Too Scandalous to Wed

by Alexandra Benedict

  Sebastian cocked his head in acquiescence.

  The baron beamed and led the way. As Sebastian trailed the rotund man, he once more reflected upon the nameless oddity that had plagued his senses. The chairs, the pictures, all seemed to be in the right spot. So what was it then? What was amiss?

  “The hounds.”

  The baron looked over his shoulder. “I beg your pardon, Ravenswood?”

  “Where are the hounds, my lord?”

  “In the kennel, I’m afraid.” He sighed. “Lady Ashby ordered the poor boys out of the house after one…er, decorated her favorite rug. The boys are not allowed back inside for the rest of the day. Punishment, you know.”

  Ah, so that’s what was wrong. No hounds. Sebastian knew there was something missing underfoot…No, wait. That wasn’t it, either.

  Sebastian inspected the house as he moved through it, searching for…a little hoyden.

  That’s it! That’s what was missing. Henrietta.

  Where was Henrietta?

  Sebastian furrowed his brow. She was always the first to greet him. For the past eight years, without fail, she had bounded up to him in salutation before he’d set both feet inside the house. It was the only time she was ever on time for anything.

  Sebastian perused the empty foyer once more. “I say, Baron, is the whole family here?”

  “Quite. Quite.” The baron ushered him inside the study. “You are the last of the guests to arrive. So good of you to join us, Ravenswood.”

  Sheltered inside the study, Sebastian settled in a comfortable armchair and inquired, “Is the family well, Lord Ashby?”

  “In capital health, my dear boy.”

  Odd. If Henrietta wasn’t ill and tucked away in bed, then where was she?

  The baron made his way over to the bookcase and collected a decanter, filling two glasses with a splash of brandy.

  “So tell me, Ravenswood, how was the mainland? Drab compared to our mighty England, I daresay.”

  It was nothing of the sort, but the viscount wasn’t about to admit that. He accepted the drink with a nod of thanks. “Quite right, my lord.”

  Resting his heavy frame in an opposite chair, the baron plunked his feet upon the ottoman with a sigh.

  Sebastian stared at the door, waiting for it to open, anticipating Henrietta to come fluttering in, all out of breath and professing apologies for being tardy in her welcome.

  But she did nothing of the kind.

  Perhaps the girl was wed and thought nothing of him anymore? Now that was an agreeable thought.

  Taking a sip of brandy to warm his belly, Sebastian wondered, “And how fares the youngest Miss Ashby?”

  “Henry? Capital. Capital. The darling boy is such a pleasure.”

  Sebastian grimaced at the “darling boy” bit. The baron, so determined to have a son, brooked no argument that Henrietta was, in truth, a lady and thus needed to be reared accordingly. A deuced nuisance it was, too, for had Henrietta been raised as a proper young miss, she’d be married by now, instead of hounding him.

  “I’ve been gone so long, my lord,” said Sebastian. “Tell me, has there been any cause for celebration here at the house?”

  Like a wedding, perhaps?

  “Oh yes!” the baron cried. “A happy event indeed.”

  Splendid! The girl was married. No more adoring looks or scandalous quips to combat. Sebastian could rest easy now, be free of the smitten chit.

  “I have leather-tip cue sticks!” The baron clapped his hands together. “Isn’t it grand? We must play a game of billiards, Ravenswood.”

  Not exactly the good news Sebastian had been hoping to hear.

  With a sigh, the viscount tried another tactic. “My lord, about Miss Ashby?”

  “Yes, Ravenswood.”

  “Is the girl fond of anyone?”

  “To be sure, Ravenswood. To be sure. The dear boy’s fond of many folks. He’s got a most generous heart, I daresay.”

  Sebastian took another swig of brandy, and since subtle conversation was not the baron’s forte, asked outright, “My lord, is the girl engaged yet?”

  “Rot!” cried the baron. “Henry’s got more sense than to get himself leg-shackled. Nasty business, I say. Drives a poor chap into hiding.”

  Sebastian glanced around the cramped reading nook. A dusty nook, filled with heavy tomes. It was the only part of the house reserved for the baron’s exclusive use.

  The viscount sighed in disappointment. “Yes, nasty business.”

  The baron gave a curt nod. “One needs a strong disposition to be riveted. An authoritative voice, a firm hand. Now I have such a disposition and can weather the storm of matrimony, but dear Henry is a most delicate boy, and I feel better suited to a quiet life at home.”

  “Quite right, my lord.” Sebastian downed the rest of the brandy. “But is the girl interested in a gentleman?”

  “Interested? My Henry?” The baron looked at the ceiling. “Why, I don’t think so.”

  “Are you sure, my lord?”

  “Oh yes, quite sure. Why, I’d hear all about it from Lady Ashby if Henry had a beau. Now back to my cue sticks…”

  The viscount turned his thoughts to more pressing matters. The girl was still unattached, was she? He had underestimated her stubbornness. Well, then he’d just have to go back to the mainland. Traipse through the Parisian underworld and consort with the Italian demimonde. It was an infernal bother, visiting all those lovely Spanish wenches, but he was a gentleman, and as such he had a duty to disabuse Miss Ashby of her girlhood fancy. He had no choice, it seemed, but to return abroad to cavort with more foreign beauties—after Christmas, of course. He wasn’t a total degenerate. He did adhere to some religious observance.

  “Please excuse me, my lord.” Sebastian stood up. “I would like to rest before dinner.”

  “Capital idea, Ravenswood! The butler will show you to your room.”

  Sebastian moved to the door. “I will see you at dinner, my lord.

  “Yes, of course, my good man. At dinner.”

  And with that, the baron promptly closed his eyes and went to sleep.

  Sebastian quietly vacated the study and made his way through the familiar passages. He didn’t need the butler to show him to his room. He had occupied the same bedchamber for eight years whenever he called upon the family. He knew his way around the house very well.

  Sebastian mounted the steps, making his way to his room. He was going to rest for a bit, then dress for dinner.

  But he was still baffled. If Henrietta wasn’t even engaged, then why hadn’t she come down to say hello?

  “You’re leaving after the holidays?”

  Sebastian glanced at his flabbergasted brother. “That’s right, Peter.”

  “But you just returned home, Seb. Why the rush to run off again?”

  Because Sebastian needed to part from a certain incorrigible hoyden…who happened to be late for dinner—as usual. Not that the family seemed to mind. Accustomed to the girl’s tardiness, the brood had simply immersed themselves in the freshly cooked fare, an empty chair left for Henrietta at the far end of the rosewood dining table.

  Sebastian sliced open the broiled fish. “I have a rather pressing matter of business to attend to on the mainland.”

  Peter snorted. “You mean you have a pressing itch in your—”

  “Peter,” Sebastian drawled. “Mind your manners at the dinner table.”

  Peter shook his head. “I don’t understand you, Seb.”

  “Oh?” He quirked a brow. “And what don’t you understand?”

  “Why you have to go abroad to attend to ‘business,’” Peter whispered. “What the deuce is the matter with English wenches?”

  Sebastian chuckled. “Nothing a’tall, brother. I just need to go abroad. Trust me.”

  The other man sighed. “Well, we’re here till Twelfth Night, so let’s make the best of what little time we have together…Did you hear the baron has leather-tip cue sticks? We should play a gam
e of billiards, Seb.”

  “I suspect we will, Peter.”

  Sebastian scanned the amassed company. The “we” included the baron and baroness, and all the Ashby sisters and their respective spouses. Sebastian didn’t really get along with the other gentlemen, though; too prudish for his taste. He only got along with his brother, really. And the baron, of course. Sebastian just wasn’t the sort of man to make friends easily or engage in platonic pleasantries. He was more of a flirt. A seducer. And after the death of his parents from consumption almost ten years ago, he’d immersed himself in more unsavory pursuits.

  “By and by,” said Peter, “why are you here? I’m bound to the family till death, but you’ve no familial obligation. Unless, of course, you want the last of the sisters for yourse—”

  “Finish that thought and I’ll stab this fork into your hand.”

  Peter chuckled, well aware of his brother’s plight with Henrietta. “And spatter blood all over Lady Ashby’s fine linen tablecloth? Heaven forbid.”

  “Then I suggest we let the matter rest.”

  “Sound advice, but I feel I must warn you, Seb, you might have to settle down one day, however foul the idea.”

  “Rubbish.”

  Sebastian was never going to tie the marital noose around his neck. What the devil for?

  “The estate needs an heir,” said Peter.

  “Yours will do just fine.”

  An airy sigh from Peter. “While nothing would please Penelope and me more, you know very well it might never come to pass.”

  It was a rotten truth, and Sebastian knew it. The three other Ashby sisters were already mothers—their seven brats, thank the heavens, tucked away in the nursery—but Penelope had yet to have a babe, much to the sorrow of both her and her husband.

  “The duty might fall upon you yet, Seb.”

  Bloody hell. Still, Sebastian wouldn’t dwell too much on the ghastly matter. Penelope was not yet thirty, while Sebastian was already thirty-six and too jaded to even contemplate marriage. There was still plenty of time for the young woman to produce an heir. He needn’t fret about the dreadful responsibility. Not yet anyway.

  From across the table, Penelope offered him a warm smile. “Tell us, Ravenswood, has the fashion in Paris changed much since the spring?”

  “Most assuredly,” he said with a flirtatious wink. “But I must admit, I paid little attention to the vogue.”

  “Oh lud!” from the other sister, Roselyn. “Why couldn’t you have been more of a dandy, Ravenswood, and heeded the trends?”

  Sebastian bowed his head. “It was dreadful of me, I know.”

  Next Cordelia chimed, “Did you happen to notice the more fashionable colors, Ravenswood?”

  “Pink, I believe.”

  “Pink?” Tertia, the last of the sisters, wrinkled her brow. “Surely not, Ravenswood. Pink was last season’s color. You must be mistaken.”

  But before Sebastian could offer another opinion, Henrietta appeared.

  Sebastian bristled.

  The chit paused in the doorway, her head held high, her shoulders set back. A charming smile touched her lips; a playfulness winked in her eyes. After a brief delay, she entered the room with uncanny confidence, her rich, auburn locks in a whimsical twist, tendrils bouncing by her ears.

  What had happened to the girl?

  A few cordial greetings drifted from the table, but otherwise the gathered party made no particular gesture or remark to reflect upon Henrietta’s baffling transformation. Was the family so distracted by hunger? How could they just sit there in perfect harmony and not gape at the little hoyden skirting across the room?

  Skirting? No, she wasn’t skirting. She was…swaying. Artfully so. The soft and rhythmic rustle of her petticoats tickled his ears as she swished this way and that. Good God, the girl had hips!

  “Henry, my boy,” the baron shouted in jovial salutation. “How good of you to join us.”

  Henrietta pressed her lips to her father’s brow—her round rump arched ever so slightly. “Good evening, Papa.”

  A peculiar spasm gripped Sebastian’s heart. What the devil was the matter with the girl’s voice? So deep, husky even, the inflection steady. Did she have a cold?

  Sebastian watched, transfixed, as an attending footman helped Henrietta into her seat. With a flick of the wrist, she unfurled her white linen napkin and set it across her lap. A meal was placed before her, and she set to work on gracefully devouring the fare—without so much as glancing his way.

  “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?

  Chapter 5

  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 s
how 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.