The Art of Taming a Rake (Legendary Lovers 4)

“Spoken like an experienced flatterer,” Venetia said with a wry laugh.

“If you have any doubts, you have only to watch the faces of everyone you meet tonight. I will be the envy of every man there and you the idol of every woman.”

The slow, captivating smile Quinn sent her warmed her inside, so that Venetia actually found herself anticipating their first joint venture into society with more optimism than apprehension.

Her only qualm came when Quinn escorted her to their carriage. They would be accompanied by the requisite number of footmen—sporting pistols, reminding her acutely of the danger. Venetia hated the feeling of being on guard at every moment, but she vowed not to let it ruin their evening.

Upon their arrival, after they made their way through the crowds to the ballroom, Venetia was greeted effusively by both Katharine and Skye, who quickly made her known to Sophie, a dark-haired beauty with an enchanting smile, and Lord Jack, a devilishly handsome rogue who obviously possessed the Wilde charm in great abundance.

Venetia instantly liked them both, but regrettably, she had little time to become acquainted with them, for a steady stream of people began approaching, begging for introductions—or in many cases, reintroductions. It was clear from the first moment, her reception would be far different than she’d feared, for most of the ball guests hailed her return into their midst.

The hypocrisy jarred her a little. The same hoity-toity class that had shunned her so viciously before now toadied to her because she was a countess supported by a powerful, noble family. But for her sister’s sake, Venetia smiled and did her best to charm her former detractors.

Quinn played his role extremely well. For the nonce, he was not the rake or celebrated lover that rumors portrayed him, but a protective, attentive, doting husband who gave every appearance of being in love with his new bride.

He showed her family every courtesy as well. When the Strathams joined their party, Katharine made certain their audience knew she had taken Ophelia under her wing, as had the entire Wilde clan, including the Earl of Hawkhurst.

When the orchestra struck up, Quinn led Venetia onto the floor while Lord Hawkhurst did the same for Ophelia. Quinn applied for Ophelia’s hand next.

It amazed Venetia to see him dancing with her sister. So much had changed in such a short time, she thought, amused by the irony. She had never dreamed her confrontation with Quinn at the sin club would turn out this way, with her wed to him. Even more unbelievably, she not only wanted to keep watch over him and keep him safe, but felt an ownership she had no business feeling.

Shrugging off her surge of possessiveness, Venetia kept a close eye on her sister instead, gratified to see that Ophelia had a steady stream of dance partners, many of whom were eligible young bachelors, thanks to Katharine.

Some while later, though, an incident threatened to shatter her pleasure for the evening. Her partner—an elderly gentleman—was escorting her to the punch table when she spied a stunning raven-haired beauty staring at her from across the ballroom. Venetia recognized her as none other than Lady X, as the gossip rags had dubbed Julia, Lady Dalton.

Venetia’s stomach lurched at the sight of Quinn’s former mistress. She busied herself thanking her elderly partner for the refreshment and quizzing him about his family and young granddaughters, but then a sultry voice spoke behind her.

“I wondered when you would be brave enough to show your face in public, Miss Stratham.”

Venetia first froze, then turned to find Lady Dalton languidly waving a hand-painted silk fan. Her manner was outwardly amiable for the sake of appearances, but the brittle tone to her voice suggested anything but friendliness.

The elderly gentleman suddenly recalled a prior engagement and bowed himself away. Although her stomach felt weighted by a lump of lead, Venetia pasted a smile on her face, conscious of countless pairs of eyes watching them.

“I don’t believe we have met,” she managed to say.

“But you no doubt know of my history with your husband,” Lady Dalton purred.

Caught completely off guard, Venetia struggled to think of a suitable retort. Evidently the widow saw her as a rival and was staking the advantage by boldly seeking her out in front of an inquisitive crowd. She had to give Lady X credit for audacity, even though she couldn’t stop the fierce pang of jealousy raking through her—or seem to make her tongue work.

Before she could deliver a reply, Lady Dalton continued. “I must applaud your cleverness, Miss Stratham. I initially thought you were supremely foolish to shoot Traherne, but I suppose it was the only way you could ensnare him.”

“I understand you failed to ensnare him yourself,” Venetia said sweetly. “Tell me, do you still covet my husband?”

Lady Dalto

n shot her an acrimonious look.

Just then Katharine appeared and slipped an arm around Venetia’s waist, ostensibly intent on coming to her rescue. “Tsk, tsk, Julia. Your claws are showing—an unbecoming trait when you profess to be a lady of quality. And you seem to have forgotten that Venetia is no longer Miss Stratham, but the Countess of Traherne.”

Lady Dalton turned her unfriendly stare on Katharine, who responded with a brilliant smile. “It must nettle you, Julia, to know Venetia succeeded where you could not.”

Lady Dalton arched a supercilious eyebrow. “You are mistaken,” she responded coldly.

“Am I? Quinn has fallen madly in love. It was so very romantic. He never was the least interested in marriage until Venetia came along.”

Venetia noted that Katharine showed no remorse for the blatant falsehood, and she couldn’t help but be grateful for her protectiveness—as well as feel a measure of justice and gratification when Katharine concluded:

“I advise you to go lick your wounds in private, Julia, and refrain from making a further spectacle of yourself, as you have done so regularly in the past.”