Too Scandalous to Wed (21 page)

Henrietta could only lick her lips. Words deserted her. A deep and thrumming need in her belly ballooned. Sebastian’s fingers only made the ache inside her stronger. She was wet and trembling and she wanted release.

Henrietta gasped at the hot feel of Sebastian’s flesh thrust inside her. She stiffened, a bit stunned to find herself impaled over the thick length of him.

But soon the pinch in her loins eased. The pounding need returned. And Henrietta started to rock against the throbbing flesh inside her, looking for relief.

She gazed into Sebastian’s eyes, so full of warmth. Lost in the zeal of his fiery gaze, she undulated in quick, piercing strokes.

He was breathing hard. She was, too. The sweat on his brow glistened under the glow of firelight.

It was pure rapture, being one with Sebastian.
The knot in her belly twisted even more. She opened her mouth to cry out. Sebastian silenced her with a firm kiss.

She groaned against his lips, gripped him tight. It was so intense, the relief. A burst of energy washing through her, sating her.

Sebastian thrust hard into her, so deep. He shuddered, pouring his seed into her with a feral moan.

It was over. For a few minutes, Henrietta couldn’t move. She was slumped over Sebastian’s body, gasping for air, trying to ease the thundering beats of her heart.

“Henry,” he whispered, stroking the damp ridges of her spine. “It’ll be like this forever.”

Henrietta took in an uneven breath. Forever? With Sebastian? No. There was no such thing as forever. Not with a man like Sebastian.

Good heavens, what had she done?

S
ebastian let out a deep, sated sigh. He had not felt so fulfilled in…well, ever. And to think, he was going to spend the rest of his days bedding Henrietta. A wolfish smile touched his lips.

Sebastian opened his sleepy eyes to find the room dark—and the bed empty.

Lips falling, he groped along the bedcovers, searching for another warm body, but he didn’t find one.

He shot to his feet.

Candlestick in hand, he stalked over to the low-burning fire and ignited the wick.

Soft light filled the dim room. He lifted the candle high, searching the space for Henrietta, but she was gone.

It burned in his gut, the fury. How could she leave him after the intimate night they had shared?

Wait! She was in his room, remember? Of course the chit had dashed away. Come morning, she had to be in her own bed or the house would be in an
uproar. Not that it mattered to Sebastian if the house was in a tizzy; the chit was going to be his wife—funny how that word didn’t seem so ghastly anymore. Still, Henrietta clearly didn’t want to upset her parents. She must have tiptoed from the room after he’d fallen asleep. Smart woman. If he’d been awake, he would not have let her leave. To have her in his arms was a peace unlike any he had ever known. And Sebastian wasn’t keen on giving up such bliss—ever.

Less livid, Sebastian let the tension ease from his corded muscles. But then the glimmer of glass caught his eye.

He took in a sharp breath. Perched on the mantel was the glass globe he had given Henrietta as a gift.

So that’s why she’d been inside his room. She’d come to give back the present.

The fury in his belly made a hasty return. He moved about the room, snatching his clothes. He shrugged into his trousers and put on his shirt.

Dressed, he quit the room and headed for the ground floor. Instinct pressed him to pound on Henrietta’s bedroom door, but he refrained from the impulse, heading for the billiard room instead. He was too riled up to confront the chit just now. He needed to soothe his temper.

Inside the billiard room, Sebastian used his candle to light a few more wicks, brightening the space even more.

He grabbed a cue stick from the mount on the wall, and with a hard crack, sent the cue ball shooting across the green felt tabletop.

The stubborn chit. Did she mean to torment him? Bed him and then leave him? Did she think to deny him such exquisite pleasure all the rest of his days? Deny herself the same delight? She had enjoyed their mating as much as he had. How was
she
going to live without his touch?

He growled at the thought.

Peter had been right; it was a deuced mystery deciphering a woman’s heart.

Sebastian paused, the creaking door interrupting his sour musings.

Henrietta stood in the door frame, candle in hand.

She was stunning, all bedraggled from their heated coupling. Auburn hair mussed in a whimsical fashion, rosy lips still swollen, her woolly wrapper an untidy mess. She was a lascivious sight. And he wanted her again so much it hurt.

Sebastian smacked the cue stick against the billiard table. “Why did you give back the gift?”

“I can’t accept the present,” she said. “You and I can never truly be husband and wife.”

“Why?”

She stepped deeper into the room. “Because you don’t want a wife. You just want a warm body in your bed.”

His nostrils flared. “Is that so?”

“Do you deny it?”

He thought about it for a moment, then said, “No, I don’t deny it. And why shouldn’t I want my wife’s warm body in my bed?”

“You’ve been lying to me this whole time, haven’t you?”

“Damn it, Henry!”

“You’ve only been acting the part of the gentleman to get me to submit to your will. You even spread that ghastly gossip in the paper to try and get your way.”

“Now
that
I did not do,” he vowed.

“Then who did?”

“I don’t know.”

But she didn’t believe him; he could tell by the skeptical tone of her voice. “Probably the same scoundrel who flaunted my letter all over Town.”

“That’s right! Believe me, Henry!”

“I don’t believe you,” she said softly. “And it was a mistake being with you tonight.”

It made the blood pound in his veins to hear those words. A mistake? He had given the woman his body, even opened his heart to her. And she called it a mistake?

He gnashed his teeth. “So why are you here?”

“I just wanted to tell you.”

That’s it? She’d traipsed into the room looking like a wanton temptress just to tell him to go to the devil—again?

Horseshit!

Slowly he moved around the billiard table. “You’re lying, Henry.”

“No, I’m not.”

But the flux in her voice told him otherwise.

He took the candle from her hand and set it aside, growling, “The hell you’re not.”

Her eyes were glossy under the firelight, her cheeks flushed. He could hear her quick, uneven gasps of breath.

The mulish chit might think she didn’t want him, but the scoundrel in him could sense her arousal. She had come looking for more kisses. And he was too much of a rogue not to give them to her.

Sebastian crushed his mouth over hers, determined to prove to the willful Henrietta she desired his touch as much as he desired hers.

And what a sweet victory it was, for the heady taste of her in his mouth sparked a fire in his belly too feral to tame.

“You want me, Henry,” he said roughly between kisses. “I know you do.”

She whimpered.

He thrust his tongue into her mouth, drinking in the balmy taste of her.

The blood pounding in his head started to pound in his cock, too, and he pressed the turgid flesh against her belly, gripping her rump to keep her flush against him.

She groaned, stirring the lust in his throbbing erection even more.

In one deft movement, he scooped her in his arms and carried her over to the billiard table.

He propped her darling rump on the table’s edge, and wedged her legs apart with his thigh.

“Tell me again this is a mistake,” he said in a ragged whisper. “Tell me you don’t want my touch.”

Fingers groping along her moist thighs, he fondled the wet folds of feminine flesh between her legs.

She whimpered again, much louder.

He raked his lips over hers in savage thrusts. His finger did a little thrusting, too.

It was hard for him to plunge inside her; her tense muscles clamped tight around his finger. But it also made the encounter all the more pleasurable for her.

And when he added a second finger to her heat, pounding into her, those stiff muscles jerked and throbbed, bringing her to orgasm.

“Do you want more?” he said in a dark timbre. “Do you want to feel me inside you?”

She squirmed on the table, an evident yes. But it was not enough. He wanted her to say it.

Henrietta didn’t have on her night rail, only her woolly wrapper. And he was quick to divest her of that.

She shivered in the nippy night air.

Sebastian cupped a plump breast in his sweaty palm, kneading, stroking the hard nub of her nipple with his thumb.

“I can’t hear you, Henry.”

He dropped his head to the full swell of her breast and started to suck.

Fingers knit tightly in his hair, pinching and pulling.

“Do you want more?” he breathed, and licked the rosy bud in a determined stroke. “Tell me.”

She only thrust her breast deeper into his mouth, making wanton, unintelligible sounds to boot.

With a ragged breath, Sebastian pushed away from her.

She teetered on the table’s edge, dazed, and grabbed the billiard cushions for support. She looked ready to murder him. But despite the twisting pain in his groin, he would not slake her lust before she asked him to. He wanted her to admit the truth. He wanted her to say it aloud, damn it! She
needed
him as he
needed
her.

“If you don’t want it, Henry, I won’t give it to you.”

She gnashed her teeth.

God, she was beautiful in the candlelight. A glorious and naked display of pique. It was going to be pure torment, walking away from her. He prayed the chit was not so mulish as to bite her tongue.

She was breathing roughly, her swollen breasts heaving, the dark and rosy nubs of her nipples jutting forward in aching points.

But she did not say a word.

Blast it!

“Have it your way, Henry.”

His cock stiff with desire, he moved slowly toward the door.

“Wait!” She sounded strangled.

Sebastian paused. He glanced over his shoulder, taking in the glorious curves of her flesh, burning inside with a pounding need to ravish her.

“Yes, Henry?”

She whispered, “I want you.”

He took in a deep breath of satisfaction.

Slowly he sauntered back over to the billiard table.

Trembling, Henrietta watched him with a rapacious look in her eye. It stirred his blood to have her stare at him with such unabashed longing.

He kissed her softly.

“I’ll give you anything that you want, Henry.”

She opened her legs wider. Evidently she wanted
him
.

Sebastian nestled between her splayed thighs. He stroked her rump, the small of her back. He kissed her over and over again with heady passion.

Sebastian pushed the cue ball away, let it roll across the table.

“Lie down,” he bade.

She did. She settled onto the billiard table, her legs still coiled around his hips.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, moving his eyes over every dip and curve of her womanly form. And with her russet red locks spilling across the
table like the glorious streaks of a setting sun, she looked every bit a divine temptress.

Sebastian unfastened his trousers.

He stood at the table’s edge, propped his hands beneath her delectable arse to hoist her hips, and slowly sank into her warm, wet sheath.

Henrietta arched her head back and gasped.

Gentle at first, he rocked against her throbbing flesh, mesmerized by the expression of joy and sweet surrender etched on her darling lips.

“Henry, you feel so good.”

She lifted her rump to meet each thrust, giving him room to plunge deeper inside her.

Sebastian gritted his teeth, holding his orgasm at bay. He was buried inside her to the hilt. So deep. So good.

He undulated with more vigor.

Henrietta’s soft cries and murmurs intensified.

She closed her eyes tight.

“Look at me,” he said with a desperate edge to his voice.

Dark red lashes fluttered open, lids heavy with heady arousal.

His muscles flexed. He pumped harder into her.

“Oh, Sebastian!” she gasped.

He thrust into her over and over again. Deeper. Rougher. Riding her like a ship in a stormy sea. Clinging to her like a lifeline.

Henrietta let out a strangled cry. He could feel the spasms of her sheath grip his throbbing rod.

With a few more piercing strokes, he let his own orgasm spill forth, pouring his seed into her with a growled oath of satisfaction.

He felt weak. All the life drained from him and pumped into Henrietta. And it felt so bloody good.

Sebastian lifted her off the table and gathered her in his arms.

She sighed in his embrace, wrapped her arms around him in a weak hold.

“My sweet Henry.”

He combed her mussed curls away from her eyes, kissed the top of her head in a tender gesture.

She was slick with sweat.

“Here.” He took the wrapper off the billiard table and helped her wriggle back into the woolly garment. “I don’t want you to catch a chill.”

She was back in his arms, hugging him, still sitting on the edge of the billiard table.

Sebastian gripped her in a protective hold. Surely this was going to make every last thing right between them.

H
enrietta slowly moved across the grounds, enjoying a morning stroll. She needed the cool winter air to help clear her befuddled senses.

Her body still burned for Sebastian. She had been so sure that a night of coupling would slake the desire in her belly. But it did nothing of the sort. If anything, she longed for the viscount even more. Drat!

What the devil was she going to do now?

Oh, Henrietta was a mess inside! It’d felt so good to be with Sebastian. A part of her had no regrets about the other night. After years of longing, to be with the man was a welcome relief.

But another part of her was filled with remorse. She’d had a taste of sweet pleasure last night. And she wanted to feel those warm sentiments again and again. Yet she couldn’t let a scoundrel like Ravenswood so close to her heart. The man had lied to her, spread a dreadful tale about her in the paper. He only wanted a tussle in bed. Maybe two or three. But after he had had his fill of her, he’d abandon her.
Retreat to his old, immoral haunts. Devastate her.

She had to be more diligent in her rebuff. She could not let her flighty emotions get in the way of reason. She did not care for the man. She lusted after him, true. But the one had nothing to do with the other. Madam Jacqueline had said so herself. It was wholly possible to desire a man and yet dislike him.

So all Henrietta had to do was stomp asunder her desire. But how? How to forget the balmy taste of his lips? The incredible thrust of him so deep inside her? How to dismiss his sultry voice from her mind or the spicy touch of his strong fingers from her skin?

“Henry!”

Henrietta hardened. “How did you find me?”

Sebastian ambled down the snowy hill, a vision in regal gray, his curly black hair scruffy from the tender breeze. “I followed your footsteps.”

She glanced at the trail of impressions. “Oh.”

She wasn’t thinking with a clear head, was she? And it was all the viscount’s fault. He always unsettled her with his dazzling presence. She simply had to shoo him away.

But it was hard to think about getting rid of Sebastian when he looked so dashing in his tight trousers and flowing greatcoat. Her heart pinched at the handsome sight of him.

“What are you doing here, Ravenswood?”

He kissed her.

Henrietta gasped. The blood warmed in her veins, goose bumps spread all over her flesh.

Did she have to enjoy the man’s kisses so much? Did all her wits have to desert her when he kissed her so?

Henrietta sighed, blissfully content to keep her lips attached to his till time immemorial. As long as she was kissing him, she wasn’t thinking about the rogue within him.

He let go of her lips—far too soon.

Reason intruded.

Breathless, she demanded, “What the devil did you do that for?”

His own breath ragged, he said, “Every time you call me ‘Ravenswood’ or ‘my lord’ or some other infernal title, I’m going to kiss you. I don’t care if the whole of the
ton
is there to witness it. You
will
call me Sebastian.”

Why, the surly devil. “You wouldn’t dare!”

There was a dark glow in his blue eyes. A glow of passion. Of intent. “I most certainly would, Henry.”

“Fine,” she gritted. “What are you doing here,
Sebastian
?”

“Where would you like to go for our wedding tour?” he said in a matter-of-fact manner, his stormy deportment blithe once more.

Henrietta blinked. “What?”

“I’d like to make the arrangements, Henry. How does Paris sound?”

Henrietta couldn’t hear him very well; her heart was pounding in her ears. “Paris?”

“That’s right. You’ve always wanted to visit Paris, haven’t you?”

She needed a moment to gather her wayward thoughts. A terrible ache throbbed in her breast. She had dreamed of touring Paris with Ravenswood for years…but not with this Ravenswood, the immoral scoundrel.

A knot formed in her throat. A wretched sob. She swallowed to keep the howl at bay. Sebastian was no hero. She had discovered that dreadful truth at the dark abbey. He might look like a hero in his dapper garb. He kissed like a hero, to be sure. But he was not a hero. Hard as it might be for her to let go of a girlhood dream, she had to. He would only make her miserable. Break her heart—again—with his unfaithfulness and wicked pursuits.

Henrietta took an unsteady step away from him. “I won’t go to Paris with you, Sebastian.”

He stiffened. “And why the devil not?”

“Because I don’t care for you…and I don’t want to pretend like I do.”

His nostrils flared. “You cared for me last night. You
wanted
me last night.”

Memory of the other night filled her head. It was a struggle to keep her words firm. “I wanted your body, not you.”

That
struck a sensitive chord. He looked positively livid.

“A woman can lust after a man, too,” she said. “
You
should know how easy it is to feel a fire in your belly, but nothing in your heart.”

A sharp pang gripped her breast at her own words. Apparently it wasn’t easy for her to feel a fire in her belly and nothing in her heart.

The man looked haggard. “What do you want from me, Henry?”

She took in a shaky breath. “I want you to leave me alone.”

He flinched at the word “alone.”

“You didn’t want me to leave you alone last night,” he said. “You enjoyed rutting with me, admit it!”

She cringed at his vulgarity. He was angry, lashing out. Still, she didn’t like to think about him “rutting” with her. She’d rather think about him…

What? Making love to her? That was almost as nasty a thought, for it implied an emotion. And Henrietta was trying so hard
not
to get emotional.

“I want to forget about last night,” she said, tamping the hurt in her breast. “I want to live apart from you once we’re wed.”

“No.”

He breathed the word quietly, but the intense conviction burning in his eyes was impossible to ignore.

“Sebastian, I don’t want to pretend—”

“We’re not going to pretend, damn it! You’re going to be
my
wife. You will live under
my
roof. And you will sleep in
my
bed.”

She met his steely stare. “Then I suppose you’ll have to force me to your bed, for I won’t go willing again.”

Sebastian took in a hard breath. “So you want to live apart from me, do you? What about a child?”

“What child?”

“You might be enceinte, Henry.”

She gasped. That was true. She might have a babe…but that did not change anything. “Then I will raise the child alone.”

He thundered, “You would deny me my own child!”

She felt a pinch of regret, but quickly shooed the sentiment away. “You are not fit to be a father, Sebastian. What will you do with a son? Teach him to be a ‘friar’ at your club? What about a daughter? Will you raise her to be part of the demimonde? A ‘nun,’ perhaps?”

He looked genuinely appalled. “You think me such a fiend?”

“Yes!” Tears welled in her eyes. “I think you’re wicked. And if I have a child, I won’t let you hurt it.”

“I don’t want to hurt the babe!” He dug his fingers in his hair and let out a curse. “Blast it, is living with me really such a terrible fate?”

The tears burned her cheeks. “Yes!”

“
Why?!
”

“Because I…”

He took her by the shoulders. “Tell me, Henry. Tell me why?”

“I can’t forget.”

Brow pinched, he said, “Forget what?”

“You…in that abbey…with that woman.”

Sebastian sighed. “Henry, listen. It won’t be like that anymore. I won’t go back to the club, I promise.”

“No.” She wrested free of his hold. He wanted to get under her skirts, to beguile her into believing he had honorable intentions. “I won’t let you charm me into some sort of trap. I don’t trust you, Sebastian. I will never trust you…not with my heart.”

Henrietta lifted her skirts to dash through the snow, tears burning her eyes. But she didn’t care. She had to get away from Sebastian. She had to get away from his promise to change. A promise he couldn’t keep.

“The little slut,” Emerson grumbled

He trudged through the snow, making his way back to the front of the house. He had come to see the wench, to gauge how the piece of
on-dit
he’d planted in the paper had affected her. But apparently it’d had no effect on her at all.

The harlot! It was bad enough he’d had to wade through the muck of winter looking for her, but to find her in that bastard’s arms! She didn’t even care about the foul gossip he’d spread, curse her.

Seething, Emerson kicked up the snow. Yesterday she had looked ready to skin the viscount alive. But today she was kissing him. It was just like a woman to be so fickle. And it burned in Emerson’s gut to
know that his plan to destroy the couple had failed. Once more, Emerson found himself humiliated at the hands of the viscount. It was more than he could bear.

Settling into the sleigh, Emerson ordered the driver back to Ormsby Manor. And during the hour-long journey, the bile in his belly churned.

Emerson would not let Ravenswood win again. Palms fisting, he vowed to destroy the viscount, make the man feel the misery of defeat. And he was going to use that hussy Miss Ashby to do it. If Ravenswood wanted the little strumpet, then Emerson was going to take her away from him—by any means necessary.

Back at Ormsby Manor, Emerson entered the house, rife with newfound resolve. But his curmudgeon of a father put a swift end to that.

“Is that you, you blundering numskull?”

Emerson hardened. The clip-clop of the earl’s cane resounded throughout the hall.

“Yes, Father,” he growled.

The old miser hobbled into the foyer, as cranky as ever. “Where the devil have you been?”

Emerson gritted, “I was tending to a personal affair.”

“What was it? A gaming debt? I’ll not give you more money!” The earl brandished his cane. “Mark my words. I’ll let you rot in debtors’ prison first!”

Teeth grinding, Emerson sidestepped the earl.

“Come back here, you varlet of a son.”

But Emerson ignored the earl and mounted the steps instead.

“A pox on you!” the earl cried. “You’re nothing but a disgrace. I’ll not leave you my estate. I’ll live forever! See if I don’t.”

And he was just spiteful enough to live forever, too, Emerson thought, infuriated.

It was intolerable, living under the earl’s thumb. Emerson wanted the roost to himself. But the old penny-pincher wouldn’t die.

Well, Emerson was going to get
his
way in one matter at least. He was going to destroy Ravenswood. He was going to take Henrietta away from the viscount, devastate the man. And he was going to do it in front of the entire
ton
.

Footsteps pounding, Emerson stormed into his bedroom.

The startled chambermaid shrieked.

Seething with ignominy, Emerson eyed the feeble maid. He needed to feel in control. It burned inside him, the desire for power.

He slammed the door closed and advanced on the whimpering wench. With a rough movement, he grabbed her and tossed her onto the bed.