Henrietta was having a devilishly hard time keeping her wits about her. For far too long, Sebastian had looked at her with platonic regard. Now each time he glanced her way, a carnal fire burned in his eyes. It delighted her to her very core, his wanton attention, but it also distracted her.
“I’m afraid not, Miss Ashby.”
So he was back to calling her Miss Ashby, was he? It didn’t matter. She’d have him breathing her nickname again soon enough.
There was a low timbre to his voice. “I can vouch, though, that the Christmas bell is not underneath the settee.”
Henrietta busied herself in the room, “searching” for the bell. “Where could it have gone?”
“Perhaps one of the children took it?” he said. “It is a rather shiny trinket, if I remember correctly.”
Henrietta peeked inside a vase. “The children pledge on all their toys they did not take the bell.” She looked into a tea caddy next. “But with the help of the staff, we should find the bell soon—before we all perish of hunger.”
“Miss Ashby?”
She purred, “Yes, Ravenswood.”
He bristled.
Drat! She had not meant to sound so wanton.
Coughing into her fingers, she said, “Forgive me. My throat is a bit parched. You were saying, my lord?”
He looked lost for words. In truth, he looked preoccupied with staring at her.
Henrietta felt a giddy rush of warm fuzzies tickle her right down to her toes.
“I was going to suggest, Miss Ashby, that you look inside the armoire for the Christmas bell.”
“Oh.” She skirted to the tall piece of furniture with glass inlays. “What a good idea, my lord.”
Henrietta opened one of the glass doors and poked around the shelves, behind the assortment of trinkets.
“You’ve a parched throat, Miss Ashby?
The fine hairs on the back of her neck spiked.
Sebastian was approaching. She could hear the soft click of his boots, smell the very masculine scent of him grow near.
“I hope you didn’t catch chill while you were ice skating,” he said.
Confident in Madam Jacqueline’s training, Henrietta assured herself she could do this; she could get Ravenswood to kiss her—on the lips this time.
“It’s just a little tickle. I’ll be fine, Ravenswood.”
Shifting through the precious heirlooms in the armoire, she ignored the loud thudding of her heart to ask, “How did you sleep, my lord?”
“Not a wink, I’m afraid.”
He was beside her now. She sniffed the spicy scent of cologne. Oh, it wasn’t fair to her senses that the man should look, sound, smell so sinfully delicious! It made her attempt at seduction all the more grueling, with the distraction he imposed.
“I’m sorry to hear that, my lord.”
“Are you really, Miss Ashby?”
“Why, of course, Ravenswood.” She peered behind a figurine. “We are friends, you and I. And friends always want what’s best for each other.”
“Hmmm.”
His warm breath tickled the soft hairs by her ear, making her shiver.
“About our friendship, Miss Ashby?”
Henrietta stopped searching through the armoire and looked at him. “Yes, Ravenswood?”
A storm raged in his sea blue eyes. “Do you really think we can be friends?”
The deep rumble of his voice did very pleasant things to her, arousing things. But she stifled her growing passion to respond, “Indeed, Ravenswood. Why do you ask?”
She was careful to match his low tone, to mimic the brewing desire reflecting in his watery gaze.
“I remember the first time we met, Miss Ashby.”
Unfortunately, so did Henrietta. “At Peter and Penelope’s engagement party?”
“That’s right. You were too young to attend the celebration.”
“Yes, I remember,” she murmured. “Mama had ordered me to bed.”
“But you did not obey.”
Henrietta shrugged. “It was a spectacular event. I had to see it for myself.”
“You almost broke your neck.”
“Rot! It was just a little tumble.”
But it wasn’t that little a tumble. Henrietta thought back to that both magical and disastrous night. She had crouched by the top of the stairs, peering below at the dashing guests streaming into the house. And then he had entered the main hall, decked in dapper garb of sinister black.
A peculiar spasm had gripped her heart. An omen really, telling her the viscount was special among all the rest. And to get a better look at him, she had poked her head around the banister…and lost her footing.
Like tumbleweed, she’d rolled down the steps and landed right at Ravenswood’s feet. What a mortification!
“You were fortunate to have survived the accident, Miss Ashby.”
“My backside was a bit sore, is all.”
But upon mention of her sore backside, something dark, ravenous even, sparked in Sebastian’s eyes. A rather naughty look that Henrietta quite liked.
“Why do you bring up the past, Ravenswood?”
“It’s just that we’ve known each other for so long, Miss Ashby. I think of you as my—”
“Rubbish, Ravenswood.” She moved closer to him, wanting to slay the pestering thought before it took root. She was not his sister. She was his soul mate. And she was going to make the dratted man realize it in a matter of seconds. “Our years together will only strengthen our friendship.”
“Will they?”
Henrietta tensed. He touched her cheek with the pad of his thumb, stroking. Her lashes fluttered under his tender regard; her breath hitched.
“They will,” she whispered softly. “I promise. Trust me.”
His thumb moved to her lips, grazing the swelling flesh in light wisps.
Henrietta could see it in his eyes, his need to taste her. She had a similar longing. It burned and thundered in her veins, the desire to press her mouth to his lush lips.
Her carefully orchestrated seduction was slowly unraveling. She was not supposed to falter under his mesmerizing stare, but the deeper she delved into the glossy wet pools, the heavier she breathed—and the more she thrust her body forward, aching for his touch.
Fingers trembling, Sebastian lowered his head, and breathed, “Henry.”
Sweat pooled at the base of her spine, gathered under her breasts. She closed her eyes, her heart throbbing, and parted her lips.
“There you are, Ravenswood!”
Reeling, Henrietta smacked her head against the open glass door of the armoire. She clutched her breast in an attempt to quell her rampant heartbeats.
Ravenswood looked no less harried, combing a shaky hand through his curly mane, nostrils flaring.
Penelope and Roselyn flanked the viscount, each hooking a hand—perhaps “claw” was a better word?—around his arm.
Penelope flashed a dazzling smile. “We’ve come to escort you to luncheon, Ravenswood.”
“The Christmas bell’s been found,” said Roselyn. “It was hiding in the kitchen, by the fire. One of the hounds must have put it there.”
And so Ravenswood was snatched away, like a hapless mortal kidnapped by mischievous faeries.
Henrietta could do naught but stare after him, willing her heart to stay lodged in her breast. Heavens, what a fright! She bloody well had to remember to lock the door next time she tried to kiss Ravenswood.
“Come, Henry!” Penelope sang from the doorway. “Luncheon awaits.”
Henrietta scowled at her sister. So close. She had come so close to tasting Sebastian’s sweet lips.
Drat!
Chapter 11
Sebastian stood by the library window, staring into the black beyond. Insomnia plagued him. He’d not nabbed a wink of sleep since his arrival four days ago. And it was getting to him, the restlessness. He thought of Henrietta more and more. In very ungentlemanly ways.
Snowflakes flicked across the pane of glass, a mesmerizin
g flurry. He watched the little white dots dance and whirl, trying to banish the image of Henrietta from his mind. But the willful chit refused to go. She pouted her lips at him, so flush, so tempting to taste.
Sebastian moved away from the window. With a disgruntled growl, he poured himself another glass of port. Dash it! Trapped in a house with a family to drive one mad. First the peculiar Miss Ashby teased and tantalized his senses. Now her sisters behaved in the most baffling manner, peppering him with idle questions, following him around the house.
Sebastian rubbed his brow. Twelfth Night seemed an eon away.
The creaking hinges disrupted the viscount’s musings.
“Forgive me, my lord. I didn’t mean to disturb your privacy.”
Sebastian bristled. She was stunning. Billowing russet red locks glowed in the firelight, hugging the curves of her shoulders, her breasts, her well-rounded hips. She was dressed for bed in a flimsy night rail, butter yellow in hue, tucked beneath a thick woolly wrapper. Such a wild temptress, exposing a scandalous patch of skin: her bare toes!
“What the devil are you doing here, Miss Ashby?”
Sebastian was having a deuced hard time purging the whimsical chit from his thoughts without her prancing about so scantily attired. Not that he was in a more fitting form of dress, clad in breeches and a wrinkled linen shirt. Why, the two of them looked ready for a night of passionate lovemaking.
Bloody hell.
She stepped deeper into the library, her voice smoky. “I could ask you the same question, my lord.”
He perused her supple figure. Even beneath the bulky wrapper, her curvy form was evident.
Sebastian gritted his teeth, tamping the wanton stirrings in his belly. But it was hard to dismiss the chit’s plump and oh-so-provocative curves. His fingers burned to trace the shapely outline of her figure, to divest her of that woolly wrapper…
“I couldn’t sleep,” he said, a bit strangled.
“Neither could I.” Sashaying over to the bookcase, she skimmed her fingertips along the leather-bound volumes. “I’ve come to fetch a tome. Some light reading might help put me to sleep.”
Staring at her delectable arse was definitely not going to put him to sleep, so Sebastian set his port aside and made a move toward the door. “I will leave you to your book reading, Miss Ashby.”
She whirled around. “No!”
He quirked a brow. “No?”
“I mean, please don’t leave on my account.”
He made a curt bow. “Good night, Miss Ashby.”
“Ravenswood—ouch. Dash it!”
His heart pinched at her cry of distress.
Quickly he turned around to find her clutching the back of a chair for support, her expression pained.
He hastened to her side. “Miss Ashby, are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she gritted out. “Just stubbed my toe on the chair leg.”
“Come here, you foolish girl.” He moved to her side and scooped her in his arms. Blast it! Did she have to feel so devilishly good against him?
Tamping the snarling hound of lust in his belly, Sebastian whisked her over to the settee and set her down.
He knelt beside her. “Let me have a look.”
He captured her foot in his palm. It was such a small foot. A wonder it could cause her so much pain.
He stroked the big toe, swelling slightly. “Can you wiggle it?”
Chewing on her bottom lip, she said, “I think so.”
The toe twitched
“It’s not broken.” He let go of her foot, for it was causing him an absurd amount of pleasure to touch her in such an intimate place. “Where are your slippers, Miss Ashby?”
“I couldn’t find the pair. It was dark in my room.”
“Of course it was dark.” He glanced at the mantel clock. “It’s well after midnight. Why didn’t you summon your maid?”
She snorted. “And wake the poor girl at this hour?”
“It’s the girl’s duty, Miss Ashby, to serve you and your whimsical needs. That’s why you pay her.”
“There’s nothing whimsical about my getting a book to read.”
“It’s very whimsical when you insist on traipsing through the house at such an ungodly hour.”
She sniffed in defiance.
He glowered at her. “Well, Miss Ashby, after a sensible, barefooted jaunt to the library, how do you intend to return to your room? You can hardly walk.”
And he wasn’t going to carry her. The three steps to the settee he’d taken with Henrietta in his arms had stirred a fire in his belly he was still struggling to douse. Carting her through the house was going to leave him a pile of cinder before he ever reached the chit’s room.
“Then I shan’t go back,” she said.
Up went a dark sable brow. “Oh?”
“I’ll just stay here for the night.”
“In the library? Alone?”
“Any why not?”
“I can think of one very good reason,” he growled.
“Such as?”
“Such as an aghast footman stumbling upon you in the morning. You’re half dressed, Miss Ashby.”
“Rubbish.” She fluffed her wrapper, a bit more of her flimsy night rail peeking through the part in the woolly fabric.
The muscles in his groin hardened.
Sebastian tried not to look at the delicate arch of her ankles and the soft swell of her calves, both visible through the translucent shift, but the wicked rogue within him was adamant about taking in the provocative sight.
“I just need a blanket and I’ll be fine,” she said.
He blinked, dispelling the vision of her wanton legs. “And I suppose the duty falls upon me to fetch you that blanket? While your maid sleeps soundly away?”
Her lashes fluttered. “Would you mind, my lord?”
He pressed his lips together. The little hoyden always flirted with impropriety. Was she really going to stretch out on the settee in her undergarments? Blast it! Of course she was. She was just the kind of rash chit to do such a thing. At least a blanket would cover her dainty toes.
Disgruntled, Sebastian hoisted himself to his feet. He spotted a coverlet across the room, draped over a chair back, and set out to recover it.
He returned to the settee.
“Thank you, my lord.”
He unfurled the blanket and draped it across her form, sorry to see so many delectable curves disappear. No! He was not sorry to see the curves covered. He was grateful to be spared from further temptation. Really, he was.
“You’re welcome, Miss Ashby.”
She clasped her hands together in her lap. “Will you fetch me a book, Ravenswood?”
“You still want to read?”
“A little, yes.”
He sighed and headed for the bookcase. The girl was making him restless. He itched to touch her. To peek under that woolly wrapper…
Sebastian took in a deep breath. He was a bloody fool.
He reached the bookcase. “Anything in particular, Miss Ashby?”
“Shakespeare.”
His finger paused on a tome. “You read Shakespeare?”
“Voraciously.”
He located Sonnets and pulled it from the shelf. “Really?”
“You look surprised, Ravenswood.”
“I admit, I am, Miss Ashby.” He moved back to her side and handed her the volume. “It was years ago, but I remember the family attending a production of Hamlet at the theater.” He crouched beside her again. “And you very loudly proclaiming: ‘Shakespeare is a dull, old wart.’”
Even in the dimly lit room, he noted the blush dusting her cheeks.
“I’m afraid your memory is a little rusty,” she said. “It must have been one of my sisters.”
“Perhaps you’re right, Miss Ashby,” he murmured. “Enjoy your reading. I hope it brings you sweet dreams.”
She clasped his hand. “Will you read it to me?”
Sebastian stared at the elfin finger
s caressing his meaty palm. Such soft fingers, stirring the heat in his belly with each deliberate caress.
He shuddered.
“Please, Ravenswood.” Her forefinger whisked across his knuckles in faerie strokes. “Be a dear friend and read a little to me?”
Thoughts deserted him. He could not come up with an excuse to refuse her request.
How the devil did he keep finding himself in these predicaments?
“Very well, Miss Ashby.” He sighed and collected a nearby chair. He took the book from her hand and opened it to a random page. “‘My love is as a fever, longing still…’” Sebastian closed the book. “On second thought, I don’t think this is a very good idea.”
“Rot, Ravenswood!”
“Really, Miss Ashby, I should go.” He set the book aside. “It’s late.”
She placed her hand on his knee this time. “Ravenswood, is something the matter?”
Yes! The wrapper had parted the moment she’d leaned forward, exposing even more of the fluffy night rail—and the plump swell of one breast. Funny how he’d never noticed her breasts before, always shoved together in a confining corset. But now the drop and natural curve of the supple flesh seemed so enticing. His fingers twitched to part the wrapper even more; to mold the lush breast to his hand.
“Well, Ravenswood?”
Henrietta started to rub his knee, deft strokes exciting the rogue within him.
He gripped her hand with the intent to remove it from his leg, but he squeezed it instead. Not hard. A firm hold to make sure she couldn’t pull away. And then he did the most ridiculous thing: he brought her wrist to his lips and kissed it.
Chapter 12
Henrietta didn’t want to move the seduction along too quickly. It was a risky move, for she might frighten Sebastian away. But with four sisters threatening to devastate all her plans, she didn’t have a choice in the matter. Time alone with Ravenswood was precious, and she had to make every private moment count.
And so she’d intended to put to good use one of Madam Jacqueline’s seduction tips: if all else fails, feign injury. A man can never resist rescuing a damsel in distress. Only, in her haste to stop Ravenswood from leaving the library, Henrietta really had stubbed her toe.
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