And in so doing, they had crossed an invisible bridge and there was no going back.
Before they left for Portsmouth early the next morning, Quinn suggested once more that Venetia remain safely in Somerset, but she would have none of it. In good conscience, she could not possibly remain behind. What if he were killed while she was safe in hiding, sitting here cravenly doing nothing to help him? If he had to face danger, she wanted to be at his side.
Granted, Venetia reflected as Quinn handed her into the waiting coach, her about-face in so short a time was odd considering that she had wanted to do him bodily harm only a fortnight ago. But she felt linked to him now, in no small part because of the consummation of their union yesterday.
Her body still throbbed with the aftershocks. She had never realized passion could be so magical. Their joining had been like becoming part of him—profoundly intimate not only physically but emotionally as well.
Quinn was the consummate lover, by turns gentle and demanding, always captivating. Venetia flushed to remember how he had made her writhe and moan and then calmed her afterward with soothing whispers.
His remarkable skill explained why women threw themselves at his feet and lost their heads and hearts over him. Why former paramours tried desperately to hold on to him—Lady X causing a public scene to regain his favor, for example—and why Venetia’s own young schoolmate, Lydia Price, had fallen madly in love with him with absolutely no encouragement.
She herself was no less susceptible than those hapless victims of desire, Venetia conceded as she sat next to Quinn in the swaying vehicle. In truth, she realized, she felt decidedly different than she had during the journey that had brought them here. After yesterday’s experience, she understood how one could easily become addicted to lovemaking. She also better understood why certain men became rakes.
It was not just the incredible pleasure Quinn had given her with his masterful lovemaking. It was more that he had made her feel utterly womanly and desirable in every part of her being. And when she recalled spending last night in his bed, how the entire time he had held her like a cherished lover…the memory of how wonderful it felt made her throat ache.
Dawn had come far too early, to her mind. She had wanted to stay curled against him forever, warm and safe and treasured.
Waking beside Quinn was a newly cherished experience as well. Simply meeting his tender blue eyes made her breath catch. But then, breathlessness was becoming a habit every time he merely looked at her. And when he touched her—even if the gesture was as casual as assisting her into the carriage—she felt a warm, telltale swelling between her thighs.
Foolish, really, especially since his focus this morning had switched to more serious matters. Venetia had to shake herself from her blissful memories to concentrate on his reasons for detouring by Portsmouth on the southwestern coast of England: He not only wanted to check construction of his steamship but to alert his master builder and engineers to watch out for any signs of sabotage.
“My methods of fabrication are no secret,” Quinn expounded, “but if the villain is my main shipping rival, David Huffington, I would expect him to try to prevent our completion. If he hopes to corner the market on ocean steam transport, greed could be his motive. Otherwise, why would he try to kill me but leave my newly designed ship intact?”
His rationale made good sense to Venetia, and for the remainder of the journey, she listened with interest as Quinn explained the rudimentaries and scientific principles of propelling a wooden-hulled, three-masted, schooner-rigged sailing ship by auxiliary steam power.
He was obviously passionate about the subject. As he narrated the difficulties of design and manufacture, particularly the crucial relationship between weight and stability and the enormous scale of the endeavor, it became clear that he was not just the source of funding but was deeply involved in every aspect of the venture. And when they arrived in Portsmouth early that afternoon, she received a firsthand glimpse of Quinn in action.
A soft spring rain earlier had left the air smelling fresh and clean, but the more pungent scents of brine and fish and tar joined the mix when they reached the shipyard.
His construction crew, Quinn had said, was supervised by a master builder and three engineers but relied on seasoned sailors to advise on practical operations. A nearby foundry had made the single-cylinder engine, boiler, and twin collapsible paddle wheels, which had all then been transported by wagon in pieces and assembled on a dry dock.
Upon stepping down from the carriage, Venetia could see the decks swarming with laborers. The moment she boarded with Quinn, a small group of men broke away to greet him with enthusiasm, looking surprised once the introductions were made to learn that his lordship had married.
After that, Quinn became fully absorbed with the challenges and the smallest details regarding the new ship—so much so that he seemed to forget about her. Yet Venetia didn’t mind. It was fascinating to see this side of him, his sharp mind intent on solving problems, the intrigued light in his eyes as he interrogated his engineers about gear ratios and flywheels and housing frames for the ten-bladed paddles and inspected even nooks and crannies.
The construction efforts were still encountering obstacles, he was told, and although there had been no obvious instances of sabotage, his crew promised to be on guard during the final two months before launch.
“It is all quite amazing,” Venetia said honestly when she and Quinn returned to the carriage.
Her praise made him smile. “Several paddle steamers have served as river ferries here in England in the last decade, and one crossed the Channel to France last year. But none were designed for speed or have proved seaworthy for long voyages. Huffington’s steamship construction is six months behind ours and it hasn’t the increased capability of weathering storms. But even if I have no evidence to suggest he’s the culprit, it’s only wise to investigate him, if only to rule him out.”
Venetia’s expression sobered at the reminder they were returning to danger.
The closer they got to London, the more her nerves felt on edge. Their mission was to find and stop a potential killer, but they disagreed over the best way to proceed. Quinn’s plan was to flush out the villain by making himself more visible, which alarmed Venetia.
“I intend to take precautions,” Quinn assured her. “Hawk has experienced men I can call upon. I can hire a virtual army for protection if need be. In fact, I want armed footmen accompanying you at all times. If I am at risk, you will be also.”
“I trust you will do the same for yourself.”
“Yes, but I must be discreet about it. I cannot draw out my attacker while surrounding myself with guards and hiding at home.”
She gave a huff of exasperation. “You are supposed to have a brilliant mind. It seems witless and reckless to put yourself out there as a target. I don’t like it one bit.”
“I am flattered that you are worried for my sake.”
“I am not the only one. Your sister thinks you risk your own skin far too frequently.”
“In this case it is necessary. I’ll call upon Lisle first thing tomorrow so I will have the element of surprise. I will go armed, naturally.”