Too Scandalous to Wed (5 page)

“Well, Ravenswood?”

Sebastian snapped his gaze back to Tertia. What were they talking about again? Paris? Clothes? Colors? That’s it! “Blue, I believe.”

Peter choked.

Tertia lifted a delicate brow. “I should purchase a blue mare, Ravenswood?”

Sebastian frowned. “We’re not talking about the Parisian vogue?”

“No, Ravenswood,” said Tertia. “Ponies. For my Edward’s fifth birthday. We were talking about the best breeds.”

“My apologies, sister.”

Sebastian was back to glaring at Henrietta. Good
God, the girl was huge! Two dress sizes bigger, he was sure. What’s more, the astute cut of her rust brown frock made sure to highlight those striking curves. And damned if she hadn’t sprouted a figure worthy of notice.

“What do you think, Ravenswood?”

Blast it! Not again. What was it this time? Birthdays? No, breeds! “I believe a Shetland is the best choice.”

Tertia coughed. “I most certainly will
not
serve horseflesh at my Eddie’s birthday dinner!”

Sebastian stifled an oath.

“Devil take it, Seb,” his brother leaned in to whisper, “whatever is the matter with your ears?”

His ears might be faulty, but there was nothing the matter with his eyes. “Look at her, Peter.”

“Who, Seb?”

“Henrietta, you fool!”

Peter did as he was told. “What about her?”

“Are you daft? Don’t you notice something different about the girl?”

Peter crinkled his brow. “No, not really. Then again, you’ve been gone five months, Seb. I’m sure we all seem a bit different to you.”

“
You
are tryingly the same, brother.” Sebastian glanced at Henrietta, then back at Peter. “Can’t you see the change in her?”

Once more, Peter peeked down the rosewood dining table. And once more he affirmed, “There’s nothing the matter with her, Seb.”

Sebastian sensed his temples throbbing. “She’s twice her normal size!” he hissed.

Peter choked again. “Good heavens, Seb, are you mad? She’s nothing of the sort.”

“Look closely.”

“I
have
. She’s hardly half a stone plumper, and more’n likely due to the heavy winter garb she’s wearing.”

“Rubbish, the girl is…” So lushly curvaceous, Sebastian’s fingers twitched in a most wicked way. “What about the way she eats?”

“What the deuce is the matter with the way she eats?”

Well, for one, she was savoring her meal far too greatly. The way she slowly licked her lips after each bite made Sebastian’s breath hitch.

“Seb, are you feeling all right?”

Sebastian looked at his brother, confused for the first time in a long time. There was something dreadfully wrong with Henrietta. Why was he the only one who noticed?

A
gentle snowfall showered the earth. Henrietta stared into the distant night, dragging in deep, cold breaths to steady her throbbing heart. She had done it! For five months she had rehearsed the art of flirting. For five months she had practiced every lithe movement in the mirror, read aloud to train her voice, and tonight the time had come to put all her hard effort to work.

Oh, it had been a wretched wait for Ravenswood to appear! She had paced her room, her belly in a whirl, her rug threadbare from abuse. And then the sleigh bells had chimed, heralding his arrival—and she’d paced some more.

Never show too much affection.

It was one of Madam Jacqueline’s cardinal rules. And so Henrietta had stewed in her bedchamber, awaiting the dinner bell. Even then she’d delayed her entrance to the dining room for maximum affect. And it had worked. Splendidly, in fact. She’d sensed Sebastian’s dark gaze on her the entire time.

Henrietta was so giddy she could giggle. It was over, the first test. Madam Jacqueline had taught her well. Henrietta had the strength, the skill to go through with the rest of the seduction. And she intended to make Ravenswood hers forever.

“Good evening, Miss Ashby.”

Oh, that rusty male voice! How she had missed it. Heart thumping loudly, Henrietta gathered her features and turned to find the most devilishly handsome man in creation sauntering toward her.

She couldn’t help but sigh. Inwardly, of course. Madam Jacqueline had instructed her on the art of looking composed even when one didn’t feel very collected.

Henrietta smiled and curtsied. “Good evening, my lord.”

Sebastian paused dead in his tracks at the appellation “my lord.” Another one of Madam Jacqueline’s basic rules: take away the familiar until the man longed for it back. She would not call him Sebastian again until he implored her to.

The moment of shock over, the viscount resumed his steady march. Snow crunched softly beneath his booted heels. He came to a stop just short of her arm’s reach, a light dusting of snowflakes clinging to his hair, his coat. The tiny white puffs even settled upon his thick and sooty lashes, and Henrietta found herself quite mesmerized by the charming sight.

“How are you this evening, Miss Ashby?”

Her smile broadened just a bit. Madam Jacqueline
had been right. A rake like Ravenswood would pick up on her subtle sexual signals. She hadn’t believed it true. The man had never noticed her obvious attempts at seduction. How would he ever heed the obscure ones? she had thought.

But a patient Madam Jacqueline had explained to her the power of a subtle courtship. The thrill a man obtained from picking up “the scent” and then partaking in “the hunt,” as she’d put it. Henrietta need not change her appearance or manner in any wild way, the courtesan had said. Just a tweak here and there. A few extra pounds to give her figure the right curves. A more throaty voice to invite salacious daydreams. And a confident stride to attract attention. Enough alteration to draw Sebastian’s notice without disturbing the equanimity in the household. After all, she didn’t want her parents, her sisters to see what she was doing. Only Ravenswood.

“I am well, my lord. Just enjoying the winter air. It’s so crisp and refreshing, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes, indeed,” he murmured.

He was staring at her. Hard. Trying to decipher the puzzle she had become with those avid blue eyes of his. But he would never learn the true lengths to which she had gone to capture his heart. He’d wring her neck for sure if he ever found out.

“How was your voyage abroad, my lord?”

“Quite pleasant, Miss Ashby.” He perused her briefly, his hot gaze ever so warming. “In fact, I in
tend to return to the mainland after Twelfth Night.”

Her heart shuddered. “Really, my lord? We shall mourn the loss of your company.”

Drat! He was running off again, and she wasn’t daft enough to believe his desertion had nothing to do with her. Well, she was just going to have to seduce the mulish man by Twelfth Night then.

“And you, Miss Ashby? How have you fared these last five months?”

“Very well, I daresay.”

According to Madam Jacqueline, it was not so much what one said but how one said it that mattered. And Henrietta made sure to keep her voice steady and low, even under the viscount’s probing glare.

“Then you are not ill, Miss Ashby?”

“I am in perfect health, my lord. Why do you ask? Do I look ill?”

He paused. “You look…different.”

“Oh?” She quirked a brow. “In what way?”

“I can’t quite put my finger on it, Miss Ashby.”

I’m sure you can’t
, she thought impishly. And she intended to keep him perplexed for a while more. If she flirted too firmly, he would guess at her intentions and dash off before Twelfth Night. She didn’t want to spend another five months stewing at home while he gallivanted about the mainland. Certainly not.

She dipped her eyes to his booted toes. In a coy voice, she said, “You know me so well, my lord.”

“Then something
is
amiss?”

“Alas, I’m afraid so.” Eyes lifting to meet his once more, she whispered, “I have a secret.”

“And will you share it with me, Miss Ashby?”

“Only if you promise to never breathe a word of it.”

He nodded slowly. “I promise on my honor as a gentleman.”

Henrietta peeked from side to side, then said, “I’m having an affair.”

Sebastian stopped breathing. She could tell by the scarcity of icy breath escaping his lips.

But soon the icy clouds started forth once more—through his nose. “I don’t think I heard you right, Miss Ashby.”

“It’s dreadful, I know.” She sighed, a gloved hand to her heart. “I’m heartily ashamed of myself.”

His voice was taut, stiffly so. “And with whom are you having an affair?”

“Why, with Mrs. Quigly’s pastries, of course.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Our new cook, Mrs. Quigly, is a wonder in the kitchen.” Henrietta twirled her eyes. “Her pastries are divine. I must admit, I’ve developed an unhealthy fondness for sugared cakes.”

Sebastian didn’t say anything for a moment. Instead he rubbed his lush lips together, deep in thought.

Henrietta, enraptured by the subtle display of movement, had to whisk her gaze back up to meet
the viscount’s. Though her heart was thudding in her breast like a drum, she fixed a playful smile to her lips to conceal her fluster.

“You are teasing me, Miss Ashby.”

The rugged drawl of his voice did wonderful things to Henrietta. Delicious shivers rolled over her in rhythmic waves. How she longed to hear that deep and sultry voice by her ear! To feel the warm breath of his words caress her skin.

Henrietta took in a sharp breath to steady her wayward thoughts. “Of course I’m teasing you, my lord. What is a little harmless banter between friends?”

And since she’d never teased him a day in eight years, she could understand the man’s bewilderment.

Sebastian lifted a sooty brow. “Friends, are we? Pray tell me, Miss Ashby, what will we do as friends?”

“Why, we will do as every other couple engaged in friendship.”

“Unfortunately, I do not have many friends, Miss Ashby, so I will need your guidance in this matter.”

She counted off her gloved fingers. “Well, we shall share each other’s company and tease one another. Oh, and we shall confide in each other our deepest and darkest secrets.”

“Like a penchant for pastries?”

She quirked a grin. “Precisely, my lord.”

“I see.” His smoldering gaze touched her like a hot iron poker. “Well, since we are friends, Miss
Ashby, do you have any other deep and dark secrets you’d like to impart?”

The scoundrel was trying to unsettle her with that piercing stare of his; muddle her thoughts, make her slip up and say something to betray her
real
secret. Well, she had an ideal countermeasure for just such a wily move.

Taking Madam Jacqueline’s advice to heart, Henrietta thought about one of the many wicked images in the courtesan’s naughty book of pictures that she had come to memorize, even desire. An image of a naked couple, their limbs intertwined, their lips in very intimate places. And then she looked at Sebastian’s lips. Let her eyes rest on the soft, full pair as she delved deep into her fantasy.

After a few decadent moments, she lifted her gaze to meet his penetrating stare, and smiled. “No more confessions tonight, Lord Ravenswood.” She let the words roll off her tongue, then curtsied. “Pleasant dreams.”

Skirting around him, Henrietta all but skipped off the terrace. If she hadn’t bowled him over before, she’d bowled him over now. Madam Jacqueline had been right. Again. Think a naughty thought and it’d show in your eyes. Something a true rakehell would never miss.

Sebastian stood on the terrace, staring at the vast winter wonderland. As the minutes ticked by, he looked more and more like a man of snow. He
should really get himself inside where it was warm. But he did nothing of the sort. In truth, he didn’t feel the cold. He didn’t feel much of anything—but for a smoldering spark burning deep in his belly.

Had the little hoyden just leveled a most sinfully wicked stare his way? Sebastian was sure the answer was an unequivocal no. All common sense indicated Henrietta a whimsical chit and nothing more. Which meant
he
was totally daft.

Bah! He was just tired was all. The journey to the Ashby country home had taken a few grueling hours. He was imagining things. Fatigue was the culprit for his wayward thoughts.

A sinfully wicked stare, indeed. He snorted. The chit didn’t know the first thing about being wicked. She was far too innocent.

Sebastian took in a deep and measured breath. One thing was for certain, though. There was something very different about Henrietta. He sensed the change in her. Why, the girl had actually called him by his title! He’d all but tripped upon hearing the appellation. In
eight
years she’d never referred to him as anyone but Sebastian. And for some bizarre reason, it was strange to hear her call him “my lord.”

And what was this deuced nonsense about friendship? Did the girl still want to marry him or not?

Something was definitely amiss. There was one conundrum after another. Like what the devil did Henrietta mean by teasing him like that? An affair with pastries. Had all that sugar gone to the girl’s
head? The sweet tooth did explain one anomaly, though. That plump and curvy figure. Hips! The girl actually had hips! Lush and oh-so-round…

“Bloody hell,” he growled and quickly vacated the terrace. The cold was seeping into his brain, making him imagine all sorts of absurdities. Still, he doubted a warm fire would put his senses to right. He had a quandary on his hands.

Pleasant dreams? Not tonight. Not for a great many nights. Not until he debunked the mystery of the curious Miss Ashby.

“G
ood heavens, she married a duke!”

“Who married a duke?”

Startled, Henrietta folded the letter in her hands. She looked up to find Sebastian poised in the door frame, shoulder slumped against the ornate wood paneling. Thick arms folded over his strapping chest, legs crossed at the ankles, he perused her, a drowsy glint in his otherwise clear blue eyes.

Oh, had the handsome viscount not slumbered very soundly? Had a certain temptress, mayhap, haunted his dreams?

“Good morning, my lord.” Biting back her grin, Henrietta stood and reached for the still steaming teapot. “Tea?”

Sebastian sauntered into the breakfast room. My, he looked splendid. All decked out in regal day wear. Tight and clinging day wear. The muscled form beneath the layers of clothing was hard to miss. Ever since her lessons with Madam Jacqueline, Henrietta
had come to admire the masculine figure. And Sebastian’s was a specimen worthy of more intimate study.

“Thank you, Miss Ashby,” he said, and took a chair opposite her. Black curls a bit disheveled, voice a smoky drawl, he was too sinfully handsome for words.

Henrietta set the teacup on the table in front of him and returned to her seat. Needing a distraction, she unfurled the letter once more, and said, “I’ve just received a missive from my dearest chum, Mirabelle.”

“Is she the one from the masquerade ball?”

“The very one.”

He whistled. “She married a duke, did she?”

“The Duke of Wembury! Oh, but I didn’t get to go to the wedding. Drat!”

At least she didn’t have to keep her friendship with Mirabelle a secret anymore. That was one good thing. Mama would be positively agog to learn that her daughter was now friends with a duchess!

Sebastian slowly sipped his tea, eyes intent upon her. “Why didn’t you go to the wedding?”

Henrietta shivered under his smoldering gaze and looked back at the note. “It was a simple ceremony, Mirabelle writes. Only family attended. But I’ve been invited to the castle for a visit.”

“Will you go?”

“Of course I will.”

But there was still Ravenswood to seduce, she
thought. The viscount was staying at the house until Twelfth Night. If she went to visit the duchess, she was going to lose a few days with the viscount…

“I shall postpone the trip until the spring,” she said. “I shall write to the duchess today to inform her.”

“Why wait so long?”

Keeping her voice light and airy, she said, “Oh, I have a few other matters to attend to here at the house.”

Sebastian shrugged. “I didn’t take Wembury for the leg-shackling sort.”

Henrietta’s eyes widened. “You know the duke?”

“Of him. He was dubbed the ‘Duke of Rogues’ long ago. At one time, he even belonged to my club. Before I was a member, though.”

“What club?”

A dark shadow passed over Sebastian’s eyes. “A gentlemen’s club,” was all he said on the matter. He took another sip of tea before he resumed. “About two and a half years ago, though, after the death of his brother, Wembury disappeared from the world. And now he’s back? And riveted at that? Shocking.”

“Well, it seems the duke’s reformed his ways.”

“A scoundrel can never reform his ways, Miss Ashby.”

She quirked a brow. “Is that so?”

“Oh yes.” He reached for a pastry on the table. “It’s impossible to rid oneself of wicked intentions. A thief will always be a thief. His fingers will al
ways itch and burn to pinch one thing or another. And a man so scandalous as to be dubbed the ‘Duke of Rogues’ will always be a rogue, I’m afraid.”

Henrietta’s fingers itched and burned to do a little pinching of her own. Only she wanted to pinch that willful lip of his until it bruised.

Was he going to use that tired old line on her: once a rake, always a rake? Rot! If
she
could transform from whimsical to wanton, then surely one could go from rake to respectable.

But before she could argue her point, Sebastian parted his lips to partake of the pastry, and all irascible thoughts deserted her.

A warm heat invaded her belly, spread through her every limb. At the decadent sight, Henrietta scratched out the image of the pastry from her mind and put herself in its place. And at the thought of Sebastian doing to her what he was doing to that pastry, her whole body started to quiver.

“Miss Ashby, are you all right?” He reached for a napkin to wipe his fingers, staring at her curiously the whole time.

Henrietta had to fight really hard to find her voice and keep it from squeaking. “I’m quite well, my lord. I assure you.” She took a moment to gather her wits, then said, “You don’t think a man can reform? Why is that?”

He shrugged. “Some of us are born good, Miss Ashby. And some of us are not. It’s the natural way of the world.”

She screwed up her face. Where the devil did he get that idea from? But before she could ask, he said:

“You’re up early this morning.”

Her curiosity stifled, she fibbed, “I always rise early.”

He wrinkled his brow. “Do you? I remember you rising closer to noon.”

So true. And it was a bloody wretched business getting up with the cocks. But she’d no time to diddle away in bed while Ravenswood was in the house. She had until Twelfth Night to achieve her goal, and she was going to put every waking minute to good use.

“There’s just so much to do today, my lord.”

“Such as?”

Such as seducing you
, she thought impishly.

“Well, there’s the skating party to organize,” she said. “My sisters and I have decided to take the children down to the pond for an afternoon of sport. I do hope you brought along your skates, my lord.”

“I’m afraid not, Miss Ashby.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “No matter. You can borrow Papa’s skates. He doesn’t use them anymore.”

“Thank you for the offer, but I must decline.”

“Rubbish! Why else would you come all this way to visit if not to enjoy the merry company?”

He gave her a dubious look at that. Was she being too forward? Well, she had to get the dratted man to the frozen pond somehow. She was going to employ a new tactic today: scent.

Scent was
the
strongest aphrodisiac, according to Madam Jacqueline. And Henrietta wholly agreed. Why, just standing next to Sebastian and breathing in the rich waft of rosemary and lemon had always made her woozy.

Anyway, she’d coaxed from her brother-in-law the name of Sebastian’s favorite perfume. And it was time to put that knowledge to good use.

“Come, Ravenswood, we are friends,” she persuaded him gently. “And friends often skate together.”

“Do they now?”

“Most assuredly.”

He stared at her for a long while, then said, “With the children?”

“And my sisters and their husbands. Even your brother Peter is joining in the revelry. So you see, you simply must attend.”

After another lengthy pause, he finally sighed. “I’ve not skated in years.”

“Fret not, my lord, I’ll be there to catch you if you fall.”

Sebastian landed on his arse—again.

He’d had enough. Taking his lumbering self over to one of the fallen logs, he sat on the makeshift bench and unfastened the leather straps from his boots, discarded the skates.

Feeling much steadier now that he had his own two feet back, Sebastian stretched his hands toward the fire sparking away in a large tin bucket.

As he rubbed his frozen palms together, he let his eyes wander over the icy pond and the crowd of skaters, and settle upon a little hoyden dragging two wobbling sprites along beside her.

With one hand latched on to an unsteady niece and another clamped on to a rambunctious nephew, Henrietta steered the two novice ice dancers, encouraging them softly, her laughter spirited, but kind, when one little rump hit the sheet of ice. And yet she herself looked so graceful among the chaos. In her fur-trimmed cape and matching gloves, she appeared a winter faerie, dancing over the frozen pond.

“What’s this?” Peter shouted from the ice. “Have you given up already, brother?”

Snapped from his reverie, Sebastian stared once more at the snapping flames.

Since Peter was already scaling the embankment, there was no reason for Sebastian to raise his voice. “I’m afraid so, Peter. I’ve lost my touch on the ice.”

Peter sat down beside him with a snort. “The only time you’ve ever ‘touched’ the ice is with your arse.”

“Yes, thank you for the reminder.”

Peter knocked his brother’s hands out of the way, so he could hog the fire. “What are you doing out here anyway, Seb?”

“Devil if I know.”

“You’ve not skated in years.”

“Yes, I know, Peter. I was tricked into the excursion—I think.”

“Tricked? By whom?”

“A redheaded minx.”

“Henrietta? Be serious, Seb. She’s a darling chit and all, but she’s not one for skullduggery.”

Sebastian was beginning to wonder about that. “Well, if she didn’t trick me, then what the deuce am I doing out here?”

Lips parted, Peter looked like he was about to impart some witty words of wisdom, then paused. “You know, I’ve no idea, Seb. But then again, you are a bit of a mystery.”

“How’s that?”

“Well, you’re here for one. At the estate, I mean. A scoundrel like yourself cloistered amid the very essence of domesticity. It defies reason.”

“Can’t a scoundrel visit with family?”

“Yes, of course, but
why
would you come to call at this time of year? When every Ashby is gathered in rambunctious familial rapport. It’s beyond me.”

“Well, then let me solve this mystery for you, brother. I’ve come to see Henrietta.”

Peter brought his frigid fingers to his lips and blew. “Oh?”

“I’d hoped to find the girl wed, even engaged. But regrettably she’s still unattached.

“A vexing predicament.”

Was that sarcasm Sebastian detected? “It most certainly is vexing. I’ve spent the last five months in exile, hoping the chit would find herself a mate. All
to no avail, I might add. The baron assures me the girl isn’t even interested in another bloke.”

“So
that’s
why you disappeared to the mainland? And that’s why you’re going back again, isn’t it?” Peter chuckled. “My sympathies, Seb. You’ve a most dire predicament on your hands. What with a beautiful woman chasing you about, and all.”

He growled, “You know damn well nothing can come of it.”

“Oh yes, perish the thought that a man your age should retire his wicked ways and settle down with a lovely chit.”

Sebastian glared at his brother. “What the devil do you mean, ‘a man my age’? I’ve yet to sprout a white hair.”

“Listen, Seb, it’s worth thinking about—”

“No! It’s not.”

Peter sighed. “And why the devil not?”

Because Sebastian wasn’t about to give up his foul habits. A deviant did not “retire” his wicked ways. Such behavior was an incorrigible way of life, an addiction in the blood. And he happened to
like
his wicked ways, blast it! A fussy wife was sure to dampen his lusty disposition, spoil his sinful pursuits. And he certainly wasn’t going to marry an adorable minx like Henrietta, who didn’t even spark a bit of arousal in him. “I won’t marry the girl.”

“Oh, Seb.”

Peter looked across the pond, and Sebastian unwittingly followed his brother’s gaze.

The viscount caught sight of Henrietta with the children, waving to him. Something snagged on his heart. He quickly dismissed the sentiment.

“Leave it alone, Peter. I don’t belong with Henrietta.”

An hour later, hungry and tired, the skating party quit the ice and headed for the cozy comforts of home.

Sebastian, too, trailed after the crowd, dodging the children’s snowballs—and Peter’s. He was about to wallop his pestering brother over the head, when he noticed one member of their group was unaccounted for.

Henrietta.

Sebastian looked back at the pond to find her skating alone. Hands clasped behind her back, her cape fluttering in the breeze, she gracefully twirled on the ice, humming, enjoying the solitude, no doubt.

He turned away to give her peace, when the sharp sound of cutting ice filled his ears.

“Will you join me, Ravenswood?”

Sebastian peered over his shoulder again. Henrietta had skated to the pond’s edge, her cheeks flushed with rosy life, her breath icy clouds on her plump red lips. Vigorous exercise heartily agreed with her, it seemed. Even her eyes sparkled like golden syrup.

“I wouldn’t be very pleasant company, Miss Ashby.”

She let out a husky laugh. Though it was cold, the frigid air making her voice scratchy, Sebastian still sensed a peculiar jolt in the pit of his belly at her smoky chortle.

“Rot, Ravenswood! Besides, you need the practice.”

She winked at him. A playful wink that struck a chord of…arousal in him? Preposterous. He could not have these kinds of feelings for the girl. It was simply impossible. She was a delightful scamp. Always had been. She had not changed
that
much in five months. Nor had he, surely.

Sebastian looked back at the skating party, now fading dots on the horizon. “Really, Miss Ashby, I think it best if we both return to the house.”

“Oh, I’m not ready to retire. But you go on ahead, if you must. Know this, though, you leave a friend vulnerable in the wilderness.”

He flicked a brow upward at the wilderness bit, for the house was in perfect view of the pond, but otherwise did not protest. Instead he sighed and rested his sore rump on the frozen log once more. “Then I suppose the duty falls upon me to guard you, Miss Ashby—from the wilderness, of course.”

“I like that.” With a haughty air, she admonished, “You’ll sit there, on that icy lump, rather than skate with me? I warn you, Ravenswood, a friend might start to feel slighted.”

“I assure you, Miss Ashby, I’ve no intention of affronting you.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” She smiled and moved off again, shouting, “Now put on your skates!”

Why, the bossy little chit! When the devil had she sprouted such an officious disposition? Better yet,
why
had she sprouted such an officious disposition? What was the girl up to?