Too Scandalous to Wed (17 page)

It was obvious the little slut didn’t want the viscount anymore. But the viscount so earnestly wanted her.

Peculiar.

His diabolical mind whirling, Emerson started to think it might work out even better this way. If the hussy Miss Ashby resented the viscount, it would make the lovelorn Ravenswood miserable. All Emerson had to do was keep the girl at odds with the viscount, make sure she crushed the ogre’s heart to bits. Disgraced him, even.

Now
that
was an even better form of revenge.

T
he little bell chimed as Sebastian opened the door. He stepped inside the shop and perused the shelves of knickknacks: porcelain dolls, ceramic vases, china figurines. He just might find a treasure of some sort in here, he mused. He had already been to three other establishments, but had failed to find the right gift for Henrietta.

He grumbled. Last night’s seduction had not gone as well as he had hoped. For a man accustomed to getting what he wanted from a woman, that was very discouraging. At one point during last night’s waltz, Henrietta had looked positively green!

It was time to amend his approach to courting. The chit was smitten with him. She wanted his kisses, he thought with a wicked grin. But she was fighting her attraction to him. He needed something with which to soften her ornery disposition. And a gift should redeem him nicely, get her to surrender to his
charms. It had always worked for him in the past. After a row with a mistress, he’d flash a pricey trinket, and all her tears would magically disappear.

Behind the ornate wood counter was an elderly gentleman. “Good morning, my lord.” He smiled. “How may I help you?”

Sebastian eyed the trinkets along the wall. “I’m looking for something special.”

“For your wife, my lord?”

A tight knot formed in the viscount’s belly at the word. Yes, Henrietta was going to be his wife. But it was a brutal business, getting used to the word.

“My soon-to-be wife,” said Sebastian.

With a sage nod, the elderly shopkeeper moved away from the counter and headed for a nearby cluttered shelf. He picked up a shiny box with opal inlays.

“How about this, my lord?”

The shopkeeper opened the box and turned the tiny key.

A quaint tune escaped. Charming…but not charming enough. He was looking for a unique present, one with veiled implications mayhap. The chit had given him such a gift on Christmas Eve: a ring with a Celtic love knot. Now he had to find something equally significant with which to woo his stubborn Henrietta.

“What else do you have?” said Sebastian.

Beside the window was a table filled with trin
kets. The elderly shopkeeper lifted a small clock with hand-painted daisies.

Sebastian eyed the piece. Pretty. But Henrietta was never on time for anything. She might think such a gift an ill-mannered gesture on his part.

The viscount shook his head. “Anything else?”

As the shopkeeper shuffled about, a reflection skimmed Sebastian’s eye. “What is that?”

“My lord?”

“Over there.” He pointed across the crowded room. “Inside the glass display.”

The shopkeeper pushed aside a gold birdcage to reach the display. He opened the case and removed the trinket. “This, my lord?”

“Yes, that’s it.” A slow smile spread across the viscount’s face. “It’s perfect.”

A soft touch…a sinful smile…sensuous lips.

“Ouch!

Henrietta’s sultry reflection was dashed to bits by the sharp pain in her arse.

“Forgive me, miss,” said the seamstress.

“Stand still, Henry,” the baroness reproached. “There’s just a few more pins.”

Henrietta sighed. One more fitting and then she wouldn’t have to think about the wedding dress anymore…not that she was thinking much about the wedding dress at all. Rather, a certain rogue was keeping her thoughts engaged, filling her head with erotic memories.

“
Ouch!
”

“Forgive me, miss,” burbled the seamstress, pins trapped between her teeth.

“Stop squirming, Henry,” from the baroness. “Whatever is the matter with you?”

How about a rush of wicked thoughts storming her weary brain?

Oh, Henrietta had to get off the stool. She had to get out of the room. She had to get out of the house! All the wedding buzz was making her harebrained. It was a faithful reminder of her betrothed, Ravenswood. She needed a breath, a moment of repose from all the preparations…from the thought of her roguish fiancé and his sweet and kissable lips.

“Ouch!
Drat!
”

The seamstress plucked one last pin from between her teeth and jabbed it into the back of Henrietta’s dress. “Finished, miss.”

Well, thank heavens for that! Henrietta’s poor rump was bruised, no doubt.

“Now be careful, Henry.” The baroness offered her hand for support. “Don’t tear the lace.”

Henrietta took her mother’s outstretched hand and stepped off the stool. The seamstress unfastened the buttons, and gingerly, Henrietta slipped out of the white glacé silk and fine lace garment.

In a few minutes, she was draped in a sage brown day dress and scurrying from the bedroom, leaving Mama and the seamstress to quibble over stitching details.

But the rest of the house was full of activity, too. There was so much to do before Twelfth Night. Flowers to arrange. Cakes to bake. Linens to iron. Silverware to polish. So much to think about. Thank heavens her sisters and Mama insisted on helping. Henrietta didn’t think she could do it all alone—but the preparations could wait a few minutes, surely?

Henrietta moved through the house, searching for Papa. Perhaps he’d like to play a game of billiards now? She hoped so. She needed a respite.

Henrietta tiptoed through the passageways so as not to attract the viscount’s attention, for he, too, was sheltered somewhere in the house, the dratted man. The family had insisted Ravenswood stay at the house until the day of the ceremony. Despite all his charm, it seemed no one trusted the rogue to show up for the wedding. The arrangement had put Henrietta in high dudgeon. But ironically, it had pleased the viscount.

Odd. The man was acting so peculiar, spouting fresh starts and clean slates, wanting to spend time at the house. It wasn’t like Ravenswood at all. And it made her wonder all the more what the viscount was scheming. She certainly didn’t believe he had changed into a gentleman, that he respected her decision to marry in name only. The wily devil was up to something, she was sure. But what?

“Sneaking about, Miss Ashby?”

Not quiet enough, her tiptoeing.

Henrietta squared her shoulders and turned
around to confront the viscount, a retort ready on her lips.

But one look at the sinfully handsome rogue, and all thoughts of a rejoinder deserted her.

He had a mischievous look in his eye. More of an imp than a fiend. He was smiling, too. And she didn’t like the fact that his charming grin could still curl her toes. It made it deuced hard to hate the man.

“I’m not sneaking about,” she said firmly, even though her belly was in a knot. “I’m looking for Papa.”

“The baron is in his study.”

With a curt bob of the head, Henrietta pivoted on her toes and headed for the study.

She had to get away from Ravenswood. One look at the dashing viscount, and it was hard to keep her anger in place. He had such a devastating smile…and a sensual glow in his eyes.

“But he is asleep, Miss Ashby.”

Henrietta paused.

“I was just there myself,” he said. “The baron is napping, I’m afraid.”

Drat!

“Perhaps I can assist you, Miss Ashby?”

Now why the devil did that sound so…wanton?

Henrietta turned around once more. “I highly doubt that, my lord. I wanted to play a game of billiards with Papa.”

“Well, I might not be as savvy as your Papa, but I daresay I’d make a fair opponent.”

He was smiling. Not with his lips, but with his eyes.

She pinched her brow, fearing his proposal some sort of trick. Besides, she didn’t want to spend more time with the dastardly viscount. She wanted him to leave her alone.

Wait! Perhaps a game of billiards
was
the ideal opportunity to get the viscount to stay away from her. She was a skilled billiardist. If she made another wager with the viscount—and won, this time—she could wrest from him another promise for a home of her own. Separate apartments would be grand, the best solution to this dreadful predicament.

After a thoughtful pause, she gave a brisk nod. “Very well, Ravenswood.”

A few minutes later, Henrietta was hunched over the billiard table, eyeing the ivory cue ball. “Shall we make the game more interesting?”

Sebastian quirked a black brow. “What did you have in mind?”

“Winner gets to make another wish.”

He perused her for a moment, his eyes smoky. “All right, Miss Ashby.”

Henrietta dismissed the shiver tickling her spine, and returned her attention to the cue ball.

With a loud crack, the white ball struck the red ball. One point for her.

She moved around to the other side of the table. Again she positioned herself, struck the red ball and nicked Sebastian’s cue ball. Two points for her.

She was very good at three-ball. In a short while, she’d have that fashionable apartment in Town.

“Magnificent,” he breathed.

Henrietta felt a measure of satisfaction at his words. She was good, true. But magnificent?

“A rump to satisfy a man’s hunger.”

Henrietta balked. Heat invaded her belly, stormed her breast. She missed the red ball and the cushion, forfeiting a point. Drat!

She stood up and glared at Ravenswood, indignation roiling in her gut. “How dare you…”

But Sebastian wasn’t staring at her. He was looking out the window. Apparently, hers was not the rump being admired.

Henrietta followed his gaze to the workers outside, bringing in a boar. Tonight’s dinner, no doubt.

She quickly swallowed her outburst.

Sebastian glanced back at the table. “Is it my turn?”

Oh, the haughty knave! He’d done that on purpose, she was sure. To unnerve her, the wily bounder.

Sebastian arched his splendid form. Henrietta could not help but note the hard muscles in his calves as he stretched forward. Or the brawn surging through his arms as he positioned the cue. The black curl that dropped over his eye just then only made the man more irresistible. Blast it!

Sebastian struck the red ball, knocked her cue ball, and scored two points.

Henrietta twisted her lips.

The viscount moved around the table for another shot. “How did you sleep last night, Miss Ashby?”

“Terribly.”
Thanks to you
, she thought.

He scored another point. “I figured as much.”

The game at hand dismissed from her mind for a moment, she demanded, “And how did you figure that?”

Another loud crack as the red ball rolled across the table. “I was out for a walk late last night. I saw the candle burning in your window.”

Henrietta took in a sharp breath. He was watching her through her bedroom window! Did he see her undress?

“Fret not, Miss Ashby. I was a perfect gentleman.”

She wanted to snort, but instead composed her features. Her pursed lips and pinched brow clearly betrayed her ire. The man could read her thoughts.

What was happening to her? Days ago, she’d have made a ready quip
and
retained her cool deportment. To think the scoundrel could unravel her guard with a little banter and a dashing smile, after months of training with Madam Jacqueline, was very disquieting.

“Why were you so restless, Miss Ashby?”

“I could ask the same of you.”

He moved to the other end of the table, his dark blue eyes on her. “I had a very distressing problem to solve.”

“About what?”

“Shopping.”

He was funning with her. No man thought about shopping, especially a rake like Ravenswood. He only thought about vice.

“And you, Miss Ashby?” He scored another point. “What kept you awake?”

The relentless attention of one dashing rogue
, she mused, still piqued. But she wouldn’t tell him that. Instead she decided to have a bit of fun herself.

“A mouse,” she said.

“How dreadful.”

“A rat, really. I tried to shoo the pest away, but he just kept coming back. Stubborn little bugger.”

Sebastian missed his shot.

Henrietta lifted her brows. “Oh, is it my turn?”

She swished her hips and moved to the other end of the table.

She could feel Sebastian’s hot gaze on her back the entire time. It seared her right through her clothes.

Concentrating hard, Henrietta struck the red ball. She missed Sebastian’s cue ball, but still, one more point for her.

“A rat, eh?” he said. “I’m surprised you didn’t scream.”

She snorted. “I’m not afraid of a wee rodent.”

“That’s very unusual—for a woman.”

“Rot!” Another score. “I would never make such ungodly racket.”

“I’ve heard you make ungodly racket before, Miss Ashby.”

She stiffened. The dark timbre of his voice sent shivers down her spine. He was alluding to the wicked night she’d spent in his arms; the cries and groans of sweet passion that he’d ripped from her throat.

Memory of those sinful encounters, so full of pleasure, stormed her weary mind. She tried to shoo the haunting sentiments aside and concentrate on the game, but alas, it was fruitless. She missed her shot. Drat!

He said in a soft voice, “I see it’s my turn again.”

Henrietta meshed her lips together. How could the rogue still affect her so? How could the sound of his watery voice still make her sweat and her body ache?

Sebastian made his shot. Two points for him.

She pinched her lips even more. He was trying to make her lose, the blackguard. She had to get ahold of her scattered wits. She had to win this wager if she wanted the bounder to keep away from her.

“Yes, my lord, you are very familiar with ungodly ways, aren’t you?”

Sebastian made his shot. He nicked her cue ball. Another two points for him. But he did not return to the game right away. Instead he propped the end of his cue stick against the ground and rested his hands over the tip.

Henrietta could feel the caress of his eyes. Her flesh warmed; her bones trembled. She tried to still the rampant beats of her heart, but the long stare he gave her only made her even more jittery.

“You and I are about to be married, Miss Ashby…Perhaps I intend to reform my ungodly ways and start anew.”

“A rogue cannot reform his ways,” she countered, her breath a bit uneven. “Those were your words, my lord.”