Too Scandalous to Wed (24 page)

T
he house was in an uproar.

Sebastian and Peter just stood in the door frame, observing the commotion. Fans fluttering, the Ashby sisters either cried or argued. Husbands comforted wives. Children ran rampant. The servants bustled this way and that, fetching drinks, blankets…smelling salts?

Had someone fainted?

Sebastian stepped into the tumult. Peter closed the door.

The viscount scanned the polished marble floor, looking for Lady Ashby. But the baroness dashed into the foyer just then, a small bottle in her hand.

So who had fainted?

It was then Sebastian noticed the unconscious baron slumped in a seat by the grandfather clock.

The baroness knelt beside her husband and stuck the small bottle under his nose.

Within moments, the baron stirred, coughing and
sputtering. “Gads, get that foul thing away from me!”

Restless, Sebastian snapped, “Where is Henry?”

“Oh God,” the baron groaned. “Henry! Where’s my Henry?”

Penelope stepped forward. “She’s gone, Sebastian.”

The viscount’s breath hitched. “What do you mean, ‘gone’? Gone where?”

“She’s…she’s…”

Penelope, too distraught to answer, looked at her husband for support.

“She’s run away, Seb” said Peter. He paused, then: “With another man.”

Blood throbbed in Sebastian’s head, howled in his ears. Henrietta had left him? Disgraced him at the altar?

“Apparently the other man’s been visiting quite a bit,” said Peter. “The butler remembers seeing him at the engagement party. The young lord came to visit with Henrietta after the accident on the ice, too.”

It was crushing, the pressure on his chest. Sebastian could hardly breathe. All this time he had thought to woo Henrietta, to share a life with her…and she was having an affair. No wonder she had rebuffed him at every turn. She had another lover!

He fisted his palms. The bile in his belly burned. Had she planned to humiliate him at the altar from the start of their engagement? Was this some sort of retaliation for breaking her girlhood dream?

A frantic Peter intruded upon Sebastian’s morbid reflection.

“We have to go after her, Seb.”

Sebastian blinked and swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth. “No, Peter.”

Peter balked. “You’re not serious, brother?”

“I am.”

“But you love the girl, admit it!”

Sebastian snatched his brother by the cravat. “The devil I do! Besides, the girl’s made her choice, and I won’t force her to change her mind.”

Sebastian let go of his brother before he strangled the man. He wasn’t angry with Peter. He was angry with himself.

Curse her! The scheming chit had made him
want
to be a better man. She had fooled him into thinking he might have a chance at a warm future with her, that he wasn’t damned after all.

What tripe! She and her lover must be roaring with laughter. And that was the greatest reprisal of all, getting the dim-witted viscount to think he’d had an opportunity at happiness. Had she and her paramour bandied that letter all over Town, too? Orchestrated the whole engagement just to devastate him?

The fury inside him billowed, hacked his insides to mush.

“Seb, I know you’re angry, but we have to go after the girl,” Peter implored. “If nothing else, think of the Ashby name!”

Listless, Sebastian said, “It’s not the Ashby name that’s ruined, it’s mine.”

“But she’s run off with another man!”

“She’s off to marry her lover, I’m sure. She’ll be home in a few days, a beaming new bride from Gretna Green. The gossip will fizzle. It always does.”

But the rancor in Sebastian’s gut would never fizzle away; it would haunt him all the rest of his miserable days.

Peter huffed, “It isn’t right, Seb.”

The baron groaned. “Oh, my darling Henry! What will I ever do without the boy?”

Lady Ashby fluttered a frilly lace fan across her husband’s flushed cheeks.

Peter nudged his brother. “Look at the baron, Seb. We have to do something for his sake.”

Sebastian did not like to see the baron in such distress, but Henrietta had made her choice. What right did he have to go after her?

“No, Peter.”

“But the baron doesn’t want the girl to wed another man.”

“The baron doesn’t want Henrietta to wed
any
man,” said Sebastian. “Even me. But we both know the girl has to get married now.”

Especially now that she might be enceinte.

His heart pounding, a darkness smothered Sebastian. The chit might be pregnant with his child. She
needed
a husband. She just didn’t want him to play the spousal role.

It was a terrible blow, the image of his child in another man’s arms. A cutting pain that only blanketed him in greater despair.

“But we don’t even know anything about this Emerson!” Peter cried.

Sebastian bristled. “Emerson?”

Peter nodded. “The butler said Lord Emerson had called on the girl, that the couple had dashed off together. He witnessed the two running across the green, hand in hand.”

A great upheaval in his brain, Sebastian tried to recall a scene from the Hellfire Club. It was a bleary scene, though. But he was sure there had been a rousing row between him and Emerson—over Henrietta.

Hand in hand? A lovers’ elopement? Not bloody likely. Emerson had dragged her away—by force. The villain was not the sort of man to settle down. He might have charmed Henrietta, tricked her into thinking him a respectable sort, but he was nothing of the kind. He was a dastardly son of a bitch—and he had a taste for Sebastian’s blood.

The letter! The rumor in the paper! It had to be Emerson’s doing. All of it. Sebastian had been reading the letter when Emerson interrupted him. The fiend must have snatched it from him after the fight, then aired it all over the city to get even with him. And according to the butler, Emerson had attended the engagement party. If he’d overheard Henrietta’s confession, that she wanted a marriage in name only,
he
must have spread the tale in the society papers.

With brisk and determined strides, Sebastian thundered toward the door.

He could feel it, deep inside his gut. Emerson had taken Henrietta, hauled her out of the house to get back at him for some foolhardy quarrel. Sebastian couldn’t even remember what they had squabbled about, but he knew Emerson a craven knave bent on petty retribution—and Sebastian knew just where the bastard had taken Henrietta.

Outside, the winter winds nipped.

The viscount couldn’t deny it anymore, the throbbing panic in his breast, the compulsion to tear off Emerson’s limbs…Sebastian loved the chit!

“Where are you going, Seb?”

Peter had to sprint to keep up with his brother’s long strides.

“To fetch Henrietta back,” said the viscount, snatching the horse’s reins.

“Thank God!”

Sebastian mounted the great beast. “
You
are not coming with me, brother.”

“The devil I’m not. You can’t go after the couple alone. You might need me, Seb.”

“No!” Sebastian twisted the reins around his palms. “I want you to fetch the magistrate, Peter. Bring him to the Hellfire Club.”

Peter paled. “Oh, good God. Seb, you have to let me—”

“No! It’s too dangerous, Peter. You have a wife. I don’t want you to come with me; I don’t want you to risk your neck.”

“Oh, blast it! Here, then.” Peter reached behind his back. “You’re going to need this.”

A pistol appeared.

Sebastian eyed the piece. “Where did you get that?”

“From the baron. I figured Emerson might put up a fuss if we tried to bring the girl home. But I didn’t think he was
that
dangerous.”

Sebastian tucked the weapon into his waist.

“Be careful, Seb.”

But Sebastian was already pounding down the drive at breakneck speed.

It was cold inside the abbey. Dank, too. Tears burned in Henrietta’s eyes. Blood seeped from the wounds at her wrists, trussed with rope. But she didn’t care. She thrashed against her dastardly captor, bit him, too.

Emerson hollered, “You bitch!”

He licked the wound at his finger, slapped her soundly for imparting the injury, then grabbed her by the hair and shoved her through the dark passageway.

Bruised cheek throbbing, she gritted, “Why are you doing this?”

“Quiet, you little whore!”

It was clear the man loathed her, considered her
a harlot. She didn’t care for his good opinion of her, but she did care to know his motivation.

Oh, what a fool she was! It was a stinging hurt in her belly, the truth. She had failed to see Emerson’s true nature. Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate. She had sensed his nefarious ways, but she had ignored her misgiving. Fearing her heart was a poor judge of character, she had convinced herself to listen to reason. But it was her
heart
that could spot a rogue at ten paces. And since Emerson was a rogue…

“It was
you
who flaunted my letter all over London, wasn’t it? It was
you
who spread that dreadful rumor in the paper?”

“It was indeed.”

“But why did you do it?”

“To avenge myself on Ravenswood.”

There was a terrible ache in Henrietta’s ear, a sort of buzzing sound. “How do you know Ravenswood? And how do you know about the Hellfire Club?”

“Don’t feign innocence with me,” he sneered. “We all three frequent the club.”

Henrietta gasped. Another cold chill gripped her. And this time it was not the winter air making her shiver.

“Oh yes, I know what you are, you strumpet,” he snapped. “I saw you with Ravenswood in the catacombs…right after you stomped on my foot.”

Her mind spinning, memories filled her head: a man in a purple mask, wanting to strap her to the banquet table for an orgy…

Henrietta had a profound urge to retch. “So you’re a member of the Hellfire Club, too?”

“
Was
a member before your dastardly lover humiliated me in front of the friars. But Ravenswood will pay for what he did to me. He took my pride from me…so I’m going to take something from him.
You
.”

She shuddered under his biting words. “What do you mean?”

“Stop yapping!”

An arm strapped to her throat, Henrietta was forced down the stone steps into the catacombs. She trembled. The brisk air nipped at her nose. It was dark inside the catacombs: a torch here or there. It was noisy, too, the rowdy din of merry “friars” echoing throughout the tunnel.

She closed her eyes to bring her thundering heartbeats to a steadier canter. “If you’re a former member of the club, what are we doing here?”

“I’m going to avenge myself on Ravenswood
and
win back the respect of the friars. And you are going to help me do it.”

“Like hell! You can go to the devil, Emerson. I won’t help you!”

She jabbed her elbow into his ribs.

He grimaced—and tightened his grip.

“I’ve never met such a fussy slut,” he growled.

Emerson tore the neck cloth from his throat and gagged her.

Henrietta choked on her tears, her shame. Why did she keep associating with members of the Hellfire Club?

Torchlight flickered, casting the statues in the tunnel in a fiery glow. She stumbled through the chilling channel, pushed to the arena’s threshold.

Henrietta paused.

Inside the banquet hall, she spied the notorious banquet table—and the shackles at the table’s edge.

Her heart shuddered.

“Emerson!” the friars jeered. The room was filled with heckling villains, wenches, too, all foxed and loving it. “Did you run off to get married?”

The cackles must have burned Emerson’s blood, for Henrietta could feel him bristle behind her.

Emerson growled, “She’s not my bride, brothers…she’s ours.”

The inebriated friars piqued at the implication.

Emerson pushed her toward the table. Henrietta screamed against her gag and kicked, letting loose a savage tantrum. But it was futile. The drunken carousers grabbed her wrists, her ankles, and hoisted her onto the banquet table.

Her tears smothering, she swallowed a sob. She kicked again, but Emerson gripped her ankles, spread her legs apart. He secured the manacles at her boots. Some other foul oaf wrested her bound wrists and clipped the heavy irons above her head.

There was a throbbing pressure on her breast as
her heart pumped hard and fast. She flicked her eyes across the room in dashing strokes, searching for help, for some way out. But she was trapped.

Emerson moved to the head of the table. He looked at her with venom, and whispered, “Once the friars feast on you,
I’ll
be accepted back into the club, and Ravenswood will be devastated. Your pain will be his.” Emerson stepped back and smiled. “Who has a knife, brothers? Let’s tear this dress to pieces and enjoy our bride.”

A glittering knife appeared.

Henrietta thrashed against her bonds.

“Don’t fight too much.” Emerson winked. “It’ll only hurt more.”

A pistol cocked.

Henrietta bristled…but then her heart throbbed with unfettered joy.

Ravenswood!

The earth stopped spinning. The sickness in her belly went away. One look at the most sinfully handsome man in creation, and everything in her heart and soul was put to right.

The viscount stepped into the catacombs, covered in snow. He was a wonderful sight! Breath ragged, the exertion of a pounding ride was clear in his body. He had come for her. Hell-bent to get to her. She wasn’t alone in the chilling darkness of the abbey anymore, trapped with a band of devils. The relief inside her was overwhelming. The joy almost crippling.

With ominous strides, Sebastian approached, murder in his eyes. “Let her go.”

The friars slowly backed away.

A flabbergasted Emerson quickly gathered his wits and released her.

Trembling and sweating, Henrietta yanked the neck cloth out of her mouth and let out a sob.

“Come here, Henry,” Sebastian ordered, gun still trained on the dastardly Emerson.

She took one shaky step, then two. But before she could reach the viscount, Emerson yanked a pistol from his coat.