Henrietta blinked. “What?”
“I don’t want us to have any secrets. I have to tell you the truth, even if you hate me forever.”
Alarmed, Henrietta sat up, too. “What is it, Belle?”
“I’m not the best person you’ve ever known.”
“Belle—”
“Really, Henry, I’m not.” Restless, the duchess abandoned the divan and started to pace before the great hearth. “I’m not a merchant’s daughter, either.”
Henrietta quirked a brow. “You’re not?”
She paused. “No, I’m a…pirate’s daughter.”
Henrietta eyed her chum with scrutiny. “Be serious, Belle.”
Mirabelle wasn’t smiling, though. “I am, Henry.”
Henrietta swallowed. “Good heavens, Belle, you are telling the truth!”
Mirabelle nodded. “And I wanted to be a pirate, just like my father…and my brothers. That’s why I stowed away, to prove to the stubborn brood I could be a good buccaneer.” She bunched her fingers. “Do you hate me, Henry?”
Bowled over, Henrietta gawked at her comrade. “Hate you? No. I could never hate you.”
“Really, Henry?” Mirabelle rushed back to the divan and took her by the hand. “You don’t think ill of me?”
“I could never think ill of you, gel. You rescued me from a tree, remember? I’m forever in your debt. I’m just stunned, is all.”
And she was. Good God, Mirabelle was a pirate! And here Henrietta had thought she’d lived the simple life of a merchant’s daughter. What rot! Mirabelle had sailed the high seas and plundered for treasure. It was scandalous…It was something Henrietta would have done.
“So what’s the best treasure you ever found, Belle?”
She grinned. “My husband.”
A loud scuffle erupted somewhere in the castle just then.
Henrietta looked at the door. “What the devil?”
Mirabelle sighed. “Just ignore them.”
“Them?”
“My brothers.”
Henrietta perked up. “Oh, will I finally get to meet the Hawkins brood?”
“Are you sure you want the pleasure?” she said dryly.
Henrietta quirked a brow. “Do your brothers live here, too?”
Mirabelle snorted. “No. But they refuse to go home until they’re sure I’m happy.”
“But you are happy, Belle.”
“Unfortunately, they don’t think Damian is such a treasure.”
Henrietta scrunched her brow. “Why, Belle?”
She waved a dismissive hand. “They’re just being overprotective.”
Henrietta didn’t blame the brood. According to Sebastian, the Duke of Wembury was once dubbed the “Duke of Rogues.” Not a very valiant title, that.
“They don’t think the duke is worthy of you?” said Henrietta.
“They don’t think anyone is worthy of me. They’re always up to something or other to make the duke’s life difficult.”
Henrietta lifted a brow. “You don’t seem alarmed by their attempts at sabotage.”
“Oh, this marriage will last forever,” she said with confidence. “I’d shoot my brothers otherwise. They know it, too. They’re just being stubborn. But they’re going to have to get used to the duke being my husband.” Mirabelle patted her belly. “Right quick at that.”
Henrietta noticed the little bump then. “Why, Belle!”
But Henrietta wasn’t all that giddy. Deep down, thoughts of motherhood beset her. Her own experience with motherhood, that was. She might be enceinte, too. And what hurt the most was the idea of denying Ravenswood his child.
You would deny me my own child! he had cried.
Henrietta hated to do such an unseemly thing. But what other choice did she have? If she was enceinte, she had to protect the babe from Ravenswood’s villainy. She had to protect herself, too.
A knock at the door.
“Wait here a minute, Henry.”
Mirabelle headed for the door and opened it.
In stepped a formidable figure, eyes steel blue and locks dark like a midnight sky.
The “Duke of Rogues.”
And he looked…smitten.
“There you are, Belle,” he said in a raspy voice.
He lifted his hand to her hair and cupped the back of her neck in a gentle caress. He kissed her then. A deep yet tender kiss.
Henrietta took in an uneven breath at the affectionate sight. Something pressed on her heart. A sense of loss. The loss of Ravenswood and his tender kisses.
Mirabelle nipped at the duke’s bottom lip. “Where are my brothers?”
“Locked in the pantry.”
She groaned. “Oh, Damian!”
He grinned. “I’ve given the butler the key with the order not to let them out until morning.”
The duchess huffed. “You are not going to leave my brothers in the pantry, Damian.”
“It’s just for tonight, Belle.” He whispered, “I want to be alone with you.”
Oh, the husky words of passion! How Henrietta missed hearing those words from Sebastian. Well, she missed hearing them from the old Sebastian; the old Sebastian she had dreamed up in her head.
“We won’t be alone tonight,” said the duchess.
The duke gathered his dark brow. “Why the devil not, Belle?”
Mirabelle cocked her head. “Because we have company.”
The duke turned his head—and smiled. “Miss Ashby, we meet again.”
Henrietta scooted off the divan to greet the approaching duke. “Your Grace.”
He took her by the hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, as he had on the night of Papa’s masquerade ball.
“Damian, please,” he said. “Miss Ashby, this is an unexpected pleasure. We were set to visit you in a day or two. Congratulations on your approaching—”
But an elbow to the ribs—and a sharp eye from his wife—stopped the duke from finishing the felicitation.
“Er, shall we have a late supper, then?” the duke suggested.
“Yes, of course,” said Mirabelle. “You must be famished, Henry. Damian will escort you to the dining hall.”
The duke quirked a brow. “You are not accompanying us, Your Grace?”
Mirabelle made a moue. “I have four brothers to rescue. I will join you in the dining hall in a few minutes.”
“Very well,” the duke acquiesced. He offered Henrietta his arm. “Shall we, Miss Ashby?”
With a smile, Henrietta slipped her hand into the duke’s arm.
“We’ll talk again later, Henry,” the duchess whispered before they parted ways: Henrietta to the dining hall and Mirabelle to the pantry.
As Henrietta moved through the castle with her escort, she couldn’t help but reflect upon the duke.
He seemed a good sort of man. Not the notorious “Duke of Rogues.” And he and the duchess seemed to be really happy.
So if the duke could reform, could Sebastian, too? Could she be happy with Sebastian, after all?
The troubling thought stayed with her throughout dinner and well into the night.
Chapter 28
Sebastian was at his wit’s end. He was getting married in two days and where was his bride? Off gallivanting about the countryside, visiting the Duchess of Wembury.
He rubbed his tired brow. He wasn’t daft enough to think his betrothed’s hasty departure had nothing to do with him. She was avoiding him, fighting him tooth and nail. And she was winning, the mulish chit. There had to be some way to convince the woman he wasn’t going to hurt her, that she could trust him. But how?
He was dumbfounded. What did Henrietta want from him? Blood? His head on a pike?
Sebastian needed help—and he could think of only one woman in the world who could give it to him.
Across the room, a paneled door opened in the wall.
Sebastian quirked a brow.
Very theatrical.
Madam Jacqueline entered the room adorned with Oriental furnishings.
She herself was bedecked in a fresh white turban and flowing wrapper. Jewels sparkled from her ears, her wrinkled throat, her slender fingers.
She moved with grace and confidence. Her steps dainty and refined, she impersonated womanly charm. But Sebastian didn’t doubt she could be cruel—if she wanted to be. One didn’t become the most notorious courtesan in England by being meek. One had to be shrewd and devious.
It bothered Sebastian to think that the innocent Miss Ashby had come to the ruthless woman for help—and all because she’d wanted to seduce him. He was only grateful the cunning courtesan had not destroyed the imprudent chit.
“Lord Ravenswood.” She smiled. “I am surprised by your visit.”
“Are you, Madam Jacqueline? I wonder if perhaps you’ve been expecting me for quite some time?”
There was a gleam of pleasure in the woman’s eyes, a smirking glow that was hard to ignore. She had everything, Sebastian mused. But for all her wealth, her links to royalty, she had no blue blood in her veins. It infuriated her, he reckoned. To have so much power, but be denied one critical thing: lineage. She had to enjoy having the aristocracy come to her for help. To have the rich and lofty lords and ladies at her feet had to give her a sense of accomplishment and pride, vengeance even.
“Tea, my lord?”
“No, thank you.”
Madman Jacqueline poured herself a steaming cup. She reclined on the divan and perused him with enchanting green eyes.
Sebastian could see why the woman commanded the attention of kings and gentlefolk alike. She had a mesmerizing quality about her.
“To what do I owe the honor of your visit, Lord Ravenswood?”
He took in a deep breath. “I presume you’ve heard about my wedding to Miss Ashby?”
She sipped her tea with feminine poise. “Yes, I read the announcement in the paper. Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” he said stiffly. It was deuced uncomfortable having to ask the woman for assistance. But pride be damned, he had to figure out some way to get Henrietta to be his wife. She didn’t want to live with him; she didn’t want to touch him. How was he supposed to put up with that for the rest of his days? “I believe you offered Miss Ashby some advice—on how to seduce me.”
“I did indeed, my lord.”
“Well, I need some advice in return.”
The woman lifted a painted brow. “How can I be of help?”
He shifted in his seat. “How do I seduce Miss Ashby?”
It was a very subtle quirk of the lips. “I beg your pardon, my lord?”
“You heard me,” he growled.
“But you are engaged to marry the girl.”
“Yes, but the stubborn chit doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore.”
“Really?” The courtesan was filled with mirth. How she must take pleasure in his discomfiture! “And why is that, my lord?”
Disgruntled, he said, “She doesn’t trust me.”
“Why?”
“Because she discovered I’m a scoundrel.”
“I see.” Another sip of tea. “Have you offered her diamonds?”
Restless, Sebastian shot out of his chair and stalked about the room. “Madam Jacqueline, I think we both know I’m not some sort of innocent fawn. I’ve bedded the girl, offered her gifts, saved her from drowning, and still she wants nothing to do with me.”
Again Madam Jacqueline raised a brow. “Impressive.”
He growled, “What do I do now?”
The courtesan set her teacup aside and folded her hands in her lap. “It sounds like the girl does not love you anymore.”
There was something very striking about that word: “anymore.” It implied Henrietta had once loved him. To think she didn’t care a whit any longer was…crushing.
Try as he might to convince himself the chit’s esteem didn’t mean anything to him, he knew that to be a lie. Whenever Henrietta looked at him, he felt noble, even heroic. He always had.
It was hard to admit, but over the years Henrietta’s faith in him had been a soothing comfort, an inspiration even. When he was with her, he forgot about his immoral ways. He forgot about his loneliness. He felt only…
“What do you want, my lord?”
Sebastian looked at the courtesan, his reflection shattered. “I already told you.”
“To seduce your fiancée? Why? Do you want Miss Ashby to worship you again?…Or do you want her to love you for who you really are?”
Love him for who he really was? A scoundrel? “She will never love me for who I really am.”
“And who are you, my lord?”
He took in a deep breath. “A villain.”
The courtesan cocked her head. “Perhaps you should change.”
“I can’t change.”
“And why not?”
“Because once a rogue, always a rogue.”
She tsked. “Miss Ashby was once naïve. She’s not anymore. People do change, my lord.”
“Yes, all thanks to you,” he grumbled.
“You don’t like the change in Miss Ashby? You would rather she blindly worship you?”
“No.” He gripped the chair back tight. “I suppose…I suppose I’d rather she love me.”
And he did. He didn’t want Henrietta’s blind adoration. He didn’t want another warm body in his bed. He wanted the woman to be his wife. He wanted her to understand him, to comfort him, to care for him, blast it! And he wanted to do the same for her.
“Do you love her?” Madam Jacqueline asked.
Did he? Could he? Or was he afraid, as Peter had suggested? Afraid of failing Henrietta, of not being a man worthy of her affection?
His pulse was pounding. True, he’d never tried to be Henrietta’s hero. But he was sure he would fail at the endeavor. He had not the heart of a hero. He had not the heart of a good man, even. He had the heart of a villain, as his father had once said.
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
Madam Jacqueline nodded sagely. “Then I suppose the question is: can the girl love you? Does she still love you?”
Sebastian was in turmoil. So much revelation, so much truth was pouring into his soul, he didn’t know what to make of it all. “How do I find out?”
Voice steady, she said, “If the girl’s as mulish as you say, I don’t know that you can. Perhaps you should resign yourself to your fate?”
He gawked at her. “And this is your practical advice? Give up?”
“You have already tried everything. You said so yourself.”
“But there must be something else I can do.”
She lifted her eyes heavenward. “Well, there is one thing.”
“What?”
She looked back at him. “You can die.”
He glared at her. “You mock me.”
“Not at all, my lord. You asked for my advice, and I have offered it.”
“To die?”
“That’s right.”
Sebastian gnashed his teeth. “And just what would that accomplish—other than to put me out of my misery, of course?”
“Well, if the girl truly loves you, she will admit it once you are dead. You see, my lord, the will can be very strong to protect the heart. But dead, you do not threaten her heart anymore. She will let down her guard, and if she weeps over your corpse, she loves you.”
Sebastian was beginning to think the woman’s turban was wound too tight. “So I die, and Henrietta admits she loves me?”
“I’m afraid it’s the only way to get the girl to confess her true feelings, my lord.”
The old woman was daft. And Sebastian had wasted his time in coming.
“How enlightening, Madam Jacqueline,” he said with a curt nod. “I thank you for your time.”
She smiled. “Not at all, my lord.”
Sebastian headed for the door with brisk strides.
“Lord Ravenswood?”
He paused. “Yes, Madam Jacqueline.”
“When you see Miss Ashby again, please tell her I am very prou
d of her.”
Sebastian quit the room.
Chapter 29
Henrietta stood in front of the mirror and eyed the fine lace of her wedding dress. Four emotional sisters gathered around her.
Penelope whispered, “You look so handsome, Henry.”
“Like an angel,” confirmed Tertia.
Cordelia sniffed. “I can’t believe you’re getting married.”
“About time, too,” from Roselyn.
Henrietta smiled at her sisters, but her spirit was heavy. All sorts of distressing thoughts marched through her head. Thoughts of her betrothed. Throughout her stay at the castle, Henrietta had observed the duke and duchess in loving interaction. A part of her had ached deep inside to have that same kind of rapport with Sebastian. Yet another part of her had warned her to be reasonable. Sebastian was not the duke. Even if the duke had reformed his roguish ways, it did not mean Ravenswood would, too. She had to remember that. She had to ask herself one simple question: was she willing to risk her heart to be with the viscount?
Oh, why couldn’t she ever make up her mind?
The bedroom door opened.
Henrietta looked over her shoulder. “Hello, Mama.”
The baroness stepped inside the room, her dress a regal bronze in hue. “You look lovely, Henry.”
“Doesn’t she, Mama?” Penelope pinched the bride’s cheeks to add some color. “A veritable princess.”
The baroness nodded. “Ladies, I’d like a moment alone with my daughter.”
The sisters bobbed in obedience and cheerfully quit the room.
The baroness closed the door. “How do you feel, Henry?”
“Nervous,” she admitted.
The older woman smiled. “I was nervous, too.” She picked up the veil draped across the bed. “Here, let me help you with this.”
Henrietta squatted, for Mama was a tad short.
The baroness artfully pinned the flowing white headdress to her hair, then picked up the crown of white roses. “And now for the finishing touch.”
With a gentle stroke, Mama set the ring of flowers on her head.
Henrietta peered back into the glass, perusing her polished appearance. The nerves in her belly thrummed. It was almost time to make the wedding march. It was almost time to become the next Viscountess Ravenswood.
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