through her now that Quinn was safe, but her apprehension was impossible to deny—which was utterly foolish. She had no rational basis for being so upset. Quinn had only declared what she had always known: that he didn’t love her.

She ought to face the fact that he might never love her. Unquestionably his avowal had battered the fragile hope that had begun to blossom over the past few days—that they could have a happy future together.

The memory sent fresh pain lancing through her. When her chin started to quiver, Skye clasped her hand in silent sympathy.

Venetia set her jaw resolutely. She refused to cry. She alone was to blame for her false hopes. She’d spent the past few days deceiving herself, filling her foolish heart with love and dreams, but now she had to face reality.

Perhaps it was time to plan her immediate removal to France. Parting from Quinn would be like cutting out her heart, but plunging in the knife quickly might make the hurt a little less agonizing.

The hour was pressing four o’clock in the morning before Quinn at last concluded his business at the jail and climbed into his waiting carriage. Not only was he anxious to see to Venetia’s welfare, but an underlying urgency nagged at him. Now that the assassins had been captured, she had no reason to remain in England with him.

On his order, his coachman cracked the whip and sprang the horses. With a rising moon to light the country roads, Quinn made the journey to London in record time. As soon as his carriage delivered him to his Berkeley Square mansion, he bounded up the front steps and let himself in.