Too Scandalous to Wed

by Alexandra Benedict

  “I am well, my lord. Just enjoying the winter air. It’s so crisp and refreshing, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Yes, indeed,” he murmured.

  He was staring at her. Hard. Trying to decipher the puzzle she had become with those avid blue eyes of his. But he would never learn the true lengths to which she had gone to capture his heart. He’d wring her neck for sure if he ever found out.

  “How was your voyage abroad, my lord?”

  “Quite pleasant, Miss Ashby.” He perused her briefly, his hot gaze ever so warming. “In fact, I intend to return to the mainland after Twelfth Night.”

  Her heart shuddered. “Really, my lord? We shall mourn the loss of your company.”

  Drat! He was running off again, and she wasn’t daft enough to believe his desertion had nothing to do with her. Well, she was just going to have to seduce the mulish man by Twelfth Night then.

  “And you, Miss Ashby? How have you fared these last five months?”

  “Very well, I daresay.”

  According to Madam Jacqueline, it was not so much what one said but how one said it that mattered. And Henrietta made sure to keep her voice steady and low, even under the viscount’s probing glare.

  “Then you are not ill, Miss Ashby?”

  “I am in perfect health, my lord. Why do you ask? Do I look ill?”

  He paused. “You look…different.”

  “Oh?” She quirked a brow. “In what way?”

  “I can’t quite put my finger on it, Miss Ashby.”

  I’m sure you can’t, she thought impishly. And she intended to keep him perplexed for a while more. If she flirted too firmly, he would guess at her intentions and dash off before Twelfth Night. She didn’t want to spend another five months stewing at home while he gallivanted about the mainland. Certainly not.

  She dipped her eyes to his booted toes. In a coy voice, she said, “You know me so well, my lord.”

  “Then something is amiss?”

  “Alas, I’m afraid so.” Eyes lifting to meet his once more, she whispered, “I have a secret.”

  “And will you share it with me, Miss Ashby?”

  “Only if you promise to never breathe a word of it.”

  He nodded slowly. “I promise on my honor as a gentleman.”

  Henrietta peeked from side to side, then said, “I’m having an affair.”

  Sebastian stopped breathing. She could tell by the scarcity of icy breath escaping his lips.

  But soon the icy clouds started forth once more—through his nose. “I don’t think I heard you right, Miss Ashby.”

  “It’s dreadful, I know.” She sighed, a gloved hand to her heart. “I’m heartily ashamed of myself.”

  His voice was taut, stiffly so. “And with whom are you having an affair?”

  “Why, with Mrs. Quigly’s pastries, of course.”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “Our new cook, Mrs. Quigly, is a wonder in the kitchen.” Henrietta twirled her eyes. “Her pastries are divine. I must admit, I’ve developed an unhealthy fondness for sugared cakes.”

  Sebastian didn’t say anything for a moment. Instead he rubbed his lush lips together, deep in thought.

  Henrietta, enraptured by the subtle display of movement, had to whisk her gaze back up to meet the viscount’s. Though her heart was thudding in her breast like a drum, she fixed a playful smile to her lips to conceal her fluster.

  “You are teasing me, Miss Ashby.”

  The rugged drawl of his voice did wonderful things to Henrietta. Delicious shivers rolled over her in rhythmic waves. How she longed to hear that deep and sultry voice by her ear! To feel the warm breath of his words caress her skin.

  Henrietta took in a sharp breath to steady her wayward thoughts. “Of course I’m teasing you, my lord. What is a little harmless banter between friends?”

  And since she’d never teased him a day in eight years, she could understand the man’s bewilderment.

  Sebastian lifted a sooty brow. “Friends, are we? Pray tell me, Miss Ashby, what will we do as friends?”

  “Why, we will do as every other couple engaged in friendship.”

  “Unfortunately, I do not have many friends, Miss Ashby, so I will need your guidance in this matter.”

  She counted off her gloved fingers. “Well, we shall share each other’s company and tease one another. Oh, and we shall confide in each other our deepest and darkest secrets.”

  “Like a penchant for pastries?”

  She quirked a grin. “Precisely, my lord.”

  “I see.” His smoldering gaze touched her like a hot iron poker. “Well, since we are friends, Miss Ashby, do you have any other deep and dark secrets you’d like to impart?”

  The scoundrel was trying to unsettle her with that piercing stare of his; muddle her thoughts, make her slip up and say something to betray her real secret. Well, she had an ideal countermeasure for just such a wily move.

  Taking Madam Jacqueline’s advice to heart, Henrietta thought about one of the many wicked images in the courtesan’s naughty book of pictures that she had come to memorize, even desire. An image of a naked couple, their limbs intertwined, their lips in very intimate places. And then she looked at Sebastian’s lips. Let her eyes rest on the soft, full pair as she delved deep into her fantasy.

  After a few decadent moments, she lifted her gaze to meet his penetrating stare, and smiled. “No more confessions tonight, Lord Ravenswood.” She let the words roll off her tongue, then curtsied. “Pleasant dreams.”

  Skirting around him, Henrietta all but skipped off the terrace. If she hadn’t bowled him over before, she’d bowled him over now. Madam Jacqueline had been right. Again. Think a naughty thought and it’d show in your eyes. Something a true rakehell would never miss.

  Sebastian stood on the terrace, staring at the vast winter wonderland. As the minutes ticked by, he looked more and more like a man of snow. He should really get himself inside where it was warm. But he did nothing of the sort. In truth, he didn’t feel the cold. He didn’t feel much of anything—but for a smoldering spark burning deep in his belly.

  Had the little hoyden just leveled a most sinfully wicked stare his way? Sebastian was sure the answer was an unequivocal no. All common sense indicated Henrietta a whimsical chit and nothing more. Which meant he was totally daft.

  Bah! He was just tired was all. The journey to the Ashby country home had taken a few grueling hours. He was imagining things. Fatigue was the culprit for his wayward thoughts.

  A sinfully wicked stare, indeed. He snorted. The chit didn’t know the first thing about being wicked. She was far too innocent.

  Sebastian took in a deep and measured breath. One thing was for certain, though. There was something very different about Henrietta. He sensed the change in her. Why, the girl had actually called him by his title! He’d all but tripped upon hearing the appellation. In eight years she’d never referred to him as anyone but Sebastian. And for some bizarre reason, it was strange to hear her call him “my lord.”

  And what was this deuced nonsense about friendship? Did the girl still want to marry him or not?

  Something was definitely amiss. There was one conundrum after another. Like what the devil did Henrietta mean by teasing him like that? An affair with pastries. Had all that sugar gone to the girl’s head? The sweet tooth did explain one anomaly, though. That plump and curvy figure. Hips! The girl actually had hips! Lush and oh-so-round…

  “Bloody hell,” he growled and quickly vacated the terrace. The cold was seeping into his brain, making him imagine all sorts of absurdities. Still, he doubted a warm fire would put his senses to right. He had a quandary on his hands.

  Pleasant dreams? Not tonight. Not for a great many nights. Not until he debunked the mystery of the curious Miss Ashby.

  Chapter 6

  “G ood heavens, she married a duke!”

  “Who married a duke?”

  Startled, Henrietta folded the letter in her hands. She looked up to fin
d Sebastian poised in the door frame, shoulder slumped against the ornate wood paneling. Thick arms folded over his strapping chest, legs crossed at the ankles, he perused her, a drowsy glint in his otherwise clear blue eyes.

  Oh, had the handsome viscount not slumbered very soundly? Had a certain temptress, mayhap, haunted his dreams?

  “Good morning, my lord.” Biting back her grin, Henrietta stood and reached for the still steaming teapot. “Tea?”

  Sebastian sauntered into the breakfast room. My, he looked splendid. All decked out in regal day wear. Tight and clinging day wear. The muscled form beneath the layers of clothing was hard to miss. Ever since her lessons with Madam Jacqueline, Henrietta had come to admire the masculine figure. And Sebastian’s was a specimen worthy of more intimate study.

  “Thank you, Miss Ashby,” he said, and took a chair opposite her. Black curls a bit disheveled, voice a smoky drawl, he was too sinfully handsome for words.

  Henrietta set the teacup on the table in front of him and returned to her seat. Needing a distraction, she unfurled the letter once more, and said, “I’ve just received a missive from my dearest chum, Mirabelle.”

  “Is she the one from the masquerade ball?”

  “The very one.”

  He whistled. “She married a duke, did she?”

  “The Duke of Wembury! Oh, but I didn’t get to go to the wedding. Drat!”

  At least she didn’t have to keep her friendship with Mirabelle a secret anymore. That was one good thing. Mama would be positively agog to learn that her daughter was now friends with a duchess!

  Sebastian slowly sipped his tea, eyes intent upon her. “Why didn’t you go to the wedding?”

  Henrietta shivered under his smoldering gaze and looked back at the note. “It was a simple ceremony, Mirabelle writes. Only family attended. But I’ve been invited to the castle for a visit.”

  “Will you go?”

  “Of course I will.”

  But there was still Ravenswood to seduce, she thought. The viscount was staying at the house until Twelfth Night. If she went to visit the duchess, she was going to lose a few days with the viscount…

  “I shall postpone the trip until the spring,” she said. “I shall write to the duchess today to inform her.”

  “Why wait so long?”

  Keeping her voice light and airy, she said, “Oh, I have a few other matters to attend to here at the house.”

  Sebastian shrugged. “I didn’t take Wembury for the leg-shackling sort.”

  Henrietta’s eyes widened. “You know the duke?”

  “Of him. He was dubbed the ‘Duke of Rogues’ long ago. At one time, he even belonged to my club. Before I was a member, though.”

  “What club?”

  A dark shadow passed over Sebastian’s eyes. “A gentlemen’s club,” was all he said on the matter. He took another sip of tea before he resumed. “About two and a half years ago, though, after the death of his brother, Wembury disappeared from the world. And now he’s back? And riveted at that? Shocking.”

  “Well, it seems the duke’s reformed his ways.”

  “A scoundrel can never reform his ways, Miss Ashby.”

  She quirked a brow. “Is that so?”

  “Oh yes.” He reached for a pastry on the table. “It’s impossible to rid oneself of wicked intentions. A thief will always be a thief. His fingers will always itch and burn to pinch one thing or another. And a man so scandalous as to be dubbed the ‘Duke of Rogues’ will always be a rogue, I’m afraid.”

  Henrietta’s fingers itched and burned to do a little pinching of her own. Only she wanted to pinch that willful lip of his until it bruised.

  Was he going to use that tired old line on her: once a rake, always a rake? Rot! If she could transform from whimsical to wanton, then surely one could go from rake to respectable.

  But before she could argue her point, Sebastian parted his lips to partake of the pastry, and all irascible thoughts deserted her.

  A warm heat invaded her belly, spread through her every limb. At the decadent sight, Henrietta scratched out the image of the pastry from her mind and put herself in its place. And at the thought of Sebastian doing to her what he was doing to that pastry, her whole body started to quiver.

  “Miss Ashby, are you all right?” He reached for a napkin to wipe his fingers, staring at her curiously the whole time.

  Henrietta had to fight really hard to find her voice and keep it from squeaking. “I’m quite well, my lord. I assure you.” She took a moment to gather her wits, then said, “You don’t think a man can reform? Why is that?”

  He shrugged. “Some of us are born good, Miss Ashby. And some of us are not. It’s the natural way of the world.”

  She screwed up her face. Where the devil did he get that idea from? But before she could ask, he said:

  “You’re up early this morning.”

  Her curiosity stifled, she fibbed, “I always rise early.”

  He wrinkled his brow. “Do you? I remember you rising closer to noon.”

  So true. And it was a bloody wretched business getting up with the cocks. But she’d no time to diddle away in bed while Ravenswood was in the house. She had until Twelfth Night to achieve her goal, and she was going to put every waking minute to good use.

  “There’s just so much to do today, my lord.”

  “Such as?”

  Such as seducing you, she thought impishly.

  “Well, there’s the skating party to organize,” she said. “My sisters and I have decided to take the children down to the pond for an afternoon of sport. I do hope you brought along your skates, my lord.”

  “I’m afraid not, Miss Ashby.”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “No matter. You can borrow Papa’s skates. He doesn’t use them anymore.”

  “Thank you for the offer, but I must decline.”

  “Rubbish! Why else would you come all this way to visit if not to enjoy the merry company?”

  He gave her a dubious look at that. Was she being too forward? Well, she had to get the dratted man to the frozen pond somehow. She was going to employ a new tactic today: scent.

  Scent was the strongest aphrodisiac, according to Madam Jacqueline. And Henrietta wholly agreed. Why, just standing next to Sebastian and breathing in the rich waft of rosemary and lemon had always made her woozy.

  Anyway, she’d coaxed from her brother-in-law the name of Sebastian’s favorite perfume. And it was time to put that knowledge to good use.

  “Come, Ravenswood, we are friends,” she persuaded him gently. “And friends often skate together.”

  “Do they now?”

  “Most assuredly.”

  He stared at her for a long while, then said, “With the children?”

  “And my sisters and their husbands. Even your brother Peter is joining in the revelry. So you see, you simply must attend.”

  After another lengthy pause, he finally sighed. “I’ve not skated in years.”

  “Fret not, my lord, I’ll be there to catch you if you fall.”

  Sebastian landed on his arse—again.

  He’d had enough. Taking his lumbering self over to one of the fallen logs, he sat on the makeshift bench and unfastened the leather straps from his boots, discarded the skates.

  Feeling much steadier now that he had his own two feet back, Sebastian stretched his hands toward the fire sparking away in a large tin bucket.

  As he rubbed his frozen palms together, he let his eyes wander over the icy pond and the crowd of skaters, and settle upon a little hoyden dragging two wobbling sprites along beside her.

  With one hand latched on to an unsteady niece and another clamped on to a rambunctious nephew, Henrietta steered the two novice ice dancers, encouraging them softly, her laughter spirited, but kind, when one little rump hit the sheet of ice. And yet she herself looked so graceful among the chaos. In her fur-trimmed cape and matching gloves, she appeared a winter faerie, dancing over the frozen pond.

  “What’
s this?” Peter shouted from the ice. “Have you given up already, brother?”

  Snapped from his reverie, Sebastian stared once more at the snapping flames.

  Since Peter was already scaling the embankment, there was no reason for Sebastian to raise his voice. “I’m afraid so, Peter. I’ve lost my touch on the ice.”

  Peter sat down beside him with a snort. “The only time you’ve ever ‘touched’ the ice is with your arse.”

  “Yes, thank you for the reminder.”

  Peter knocked his brother’s hands out of the way, so he could hog the fire. “What are you doing out here anyway, Seb?”

  “Devil if I know.”

  “You’ve not skated in years.”

  “Yes, I know, Peter. I was tricked into the excursion—I think.”

  “Tricked? By whom?”

  “A redheaded minx.”

  “Henrietta? Be serious, Seb. She’s a darling chit and all, but she’s not one for skullduggery.”

  Sebastian was beginning to wonder about that. “Well, if she didn’t trick me, then what the deuce am I doing out here?”

  Lips parted, Peter looked like he was about to impart some witty words of wisdom, then paused. “You know, I’ve no idea, Seb. But then again, you are a bit of a mystery.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Well, you’re here for one. At the estate, I mean. A scoundrel like yourself cloistered amid the very essence of domesticity. It defies reason.”

  “Can’t a scoundrel visit with family?”

  “Yes, of course, but why would you come to call at this time of year? When every Ashby is gathered in rambunctious familial rapport. It’s beyond me.”

  “Well, then let me solve this mystery for you, brother. I’ve come to see Henrietta.”

  Peter brought his frigid fingers to his lips and blew. “Oh?”

  “I’d hoped to find the girl wed, even engaged. But regrettably she’s still unattached.