“Perhaps I should accompany you,” Cleo said with a note of concern in her tone.
“No, I don’t want to drag you further into my problems.”
Because of her notoriety, she could not call at his London home without disguise. Thus, Venetia went upstairs to don a veil in addition to a hat and pelisse.
At the last moment, she searched in her bureau for a more convincing weapon. Traherne had laughed at her knife last evening. Well, she would bring her pistol this time, even if she would leave it unloaded.
If she had to protect herself from him, he might think twice if he had to look down the barrel of a gun.
And as she was handed into Cleo’s carriage, Venetia promised herself that no matter what sensual methods of seduction Traherne employed, or provocative diversions he created, or evasive lies he told, or sly manipulations he devised in order to put her on the defensive, she was utterly determined to hold her ground with him this time.
Lord Traherne’s home in Berkeley Square was said to be splendid, but rumors did not do it justice, Venetia decided upon arriving. Elegant and regal, the gray stone mansion was surrounded by terraced gardens that rivaled the royal gardens at Kew.
The earl’s butler did not seem disquieted by her concealing veil or insist that she give her name, but politely asked her to wait in the entry hall while he inquired if his lordship was receiving. Perhaps shrouded females visited here regularly.
To hide her nerves and pent-up frustration, Venetia focused her attention on the marble sculptures that graced the hall, trying to identify the artists. The paintings and gilt ceilings hinted at a more feminine touch, and she wondered how much Traherne’s younger sister had contributed to the decorating. She had merely a passing acquaintance with the charming Lady Skye, and also with his vivacious younger cousin, Lady Katharine Wilde. Both were older than she by a few years, but she liked them very well.
When shortly Venetia was shown into what looked to be a study, she found Traherne seated at a large desk, writing. He had removed his coat and waistcoat and was informally garbed in cravat and shirtsleeves, which emphasized his broad shoulders and chest to perfection.
Her butterflies soared the moment he looked up and locked gazes with her. He was still one of the most impossibly attractive men she had ever met. His gold hair was tousled, though, as if he’d run his hand roughly through it more than once, while the cut on his cheek had scabbed over a
nd was now surrounded by a dark purple bruise.
The reminder that he was only mortal and not some sort of Greek god served to bolster her determination. This time she would not accept defeat, Venetia vowed.
Schooling her emotions and crushing whatever sympathy she felt for his battered state, she began in a cool tone. “I am surprised to find you here, my lord. You seem to have forgotten our appointment.”
Traherne frowned slightly at her declaration but took the time to sand his letter. He seemed distracted when he rose to greet her with a slight bow. “I did not forget, Miss Stratham. I was regrettably delayed.”
“Indeed?” she replied, infusing a measure of derision into her voice.
“What brings you here? You could not have received my message so soon, since I just sent off the courier.”
She eyed him in disbelief. “I intend to finish the discussion we began last night, of course. When you were tardy by more than an hour, I decided to come to you.”
“I was on my way to Kensington when my curricle was run off the road.”
She lifted a skeptical brow. Admittedly, his response surprised her. It was not the excuse she had expected—nor was she particularly inclined to believe him. “If you think you can fob off my concerns, you are gravely mistaken—”
“My groom was injured in the accident,” he said. “Thankfully not seriously. My physician just left.”
Traherne’s further explanation took her aback. How could she take him to task if he had a legitimate reason for failing to appear this morning?
Venetia frowned behind her veil. “How do I know you are not just making up tales? Perhaps you were simply too craven to meet me.”
His smile was dry. “I assure you, I would not fabricate an excuse that puts my driving skills in such a poor light. An accident of this magnitude only makes me look ham-fisted and inept. Moreover, I would never risk my horses’ safety for the sake of assuaging a lady’s sense of ill-usage—even one as lovely as you, Miss Stratham.”
Venetia held her tongue as she realized the need to reformulate her approach. When she was silent, Traherne expounded.
“Last night I thought the miscreants might be targeting us both, but the incident this morning proved otherwise. You are not the instigator, either, I am convinced.”
“Certainly I am not. But regardless of what delayed your call this morning, you are avoiding the matter of my sister.”
“Not intentionally.”
“Either way, I would be naive to leave here until we come to terms.”
“You are persistent, I will give you that.” The slight smile in his voice irked her, even though he quickly followed with a declaration. “I swear to you, seducing your sister is the last thing I would ever contemplate, let alone act upon.”