Too Scandalous to Wed

by Alexandra Benedict

  “Viscount Ravenswood?”

  And that was all the encouragement Henrietta needed to vent her frustrations. The story poured forth—every vexing detail.

  All the while, Henrietta stared at Ravenswood from across the room. He wasn’t with the wench anymore, but conversing with Papa—listening to Papa—for he was far too busy glaring at her to say much of anything to Baron Ashby.

  The viscount surely thought her tiff with Catherine inappropriate. Well, a pox on him. If he wasn’t so pigheaded about his true feelings for her, they’d be married by now, and Henrietta wouldn’t have to fend off other hopeful maids vying for the viscount’s hand.

  In the end, Henrietta puckered her lips and said, “I’m going to have to do something scandalous to get Ravenswood’s attention.”

  “Scandalous?” echoed Mirabelle. “You mean like wearing a very revealing gown?”

  “Can you believe it?” She glanced down at her dress. “Rose silk, deep ruffs, a heart-shaped neckline, and still the dratted man won’t look at me. He tells me to put on a chemisette; the impudence. I’m not a debutante.”

  Mirabelle quirked a smile. “It is a bit too charming, shall we say?”

  “Don’t you start that, too.” Henrietta glared at her chum with reproach. “Besides, your dress is just as risqué…I say, isn’t that my dress?”

  “Yes, well, I had to sneak into the house and borrow the dress to come and talk with you. I didn’t bring along my dancing clothes, you know? I didn’t know you were having a ball!”

  “Oh, that’s right.” Henrietta pushed Ravenswood to the back of her mind and returned her attention to Mirabelle. “Why are you here, Belle?”

  “I’m stranded.”

  “What do you mean? What happened?”

  It was a sharp inhale, born of pain. Henrietta could sense it. Despite the joyful reunion, there was an aura of melancholy surrounding her beloved chum. Henrietta had never seen the woman like this, so bereft of spirit.

  “Tell me, Belle.”

  The soft coaxing did the trick, for Mirabelle confessed, “I’m a fool, Henry. I very nearly gave my heart away to a rogue.”

  “Ooh, really?”

  Henrietta had a certain fondness for rogues herself, so dashing and sensual—and infuriating at times.

  “Really,” said Mirabelle. “I even thought I could share a life with him.” Then sullenly: “But I was wrong. I can’t be with him.”

  “Why, Belle?”

  “I just can’t have him. Trust me, Henry.”

  “I do, Belle.” Henrietta patted the woman’s hand. “Hush. It’s all right.”

  “It’s not all right, Henry. I was with the rogue, here in London…but then I had to get away from him. We had a fight; he doesn’t care for me.”

  Henrietta wasn’t so sure about that. Mirabelle had a wild and wonderful spirit. She was beautiful, too. The man would have to be daft not to care for her, even a little.

  Her mind a whirl, Henrietta could just imagine it: a lovers’ quarrel. Mirabelle disappearing in anger…her secret beau giving chase through the winding streets of London. Perhaps he was still out there, looking for her? Oh, how romantic!

  “But now I’m stranded, Henry. And I have to get back home to my brothers.”

  Henrietta was snapped from her reverie. Brothers? Oh, that’s right. Mirabelle was an orphan. She had four brothers—all sailors—looking after her. Henrietta didn’t know much more about the family. She had never met the Hawkins brood. And she was mighty peeved about that. She wanted to be a part of her best friend’s life. But she had to maintain a clandestine friendship with Mirabelle.

  It was all a deuced bother, obeying social norms. Why, Henrietta would gladly introduce her dearest chum to the rest of the ton. Mirabelle was handsome and witty—and the ton would be envious. That, and her best bud’s lack of riches and a title, made social acceptance a fanciful dream. Alas, Mirabelle was right. Better to keep their friendship secret—for now.

  “Say no more.” Determined to assist her chum in any way that she could, Henrietta said, “I know where Papa keeps a stash of coins hidden from Mama.”

  “Thank you.” Mirabelle smiled in appreciation. “I’ll send the money back to you as soon as I get home, I promise.”

  “Oh, rot! What’s a few farthings between friends?”

  After all, Mirabelle had saved her life more than a year ago! Well, sort of. Desperate to escape yet another would-be suitor, Henrietta had fled from the townhouse by scrambling out a second-floor balcony and down a tree, only to snag her foot on a gnarled twig! Stuck in such a compromising pose, she had started to panic, but then Mirabelle had come along—a true guardian angel with her tawny gold locks—and offered to help.

  With surprising agility, Mirabelle had scaled the tree and set Henrietta’s foot loose, and together they’d clambered for the safety of Mother Earth—until Henrietta had slipped. Both girls had landed in a heap of crisp fall leaves. After such a spectacular tumble and a hearty laugh to boot, the duo had become instant friends. The very best of friends.

  Clasping her dearest bud by the hand, Henrietta wondered, “Are you going to be all right, Belle?”

  “I think so.” Mirabelle sniffed. “Henry, I know he’s an undeserving rogue, but still…”

  Henrietta offered her a thoughtful look. “Still what, gel?”

  “It hurts,” Mirabelle whispered.

  A look of understanding passed between the two women.

  “Oh, Belle!” Henrietta gave her a tight hug. “Don’t I know it.”

  Chapter 2

  S ebastian Galbraith, Viscount Ravenswood, eyed the little hoyden skirting across the dance floor and tsked. The chit was determined to ruin herself, wasn’t she? Tearing apart Catherine’s mask and then dashing off the dance floor, her skirts flying. Didn’t she care about her respectability? Didn’t anyone else?

  “Leather tips!” The baron beamed. “Can you believe it, Ravenswood? Leather tips at the end of cue sticks. Why, it’s ingenious. It will revolutionize the game of billiards, I daresay.”

  No, it looked as if no one else was sensible to Henrietta’s antics, least of all the doting Baron Ashby. It seemed the task of admonishing the minx would have to fall upon Sebastian. Well, she was akin to a sister. Perhaps he should do his “brotherly” duty and scold the chit? No one else was going to discipline her, it seemed. Besides, he didn’t want the girl to end up a spinster, wasting her youth pining over him while simultaneously discouraging the suit of every other eligible bachelor with her wild behavior. It just wasn’t right.

  Resolved to corner the vixen and give her a sound talking-to, Sebastian turned to the baron and said, “Will you excuse me, my lord? I have a matter to attend to.”

  “Quite. Quite.” And without missing a syllable, the short and rotund baron fixed his gaze on the unsuspecting gentleman to his other side, and resumed his narrative on the innovations in billiards.

  Sebastian slipped off the dance floor. Out in the corridor, he removed his red silk mask and headed through the house, searching for the elusive Miss Ashby.

  A soft “oof” and “drat” soon tickled his ear, and he paused before the baron’s study.

  Carefully he opened the door and quirked a brow.

  The shifty little witch was perched on an ottoman, her toes spiked, reaching for the top shelf of the baron’s bookcase. She pinched and swiped at something just out of her reach, and Sebastian used her moment of concentration to quietly slip inside the room.

  He closed the door and leaned against the barrier, gaze intent on the curious creature.

  At last she huffed in satisfaction and removed a small purse from its hiding spot.

  “Pinching from your poor father?”

  Henrietta shrieked and tottered on the ottoman. He stiffened, about to leap forward to stop her fall, but she grabbed the shelf for support and quickly regained her balance.

  He eased the corded tension in his muscles and rested against the door once more. But she s
hot him a look of pure murder.

  “Borrowing, I’ll have you know.”

  The pink cherry spots dotting her cheeks told him otherwise, but he refrained from further comment. He was here to upbraid her about her scandalous behavior. Sermons on thievery would have to wait.

  “Why did you attack Catherine?”

  “Catherine?!” She almost choked. “You call me…but you call her…” She fisted the blunt in her palm. “My tiff with Catherine is none of your concern.”

  Still perched on the ottoman, she stared down at him, a fire in her ginger brown eyes.

  Such a little hellion. A pretty little hellion, even with her rosy lips pursed and slender brows pinched. But she was too thin in Sebastian’s opinion. And she had a dreadful sense of fashion, with her primped russet-red locks and fluffy pink frock. Her décolletage was far too low, too. Young girls should not be showing so much bosom.

  “I beg to differ,” was his terse retort. “I am part of this family, Miss Ashby. If you cause a scandal, it reflects poorly upon all of us.”

  She snorted. “What scandal? I plucked a few feathers from Cat’s mask, that’s all. It will hardly make the Times.”

  “You did more than pluck a few feathers; you put the girl to tears.”

  “Cat deserved it.” And then under her breath, “It’s all your fault, anyway.”

  He lifted a brow. “What was that?”

  “Never mind.” She stepped off the ottoman. “Cat is fine,” she said in defense of her boorish manner.

  Sebastian shot her a dubious glare. “What did the two of you quarrel about?”

  “Nothing of consequence.” Boldly she moved toward him. “Now if you will excuse me.”

  “Not yet, Miss Ashby.”

  He’d hoped the darker timbre of his voice would instill in her the significance of the subject matter, but it only made her lashes flutter.

  He sighed. When was the minx going to give up her foolish childhood fancy for him? He was stumped. He never touched the girl. He always called her Miss Ashby. Frankly, he played the part of the utter dud. One would think she’d have lost interest in him by now.

  Well, he had to set the mulish girl right. She really should be married with a brood of squalling brats by now.

  “I lied, Miss Ashby.”

  She blinked. “About what?”

  “I’m not concerned with the family’s reputation, but yours.”

  She took another bold step forward—and thrust out her bosom. “Really, Sebastian?”

  He wanted to laugh. Her adorable attempts at seduction amused him. If it wasn’t in the chit’s best interest to marry a respectable bloke, he’d keep her around as a quaint diversion. “Miss Ashby, you must find yourself a proper husband.”

  A curt bob of the head. “I absolutely agree with you.”

  Not me, he wanted to clarify, but said instead, “And if you continue in this outrageous manner, you’ll be ruined.”

  “Yes, ruin me.”

  He quirked a brow. “What?”

  “I mean, I will not be ruined.” Flustered, she blinked a few times. “You exaggerate, Sebastian. Now I have a very pressing matter to attend to, so if you will please step aside.”

  She lifted her gloved hand to push him out of the way, but before her fingers brushed his arm, he moved away from the door.

  He could have sworn he’d heard a whimper of disappointment at her not being able to touch him, but she quickly skirted from the room.

  Alone, and thwarted, Sebastian let out a frustrated breath. He moved over to the baron’s desk and poured himself a tipple.

  He wasn’t the only bachelor in Town, didn’t she know? Why set her cap for him, and not some other, more agreeable gentleman? Why the stubborn refusal to give up on him?

  He downed the spirits. He had to get away from the girl, take a sojourn. Stay out of the incorrigible chit’s sight for a few months. The mainland would do him good, he thought. Give him an opportunity to have a bit of sport. Henrietta might find herself another mate in the meantime. He could hope.

  Sebastian vacated the baron’s sanctuary and made his way back over to the ballroom. Having failed to inquire further about the money Henrietta had filched from her father, he now searched over jewel-encrusted heads for the little imp, determined to see what sort of mischief she had gotten herself into now.

  He spotted said imp by the terrace doors, leading a fair-haired nymph by the hand.

  Sebastian smiled. Now there was a woman with curves just begging to be fondled. The nymph was a sultry vision, her gown far too snug—as if it was a size too small for her—leaving nothing to the imagination. It fact, it looked a lot like one of Henrietta’s fluffy dresses.

  In any event, Sebastian’s wicked inclinations sallied forth at the seductive sight, and he found himself perusing the lovely, fair-haired creature in every detail.

  But his lazy daydream was shattered by the appearance of a dark-haired devil. A scoundrel, just like him. It was easy to spot a fellow rogue, and when he moved—thundered—toward Henrietta, Sebastian’s primal instinct was to trounce the bounder.

  Sebastian was already cutting through the crowd, intent on whisking Henrietta away from harm, when he stopped. The bounder didn’t want Henrietta. He paused long enough to kiss her gloved hand, then swiftly ushered the fair-haired nymph back out onto the terrace.

  Ah, a lover’s tiff. Sebastian could appreciate a fiery quarrel. He’d had many such spats himself. What he could not appreciate was the daft chit’s determination to follow the heated couple out onto the terrace. Friendship and loyalty and other such rot aside, Henrietta had no business getting involved with the bounder and his passionate ladybird. And unless the bounder had a penchant for an audience, Henrietta was apt to get brushed aside—violently.

  The reckless minx!

  Sebastian wove through the throng of dancers, tamping the alarm that had sprouted in his breast. He reached the terrace edge—and stilled.

  As expected, the bounder and fair-haired nymph were locked in an amorous embrace, but what was not expected was the innocent Miss Ashby’s apparent fascination with the couple.

  Sebastian moved to the shadows, behind a bush. Well hidden, he observed Henrietta fanning herself with her mask, gazing in awe at the groping couple.

  Why, the naughty little vixen. He’d never pegged Henrietta for a voyeur. And when he heard her longing voice—“I’d give my baby toe to be kissed like that”—he couldn’t help but smile.

  After a few quarrelsome words with the bounder—and another fiery kiss—the fair-haired nymph relinquished the blunt.

  Ah, so that’s what Henrietta had needed the money for, to give to her friend. But the fair-haired nymph didn’t need the blunt anymore. It was returned to Henrietta. It looked liked the quarrelling lovers had reconciled, for the couple absconded to the garden edge just then, disappearing from sight.

  Only Henrietta’s cry, “Bye, Belle! Let me know how it all works out,” was heard, followed by a sigh. “Oh, how romantic!”

  Sebastian couldn’t resist. He stepped out of the shadows and approached the quixotic chit.

  “Is it romantic?”

  Henrietta started and whirled around. Drat! He was upon her again. And again at the most importune time. First he’d cornered her in the library. Now he’d trapped her on the terrace…while she was gushing very private reflections.

  Oh dear, how much had he overheard?

  She lifted her nose a notch in feigned confidence, all the while trying to keep her knees from quivering. “Yes, Sebastian, it is very romantic.”

  “To be carted off like a sheep at auction?”

  She gasped. “No! To be whisked away in a moment of passion.”

  He cocked an amused black brow.

  Oh, did he have to be so sinfully handsome? Did he have to make her breath catch and her mind go blank and her heart roar in her ears?

  “So what would you consider to be romantic?” she said.

  He shrugged. “Did I sa
y I was romantic?”

  “You flirt with every skirt.” Apart from me, she thought sourly.

  “About the weather, Miss Ashby. I love to talk about the weather.”

  Henrietta bunched her fists. Did he think to make her think ill of him with that paltry fib? Convince her he was a dull sort and not worthy of her affection?

  She withheld a snort. Well, he’d have to do better than that. She was much too determined to have him as her husband to heed his constant—and misguided—attempts at sabotage. She knew the man’s true feelings, even if he was too mulish to admit them.

  It was a good thing Henrietta had such a headstrong disposition. She was fated to be with Sebastian. And one day, the man was going to thank her for her unwavering fidelity…though perhaps not today.

  “Never mind,” she said, rather irritably. “You would never understand.”

  “You’re right…and I certainly wouldn’t give my baby toe for something so scandalous as a kiss.”

  Humor glittered in the dark blue pools of his seductive eyes before he bowed and swaggered back into the ballroom.

  Heavens, he had heard her girlish confession! Henrietta didn’t know whether to perish from shame or clock the scoundrel over the head for his impudence.

  Insufferable rogue! Why couldn’t she have set her cap for a more amiable gentleman?

  Because only Ravenswood makes your heart pinch in expectation of a touch…a kiss.

  She sighed. It was so true. Only Ravenswood disturbed her dreams and ruffled her temper and made her want to do the most inappropriate things to capture his attention.

  And yet, everything she had done to make an impression on the rogue had failed. What was she going to do to get the viscount to admit his true feelings for her?

  Henrietta pressed her lips together, deep in thought.

  It was clear she needed help. A teacher of some sort. But whom could she ask for assistance? Her sisters?

  Henrietta mulled that over for a bit, then decided against the idea. She might have four elder sisters, all married, but her kin were too prim and proper to offer advice on tempting a mate. And her dearest chum had just reconciled and run off with her beau, so she couldn’t ask Mirabelle for counsel. So where could Henrietta go to learn the art of seduction? There wasn’t a school out there for aspiring flirts. What was she to do?