Secrets of Seduction (35 page)

Smiling in return, Skye turned her attention back to her brother. “Why did you disappear?”

“You know very well why. When I last saw you in September, you and Kate were set on finding me a bride. Remaining within reach would have been lethal to my bachelorhood.”

Katharine joined them in time to hear his complaint. She gave Quinn a quick hug, then tucked her arm in his. “This is three cousins down, plus our uncle. Only two more to go—you and I, Quinn.”

His grimace held exasperation and disgust. “You should work on your own tale and leave me be. I am happy as I am.”

As the most romantic Wilde cousin, Kate was not
about to abandon her search for true love for either Quinn or herself. Kate was severely disappointed that her own legendary lovers tale wasn’t evident yet, but she planned for Quinn’s romance, Skye knew, to follow the Greek myth of Pygmalion, a sculptor who had fallen so deeply in love with the statue he’d created, the gods took pity on him and brought her to life.

“I have the perfect bride picked out for you, Quinn,” Kate informed him. “You need a young lady of birth and breeding but malleable enough that you can mold her to your exact specifications.”

He gave a mock shudder. “God forbid.”

“I have won Ash and Jack over to my theory. With your scientific bent, you ought to be able to see the proof right under your nose.”

Skye chimed in to tease her brother. “Tallis Court will need a mistress now that I am leaving.”

“I will muddle through without a wife somehow.”

Skye suddenly realized the lateness of the hour. “There will be time to argue about your bride later. You are delaying my wedding.”

“How wicked of me.”

“Perhaps you should go inside and greet Aunt Bella? I will be there in a moment.”

When he and Kate obliged, Skye slid her arms around Hawk’s neck. “Are you sorry that I pursued you?”

“On the contrary. I am immensely thankful for your stubbornness.”

Skye smiled victoriously. “I almost feel sorry for Miss Olwen.”

“And why is that?”

“She won’t have you for her husband. I am claiming you forever. But I am certain Kate could find her
an eligible suitor—and Daphne as well, for that matter.”

Hawk shook his head. “I can see why your brother made himself scarce.”

“He still believes he can withstand our combined efforts, but we are plotting a new strategy for Quinn, and Kate is a matchmaker extraordinaire. She helped me find you.”

“But Isabella deserves more credit for bringing us together.”

“Not all the credit,” Skye objected. “Aunt Bella might have advised me about techniques for enticing a man, but it was no small feat, seducing a beast, let me tell you. Although you
are
changing. You haven’t growled at me in quite some time.”

A lazy, heated smile gleamed in his gray eyes. “You are still a beauty.”

Skye met his gaze and laughed. “Beauty or not, I am confident I am your ideal match.”

“You are my match in every way. I can’t imagine living without you now.”

Bending his head, Hawk gave her a tender, reassuring kiss that made her heart swell. “You taste like hope, a new beginning.…” he murmured against her lips.

“That is a beautiful thought, my love.”

“Shall we proceed with the wedding ceremony?”

Skye felt filled with life and joy as he took her arm. “Most definitely.”

Of one accord, they turned toward the chapel. Upon entering, they moved together down the narrow aisle to stand at the altar before the vicar, with
Rachel and Cornelius on one side, Skye and Hawk on the other.

The elderly vicar looked out benevolently over the company, then cleared his throat and began: “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here …”

London; April 1817

“
Take care, Venetia
. Traherne has a magical touch with the fair sex. If you tangle with him, even
you
may find him impossible to resist.”

Her friend’s recent warning echoing in her head, Venetia Stratham watched the tableaux across the crowded gaming room. She had run her quarry to ground at London’s most notorious sin club and found him surrounded by fawning beauties.

Well, perhaps not
surrounded
, Venetia corrected herself in a fit of honesty. But he certainly wasn’t lacking for adoring female companionship just now.

Quinn Wilde, Earl of Traherne, was reportedly a splendid lover, and Venetia had no doubt the gossip was true. In all likelihood, his expertise in boudoirs and bedchambers was a chief reason women vied for his favor and tripped over themselves to earn his patronage. Whatever his sensual attributes, though, he was indisputably a rake of the first order. She had
come here tonight seeking proof of his transgressions to show her sister—and here it was, right before her eyes.

Beware of what you wish for
. The cautionary adage came to mind, and oddly, her feeling of triumph was trumped by keen disappointment.

She had hoped she was wrong about Lord Traherne.

An inexplicable, exasperating reaction if she had ever felt one
.

Traherne was lounging carelessly in his seat at the Faro table, but she had easily located him among the gamesters upon her arrival some twenty minutes ago. With the striking features and form of a Grecian sculpture—tall, sleek, muscular—he stood out in the company. She could not miss his aristocratic elegance either, or his gleaming fair hair—dark gold streaked with lighter threads of silver.

The two lightskirts hovering at his shoulder, showering him with attention, were also an identifying clue and put to rest any lingering questions Venetia might have had about his predilection for debauchery.

Her lips pressed in a frown of self-reproach. She should be extremely pleased to find the confirmation she’d sought. To think she had once held Lord Traherne in high esteem. In her defense, her admiration had developed before she’d known the kind of heartbreaker he was. Before she had lost her hopeless naïveté to another sinfully seductive nobleman.

For her, “Beware of blue-blooded Lotharios” was a more appropriate admonition than careful wishing. She had learned that particular lesson quite painfully.
And most definitely, she didn’t want her younger sister falling prey to Traherne’s spellbinding temptation.

Oh, his other vices such as gambling for high stakes did not overly concern her. With his enormous fortune, he could well afford to risk large sums on the turn of a card, especially since he regularly won. It was the carousing and womanizing that gravely troubled Venetia. Clearly Traherne was no better than her former betrothed, intent on only carnal pleasure, no matter who suffered hurt and heartbreak.

Just then another curvaceous Cyprian brought the earl a glass of port and remained to observe the play at his table. When the painted beauty draped herself over his arm, trailing suggestive fingers along the sleeve of his superbly tailored coat, Venetia stifled a sound of disgust in her throat.

Now Traherne had not two but
three
clinging demireps eager to serve his every need.

But then, women of all ages tended to tumble at his feet. She herself was not immune to his lethal charm, much to her dismay. His smile was captivating, piercing female hearts with deadly accuracy. And when those clever blue eyes glimmered with amusement … well, her pulse quickened each and every time, as if she had sprinted a great distance.

In fact, Traherne’s entire family possessed the same formidable charm in extraordinary abundance. The five Wilde cousins of the current generation were the darlings of the ton—

Suddenly his lordship’s blue gaze shifted in her direction to scan the company. Quickly Venetia adjusted her face mask and tried to blend into the throng of gamblers and
filles de joie
. She had attended a sin
club once before, in Paris with her widowed friend Cleo, and this one was similarly genteel. The gaming room boasted a large gathering, as did the adjacent drawing room, where dancing and refreshments and a lavish buffet supper were offered for the guests’ enjoyment. She could hear music and laughter and gay conversation drifting through the connecting doorway.

Except for the risqué apparel of the women present, this could have been an elite artist’s salon—the sort of sophisticated assemblies she had frequented during her past two years of exile in France. Yet she ought not have come here tonight. If she was caught in this den of iniquity, it would only cement her scandalous reputation, which could further wound her family. But she had needed proof of Traherne’s sins to show her sister just how dangerous he was to any gullible young lady’s heart.

As if to prove her point, the earl glanced up at his adoring companion and smiled his brilliant smile. A pang of jealousy hit Venetia with astonishing force.

How absurd—how
infuriating
—to be so foolishly affected, even if her reaction could be blamed on elementary human nature. She well knew that masculine breeding, charm, virility, and stunning good looks were potent weapons against the fair sex. In her case, Traherne’s keen wit and sharp mind had impressed her far more.

It was a grave pity that he was such a rake, squandering his exceptional intelligence and talents on dissipation and libertine ways. Ordinarily she wouldn’t care how many women he seduced or how many mistresses he kept, but her sister was very dear to her,
even if they
had
been estranged these past two interminable years.

And if
she
could not conquer her attraction to him, what chance did her highly susceptible sister have?

Despite the rumors about his budding courtship of the younger Miss Stratham, Venetia could not credit that a nobleman of his stamp actually wished to wed a green girl barely out of the schoolroom. But whether he had marriage—or worse, seduction—in mind, it could not end well for starry-eyed Ophelia.

As if sensing Venetia’s scrutiny, Traherne refocused his penetrating gaze through the crowd to stare directly at her. The spark that flared in his vivid eyes at her immodest attire made her breath catch. She had borrowed her evening gown of scarlet velvet from Cleo in order to fit in with the other ladies of the evening. The décolletage dipped much lower than her usual wont, leaving her shoulders and the upper swells of her breasts bare.

The shock of Traherne’s admiring masculine perusal caught her off guard. Instinctively, Venetia took a step backward, swearing to herself. A mere glance should not have impacted her so powerfully, no matter how lascivious. He was simply being a
man
, after all.

She was also concerned that he would see through her disguise. Lord Traherne had witnessed firsthand the most humiliating, painful event of her life. Not only witnessed but actively
participated
. She was to blame for her own downfall, of course. But his actions had triggered the rash, prideful decision that had changed her fate forever. Moreover, she did not wish to give him the satisfaction of seeing her at such
a disadvantage—forced to sneak around clandestinely, an outcast of decent society.

“May-yi have the honor of a dansh, my lovely?”

Venetia gave a start at the interruption. With her thoughts so fixed on the earl’s sinful character, she’d been unaware of another gentleman approaching, this one much shorter and somewhat younger than Traherne, with darker hair and more flamboyant garb. The dandy’s slurred words suggested that he was already half foxed.

Venetia hid a grimace at the unexpected annoyance. She needed no complications to divert her attention from her goal of saving her sister from the Earl of Traherne’s romantic pursuit.

With effort, she pasted an apologetic smile on her lips before answering sweetly. “Thank you, kind sir, but I will not be staying much longer this evening.”

Rather than accept her rebuff, the drunkard slipped an arm around her shoulders and drew her close.

With an inward sigh, Venetia set about the task of extricating herself from this unwanted predicament. She was not afraid of being assaulted in so public an arena. Even a notorious hell had rules of accepted behavior to follow, certainly one that catered to high-class clientele such as this. Any number of nobles and gentlemen of the ton were present tonight, as well as a few wellborn ladies attending incognito.