“No.” Snatching up her stockings and boots, she scrambled to her feet and backed away.
His soft chuckle followed her retreat across the cave. “Never fear, I promise I won’t seduce you unless you wish me to.”
Unless you wish me to.
The words repeated in her head like a delicious threat, which disturbed her nearly as much as his unsettling comments. But Venetia busied herself putting on her shoes and stockings while he dressed, and by the time they left the cave, she had willed herself to composure. She even helped him apply a fresh bandage when they returned to the cottage.
An
d when that chore was done, she congratulated herself. She had faced Traherne’s most potent temptations yet and felt almost confident that she could manage to resist him for the remainder of their time here together.
Almost.
—
He was treading in dangerous waters, Quinn reflected as he watched Venetia leave his bedchamber after seeing to his wound.
Yes, she presented a unique challenge—a woman who professed not to want him, a bride who insisted on sleeping alone. Yes, her resistance stung his pride and brought out the conqueror in him. But regrettably, the issue was far more complicated.
He was being lured in emotionally, damn and blast it. He cared, more than he’d realized.
He also relished her company as much as he’d feared he would. Venetia was…strangely comfortable. He needn’t treat her like delicate porcelain, eschewing frankness and honesty or withholding barbs out of concern that he might offend her feminine sensibilities. Instead she responded to his teasing with worthy gibes of her own, with humor brightening her luminous eyes. Her directness, too, was utterly novel and refreshing after all the toadying sycophants who had fawned over him since he was in short coats, trying to win his favor.
The truth was, he was delighted by her mind and her body both. Despite the strain on his loins, he felt pleasure simply being with her.
Admittedly he’d never felt so fiercely attracted to any other woman. Nor had he ever struggled so hard against physical need. Since their first night together as man and wife, he’d spent his time in an acute state of arousal, with self-command and desire warring brutally in his midsection.
Remembering the searing pleasure he’d felt bringing Venetia to climax that first morning together was especially stirring. There had been wariness in those amazing eyes of hers, but also curiosity and need…and so much vulnerability and wonder in her face.
Her vulnerability drew him in, kindling an instinctive need to protect her that vied powerfully with his desire to possess her. Most of all, he wanted to expose the passionate, sensual woman beneath her defensive, guarded exterior.
She had no faith in her desirability, Quinn was well aware. Her self-esteem had been wounded too deeply by Ackland’s betrayal.
He would change that, Quinn decided. He intended to make up for the deprivation she’d endured during her two years of exile. She had suffered too much hurt through no fault of her own.
Pleasure. The word was greatly on Quinn’s mind of late. Despite his physical discomfort and the warnings of his conscience, he meant to show Venetia the kind of pleasure she deserved, to make her feel the same pleasure he felt when she was near.
He would have a great deal of work to do to overcome her feelings of mistrust, of course. But he was willing to go slowly. Venetia had to be wooed delicately, enticed like a shy butterfly.
Quinn’s mouth curved in a wry grimace. He’d never envisioned wedding a reluctant bride. He’d never imagined needing to seduce his own wife, either. Ironic, when he was supposed to be such a vaunted lover.
But regardless, he would make Venetia forget her painful memories of her betrothed if it was the last thing he ever did.
The afternoon in the cave set the pattern for their relationship over the next several days. They shared an easy rapport as they came to know each other during their wide-ranging discussions, yet with a powerful undercurrent of sexual tension beneath.
When Venetia quizzed Traherne about his past, she discovered how he had come by his obsession with steam-propelled sailing ships. His distant relative and Lady Katharine’s uncle, Lord Cornelius Wilde, was a literary genius, but translating ancient tomes from Latin and Greek was not for him, Traherne admitted.
“I was always more interested in science and mathematics,” he explained. “For a time, I dabbled in medicine, which was how I met Biddowes. While still at university, I became fascinated with innovations. Although engineering is not my expertise, I could recognize ingenuity and hire technical experts to bring an invention to fruition, so I began funding various projects and providing capital for minor ventures. It is only in the past couple years, however, that I became involved on a grand scale.”
“Your steam engine?” Venetia asked.
“Yes. There are actually several enterprises pursuing the radical notion of steam power at sea, both here in Britain and in America. But mine will be one of the first to actually test the theory in a working model. We hope to launch by summer’s end.”
“It seems an admirable endeavor,” Venetia observed honestly, “especially for a man of your stamp.”
The corners of his eyes began to play with a smile. “Did you think I spend all my time in dissipation?”
“Well, yes. Or at least all your nights. You have always led a life of notoriety, and I know for certain that you consort with a raffish set, including Lord Byron, and of course Ackland.”