He’d had a carnal taste of Henrietta once before. She was a feisty little wanton in bed. It was the only perk to the whole blasted affair. And if she thought to deny him her charming curves, her plump breasts…well, Sebastian wasn’t going to stand for it.
“Good evening, Ravenswood.”
Rankled, Sebastian smoothed his features into a bland smile. “Good evening, Baron Ashby.”
The baron stretched out his hand in greeting. “How fare your business affairs, Ravenswood?”
Sebastian accepted the offered hand and wrinkled his brow. “My business affairs?”
“The reason you were detained, my lord,” said Henrietta.
“Ah, yes, my business affairs.” Was that what the devious chit had told everyone about his tardiness? Very clever of her. “All in good order, Baron Ashby.”
“Glad to hear it, Ravenswood. Glad to hear it.”
The baron was stiff and formal and so unlike his usual cheerful self. Well, Peter had warned him the baron was cantankerous. After all, Sebastian was stealing away the man’s “darling boy.”
But Sebastian didn’t have time to comfort a malcontent Baron Ashby. His betrothed had just uttered a ghastly vow, and he was determined to set her right on the matter. A marriage in name only? Not if he had anything to say about it!
First, though, Sebastian had to pacify the baron and send him on his way.
“Baron Ashby, I understand you have leather-tip cue sticks?”
Henrietta offered him a quizzical look.
“Why, yes, Ravenswood,” said the baron. “Yes, I do.”
“We must play a game of billiards, my lord.”
The baron’s eyes brightened. “What a capital idea, Ravenswood!”
“Splendid!” Sebastian smiled. “How about a game tonight?”
The baron beamed. “A game? Tonight? Why, yes, Ravenswood. I would be delighted.”
Henrietta pinched her lips and crossed her arms under her breasts. The baron was an easy man to cajole. She might not appreciate that, but Sebastian did. He had other, more pressing matters to attend to, and the sooner he appeased every angry Ashby at the party, the sooner he could upbraid his betrothed for even suggesting he steer clear of her bed.
And speaking of every angry Ashby…
“Good evening, my lord.”
The baroness came to stand beside her husband. There was something cold about the woman. Her stiff deportment, her cutting glance. Sebastian intended to mollify her, too.
“Good evening, Lady Ashby.” He bowed. “You look lovely tonight.”
“Thank you, my lord,” she said crisply.
To win over the icy baroness, Sebastian gathered all the flirtatious charm he had mastered over the years, and smiled. “My lady, I have a favor to ask of you.”
The baroness opened her fan with a snap. “Yes, Ravenswood?”
“You must take my place at the Royal Pavilion in Brighton.”
Lady Ashby’s fan flickered fast. “The Royal Pavilion, my lord?”
“It’s in a month’s time. I’ve been invited to an assembly by the King himself. And you are family, Lady Ashby, so I insist you take my place. I shall be engaged elsewhere, I’m afraid.” Bedding my wife. “So I must beg you to go in my stead.”
Eyes glistening, lips twisting into a smile, the baroness—so besotted with pomp and presentation—quickly said, “Why, I’d be honored, Ravenswood.”
“Splendid!”
Sebastian knew for a fact the baroness had never been invited to one of the royal assemblies. She had lamented the slight for years. Surely she would never be cross with him again for orchestrating the invitation.
The baroness beamed at her husband and took him by the arm. “Come, Nicholas. We have guests to entertain.” She nodded to Sebastian. “Lord Ravenswood.”
Sebastian bowed again. “Lady Ashby.”
The baroness dragged her husband away.
The baron whispered in flight, “Billiards later, Ravenswood!”
Sebastian watched the quirky couple wend through the crowd and disappear. That was two Ashbys thoroughly stroked, flattered, and appeased. Now he need only placate the sisters…
Aha! He’d have the finest lace and ribbon and fringe in all of France delivered to their door. That should exonerate him nicely.
Now to throttle his betrothed.
Sebastian slipped a firm arm around Henrietta’s waist and steered her to a more private nook. “We have a matter of business to discuss, Miss Ashby.”
She smacked his hand away. “We have nothing to discuss, my lord. I will not be so easily mollified. You cannot offer to play billiards with me or drag me off to Brighton to dance with the King, and expect me to forgive you.”
“Forgive me?” he choked. “For what?”
“You bandied that letter all over London and ruined me!”
He growled, “I did not bandy that letter. And might I remind you, I, too, was ruined by the scandal. I never intended to wed, Miss Ashby. It’s done my reputation a terrible blow, the news of my pending nuptials.”
“How dreadful for you.” She smirked, then said, “But if you didn’t show the letter all over Town, then who did?”
“I have no idea, but I can assure you, Miss Ashby, I will throttle the culprit as soon as I find him.”
“Or her, my lord. You do have so many lovely ‘nuns’ in your life. Why, one might have thought she was doing you a favor, spreading the letter all over Town. Or better yet, maybe a ‘nun’ was jealous and decided to thwart you. Women can be so devious, my lord.”
Devious indeed. Imagine trapping a man into marriage, then denying him the marriage bed. It was a bloody sin!
“Let’s not forget who wrote that blasted letter in the first place,” he gritted.
“Oh, I won’t forget. And I will pay for my folly all the rest of my days—with my marriage to you!”
She flounced off. A bit shaky in her step, but still, she had made her feelings perfectly clear—she hated him!
“Evening, Seb.”
“Go to hell, Peter.”
Peter looked positively tickled.
Sebastian looked beyond his brother’s annoying head to see a gaggle of protective sisters surround Henrietta. Devil take it, how was he supposed to get close to his betrothed with all those harridans buzzing about?
He sighed. “I’ve come to marry her, Peter.”
Peter rocked on his heels, gleeful. “’Course you have.”
“But it looks like she loathes me.”
“’Course she does.”
“So you, brother, are going to help me win her back.”
“’Course I will.”
“You’ll take care of the sisters?”
“Already on it.”
Peter strutted off, a light spring to his step.
Sebastian glared at the sexy little hoyden from across the room, waiting for the ideal opportunity to be alone with her.
The nerve of the chit to deny him—her soon-to-be husband—that deliciously tempting body of hers. Well, there was only one thing left to do. He was going to have to seduce the willful Miss Ashby.
The night was still. Henrietta stood by the terrace edge, gazing at the starry sky. It was cold, too, but she did not have a wrap. Too eager to get away from the festivities—and Ravenswood’s smoldering kisses—she did not think to fetch one.
Alone, for her sisters had been summoned to the nursery—the children were in an uproar of some sort—Henrietta let the chill of winter nip at her nose. Maybe it would nip at her heart, too. Something had to cap the bubble of emotions roiling in her breast.
The dastardly knave! Ravenswood had strolled into the parlor at the stroke of midnight, tried to charm his way into her bed, and then had the gall to look stricken at the thought of being denied his marital right.
She humphed. Was she supposed to ignore his foul behavior, pretend he wasn’t a degenerate? He had smashed her heart to bits that night at the abbey; he had exposed his true and wicked self t
o her. She didn’t trust the man, she didn’t even like the man anymore. And she would not let him near her heart or her body again. She’d pelt him with rocks first.
However, there was one misfortune she had not anticipated: the lack of an heir. In her steely determination to be rid of Ravenswood’s touch, she’d forgotten about a babe. If she barred the viscount from her bed, she would never be a mother.
There was a sharp pang in her breast at the thought of being childless. She knew firsthand the grief it caused her sister Penelope. But Henrietta quickly dismissed the ache. It was better for her to remain fruitless. Peter and Penelope might still have an heir to secure the estate. Henrietta need not bring an innocent babe into Ravenswood’s sinful world. The viscount would make a terrible father, teach their child to indulge in vice. And she could not bear to witness the degeneration of her own son, the corruption of her own daughter.
Henrietta bristled. A warm coat slipped over her shoulders, the scent of rosemary and lemon stirring her senses.
Drat! She didn’t have any rocks.
“You’ll catch a chill, Miss Ashby.”
Oh, that gruff male voice! Did it have to make her quiver so?
She didn’t dare turn around. “I’m not cold.”
“You’re shivering, Miss Ashby.”
Sebastian rubbed her shoulders in slow and sensual caresses, making her heart tap and the sweat gather between her breasts. Did he think to beguile her with his gallantry? Henrietta had more fight in her than that.
“What are you doing here, Ravenswood?” she snapped.
“Can’t I visit with my fiancée?”
Oh, now he wanted to spend time with her? It had suited him just fine, deserting her for most of the engagement bash, but now he was ready to cavort with her? Did he want more kisses?
That did it. Henrietta whirled around.
Big mistake. One look at the sinfully striking viscount, and her breath hitched. Her heart pattered, too. And that all too familiar sensation—desire—started to warm her belly. She might not like the rogue, but she still found him tempting to look at.
Henrietta had to keep her voice from squeaking. A dratted effort it was, too. “Won’t it ruin your roguish reputation, visiting with your intended bride?”
“It will ruin my roguish reputation even more if my own bride despises me.” Then in a gruff voice: “Come, Miss Ashby, let us forget about the past.”
She was strapped for words. The gall of the man to suggest she overlook his wrongdoing. It wasn’t as if he was remiss and had neglected to pull out her chair at dinner. The bounder had broken her heart! How was she supposed to forget that?
“You and I are to be married, Miss Ashby. Let us begin anew.” He stuck out his hand. “Friends?”
She gawked at the offered truce. Was the cold seeping into the man’s brain, freezing all his good sense? “You and I are not friends, Ravenswood.”
“Why, Miss Ashby? Because we had a tiff?”
Tiff?
“Friends do quarrel, you know?” he said. “And a good friend will always forgive another’s transgression.”
“Then I must not be a very good friend,” she said tightly.
He tsked. “Don’t say that, Miss Ashby. You are a very dear friend…and a soon-to-be wife.”
Her heart throbbed. Something was ringing in her ears: a shrill voice telling her to sweep up her skirts and run. She didn’t, though.
“I asked you a question back inside the house, Ravenswood, but you never answered me.”
“And what question would that be?”
“Why are you so late?”
“Ah, so you’re still jealous,” he said with aplomb, then softly, “I rather like it when you’re jealous, Miss Ashby.”
“I am not jealous,” she hissed. “I just want to know the reason for your tardiness.”
“Well, it is winter, Miss Ashby. The roads are terrible.”
She humphed. “I don’t believe you. Every other guest arrived on time.”
“Bravo for every other guest.”
Oh, the maddening man! “You left me alone on purpose, admit it.”
“And why would I do that, Miss Ashby?”
“To humiliate me, you blackguard!”
He tsked again. “Such language, Miss Ashby. How unseemly.”
He dared to lecture her on polite behavior? A lecher of the highest order? She was desperate for a rock.
“You were at the Hellfire Club, weren’t you?” she charged. “Dallying with a nun!”
He lifted his deep blue eyes to stare at her with scrutiny. “And what if I was?”
She gasped. “So you admit it?”
“I admit nothing, Miss Ashby. I only ask: what if I was there? Would you be jealous?”
“Rot! I don’t care if you romp around with a skirt.”
“Is that so?” he drawled.
She gathered her shaky breath. All right, perhaps she cared a little. But not in the way he was suggesting. Jealousy, her foot! She was thinking about her respectability, that was all. The respectability of her family. She didn’t want the Ashby name disgraced by Ravenswood’s wild behavior.
She huffed, “I expect you to be discreet about your affairs.”
“Well, I wasn’t planning to have any affairs, but if you insist…”
She gnashed her teeth. “If you have even a dash of honor in your soul, you will not disgrace me—a friend—in public.”
“Miss Ashby, I would never do anything so shameful.” He brushed his thumb across the ridge of her brow in a feathery stroke. “Would it please you to hear I was not at the abbey?” He traced the pad of his thumb across her frosty cheek, down the rigid length of her jaw. “Would it please you to hear I haven’t been back to the abbey since the night we quarreled?”
She shivered under his oh-so-ginger touch. Breathless, she said, “I don’t believe you.”
“Oh, believe me, Miss Ashby. For the past four days I’ve been shut up in my room, thinking about you—and our pending nuptials.”
It took her lips a few moments to catch up with her bewildering thoughts. Was the daft man talking about the wedding night? As if she would ever consider letting him near her in that way again.
“A pity you squandered away your nights daydreaming,” she quipped.
“Do not pity me, Miss Ashby. My time was pleasantly engaged with thoughts of you.”
Oh, drat her treacherous heart for pulsing so! “I’m privy to your charms, Ravenswood. You will not win your way back into my bed with a few whispered words and an artful touch.”
He reared his head—and hand—back, aghast. “Why, Miss Ashby, is that what you think of me? I’m hurt, truly I am. I was only thinking about our marital life together.” He lifted his eyes heavenward, as though deep in thought. “I suppose I will have to buy a home in the more fashionable part of London, give up my bachelor residence for good. And you shall want to decorate the abode, I’m sure, so I’ll summon an interior designer posthaste.” His smoldering eyes met hers once more. “But I’ve no intention of bedding you, I assure you.”
“Oh.”
Why the devil did her heart hurt so? She had no desire to carouse with the viscount, even if he should woo her. He was a villain, remember? A fiend. Good riddance!
“You’ve made your feelings perfectly clear, Miss Ashby. Our marriage is to be in name only. I respect your decision.”
Henrietta eyed him shrewdly. “You do?”
A curt nod. “Of course I do. I’m not a devil through and through, you know? I do have a ‘dash’ of honor.” A dark fire sparked in his eyes. “And I shall prove it to you. We will settle this matter once and for all.”
She shivered. A good sort of shiver. The kind that made her feel all warm and tingly. “Settle what?”
“Our strife, of course.”
“And how do you propose we do that?”
“We shall have a contest.”
“Gamble, you mean?”
He nodded. “It is the only reas
onable way for two members of the peerage to settle a dispute. If I win, we start anew. Wipe the slate clean, if you will. And as forfeit…I can ask anything of you I wish.”
Henrietta took in a sharp breath. He would request another kiss, she was sure. Or some other sexual favor, scoundrel that he was.
“And if I win?” she said.
“Then I suppose we don’t begin anew, and as forfeit you can ask anything of me in return.”
“A house, for instance?”
“Yes, I already mentioned—”
“No, I mean a house of my own, where you cannot visit.” She smiled at the perky thought. “And you can keep your bachelor residence to boot.”
Now that was the perfect way to spend the rest of her married days with Ravenswood—apart.
There was a dark gleam in the viscount’s eyes. He was quiet for a moment. She doubted he would accept her terms. But at length, he nodded slowly.
“Very well, Miss Ashby. A house it is.”
She scrunched her face in misgiving. He was much too cavalier for her liking. What was the man scheming?
“I think I’d rather face you on the dueling field, Ravenswood.”
“Miss Ashby, you are a woman…whatever your father might say.”
“Rot! I’m a good shot. It would be a fair fight.”
He said gruffly, “You would shoot me?” The fire in his eyes burned bright. “You hate me that much?”
She stared at his mesmerizing eyes, forgot her words for a moment, then said, “Shoot you, yes. Kill you, no.”
But she’d like to wound the blackguard, make him feel some of the pain he’d made her feel.
“Well, Miss Ashby, while you might be able to shoot me, I could never shoot you.”
She huffed. He was playing the gallant knight again. But she’d indulge his peculiar request. Anything to be rid of the man’s sultry touches and whispered words. She trusted even a knave like Ravenswood would honor a challenge loss. And if she won the wager, she intended to buy the biggest house she could find and bankrupt him furnishing it.
“A contest it is then,” she said.
“Wise decision, Miss Ashby.”
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