Page 18 of The Art of Taming a Rake (Legendary Lovers 4)

“The sooner the better. I would prefer an earlier hour if you can drag yourself out of bed.”

“Nine o’clock, then, but it may be a late night for me here.”

“So you mean to return to the club?”

“Yes. I haven’t finished what I began.”

“And just what is that?” she asked curiously.

“As I said, I am here for the gaming.”

She couldn’t resist a taunt. “Not to sport with your latest paramour?”

He contemplated her for several heartbeats. “I feel compelled to mention, darling, that I don’t need to patronize a brothel to find female companionship. Not only can I afford someone of a higher class, but my tastes are much more discriminating.”

“I don’t doub

t it,” Venetia responded, unable to tamp down a note of bitterness.

He had clearly been enjoying their sparring, but he must have realized that he’d struck a nerve, for his expression sobered.

And then he took her wholly by surprise. Reaching in, he caught her shoulders, drew her close, and planted a slow kiss on her lips that utterly deprived her of breath.

The surge of heat that raced through Venetia was as searing as his two previous kisses, but at least she was more prepared this time. After the initial shock, Venetia pulled back and raised her hand in order to box his ears.

Traherne caught her wrist easily, though, preventing the blow and giving her another sensual smile. “I will see you in the morning, love.”

Having stunned her yet again, he stepped back and shut the door, then slapped the panel twice, giving Cleo’s coachman the office to start.

As the vehicle drove out of the stable yard, Venetia sank against the squabs, once again left totally speechless. Incomprehensibly, she wanted to curse Traherne and kiss him at the same time.

She raised her gloved fingers to her burning lips, her thoughts whirling. He delighted in setting her back on her heels and keeping her off balance, but her reaction to him was so out of character for her. She was frustrated that she hadn’t ended his courtship of her sister, irritated that she was worried for his well-being, and aghast that she not only enjoyed his kisses and tender protectiveness, she actually craved more.

Perhaps she had made a grave mistake coming here, Venetia decided, scarcely believing what had happened tonight. Together they had chased off a pack of thugs bent on malevolence, after Traherne had practically seduced her.

She shouldn’t be surprised that he had laughed in the face of danger; he had a brilliant mind but was something of a daredevil who lived on the edge of scandal. And she certainly ought not be surprised at his rakish behavior. Tonight had left her in little doubt that he would be a marvelous lover. The memory of his erotic mouth would stay with her for a very long time.

Far worse, he aroused a deep, feminine yearning inside her, damn and blast him.

Venetia grimaced. It annoyed her to no end that she could be so tempted by a rakehell. While she was betrothed to Viscount Ackland, she had never permitted herself to acknowledge her forbidden attraction for Lord Traherne, but it was there now, smoldering between them like a banked fire.

And she would have to face him in the morning, making herself vulnerable to him again.

Venetia muttered a low oath. She wasn’t certain she could withstand another assault on her senses like the ones he had delivered tonight. In the clash over her sister, she had come out the clear loser. His sharp questions and observations had made her uncomfortable and his seduction had made her melt. She was absolutely not eager to repeat the experience.

Traherne was a cocky, arrogant, outrageous, self-confident, provoking devil, and it was all she could do to hold her own with him.

And yet she had no choice. She would simply have to work harder to persuade him to break off his pursuit of her sister.

And, most important…never, ever again allow him to kiss her!

When Quinn’s carriage drew up before his Berkeley Square home in the wee hours of the morning, he was no closer to learning the identities or motives of his attackers, since questioning witnesses had yielded no clues. Nor had he won resoundingly at Faro as planned, for by the time he finally returned to the club, Lisle had already departed.

He had also failed to solve the intriguing puzzle of why he’d kissed Venetia Stratham for a third time in quick succession.

He was rarely given to impulsive behavior, but he hadn’t been able to resist her temptation. She fired his blood even more than the rush of violent emotion while repelling the assault—exhilaration, fear, triumph.

If briefly he’d suspected Venetia of plotting to incapacitate him to thwart his aims with her sister, her bravery had instantly put to rest that notion. She had come to his aid like a Valkyrie or avenging angel.

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