“You are suggesting a union in name only?”
“Precisely. I will need an heir at some point, but Skye’s children can inherit my title. You would be free to return to France with Mrs. Newcomb at Season’s end, assuming I catch the perpetrator. I’m not letting you
out of my sight until I know you are safe.”
“Are you serious?”
“Entirely.”
For a long moment, Venetia scrutinized Traherne’s handsome features, which held no clue as to his feelings about so momentous a decision. But he could not be as nonchalant as he appeared.
“How do I know you will uphold our bargain?” she finally asked.
“You will simply have to trust me.”
In the past day she had gotten herself in big trouble by not trusting his word, Venetia reflected. It was time for her to change.
When she didn’t answer immediately, Traherne went on. “Trust or no, we really have no choice. And I won’t argue further with you.”
She was doing enough arguing for the both of them. For another score of heartbeats, she mentally reviewed the evidence.
The last thing she wanted was to be locked in marriage to a Lothario, especially one as provoking as Traherne. She could not regret choosing to become an outcast two years ago rather than marry her philandering betrothed. She had weathered that scandal and could do so again. And yet this time the damage to her sister would be more monumental. Ophelia would be scorned and spurned, all because of Venetia.
Which was unthinkable.
No, her sister and parents had to take precedence over her own personal wishes.
At the inevitable conclusion, despondency nearly overwhelmed Venetia, but she forced herself to respond.
“Very well, then…” she said in a small voice. “I will marry you, Lord Traherne.”
“Take heart, Venetia. It is not the end of the world.”
There was a gentleness in his voice that surprised her. And when she returned his gaze intently, the blue eyes pierced her. She saw understanding and sympathy there, even tenderness. He must have guessed how distressed she was.
His reaction brought sudden tears to her eyes and a lump to her throat—which made her vexed at herself for showing such weakness.
Whether or not he was giving her a moment to compose herself, Traherne continued as if he had always known what her answer would be. “There is much to be done. I will first have to apply for a special license and arrange for a minister. As for wedding invitations, I have already sent for Hawk. Skye will likely accompany him, if I know her, but I must invite my cousin Katharine as well. My cousins Ash and Jack will be content with a simple announcement, but Kate would never forgive me if she could not attend my wedding.”
Squaring her shoulders, Venetia made herself sit beside him on the sofa and start composing a list of immediate needs. She was not one to wallow in despair, or struggle against things she could not change, and this should be no exception. She needed to buck up and face her future with grace and dignity, even if her heart was still resisting vehemently.
It required every ounce of her willpower to join in the planning of her impending wedding, however. She still could not believe this was even happening. The moment seemed surreal, as if another person were inhabiting her body.
While Traherne mused aloud about two other of his closest relatives who would not be present tomorrow—his middle-aged uncle, Lord Cornelius Wilde, who had raised the Wilde orphans and was now enjoying recently wedded bliss in the country, and his aunt-by-marriage, Lady Isabella Wilde, who had returned to her home on a Mediterranean island—Venetia contemplated her own relatives.
“Perhaps I ought not tell my sister and parents of our marriage just yet,” she said with renewed gloom. “They will see my actions as a betrayal.”
“They won’t understand that you are saving them. It is better to wait until our union is a fait accompli. I will send a notice to the papers to be printed the following day.”
Venetia nodded. She badly wanted her family present at her wedding but knew they wouldn’t deign to come. Ophelia would be unhappy at losing a splendid catch like Traherne and their parents would likely be enraged.
“I would like to invite my friend Mrs. Newcomb,” Venetia said.
“Of course. In fact, you should send for her now, since you will be staying here for the night. You will need your friend to act as chaperone.”
“Is that really necessary?”
“Yes. I am not letting you out of my sight until I am certain you will be safe. I can protect you better here. I have an army of servants on the lookout for the shooter. Don’t fight me on this, darling. I would never forgive myself if you came to harm because of me.” From his deadly serious tone, Venetia knew it was futile to protest.