Too Scandalous to Wed

by Alexandra Benedict

  As swift as she could, Henrietta dunked her hand into the shallow bowl, grabbed the fiery raisin, and popped the brandy-soaked fruit into her mouth, much to the jubilation of the crowd around her.

  “Hurray, Aunt Henry!” the children shouted in unison. “Hail to the Queen of the Snapdragon!”

  Devilishly pleased with herself, Henrietta mimicked her best royal curtsy. “Why, thank you, my dear lords and ladies.”

  The baron clapped his hands together and beamed. “What a good show, my boy!”

  “Thank goodness that’s over with.” Fan fluttering, the baroness clutched her large bosom. “Lights!”

  The attending footmen whisked about the room, lighting candles, tweaking oil lamps, and stoking the dwindling flames in the hearth.

  A bit breathless herself, Henrietta separated from the family and ensconced herself in a window seat, resting her warm brow against the chilled glass. It was Christmas Eve, the parlor a flutter of activity. But she needed a moment of repose. She still had a seduction to orchestrate—and tonight she intended to move the courtship along.

  With a discreet pinch, Henrietta assured herself the little velvet purse was still tucked up her sleeve—and had not drowned in the fiery bowl of brandy. It concealed a gift for Ravenswood: one she hoped would warm the viscount to her. Next she peeked at the doorway, and was pleased to see the mistletoe still in place, for it would come in handy later in the night.

  With a confident smile, she rested her brow against the window again. Across the room stood Ravenswood, conversing with his brother. Henrietta did not look directly at the viscount. Instead she fixed her eyes on the pane of glass and watched him in the reflection of the room.

  He looked so dashing, she mused. And he was watching her closely, she could tell.

  But she would not acknowledge his stare. It was another one of Madam Jacqueline’s cardinal rules: ignore the man as much as possible. Make him come to you.

  And it wasn’t long before Henrietta’s heart fluttered at the movement in the glass.

  Ravenswood was approaching.

  She scrunched her feet beneath her posterior, making room on the window seat should Sebastian wish to join her. He didn’t sit next to her, though. Instead he paused by the window, drink in hand, delft blue eyes perusing her figure in that familiar lanky stare.

  “How fare your fingers, Miss Ashby?”

  Tingles of pleasure rippled along her limbs at his low and husky drawl. “A bit tender, my lord.”

  She quelled a shudder when he took the seat next to her. “Let me see your hand.”

  It was a gruff command, and she all but squeaked in delight to see how much he cared for her. Oh, he loved her all right; she’d suspected it for years. But the mulish man had never made a public display of affection. This was a most favorable boon.

  She offered him her hand. Gently he clasped her palm, and Henrietta all but toppled off the window seat.

  With exquisite tenderness, he stroked her fingers, glaring at the flushed flesh as though willing the injury away.

  But the slight burning sensation in her hand intensified the more he caressed her, and it wasn’t long before the rest of her body was feeling the heat as well.

  “Perhaps you should retire as Queen of the Snapdragon?”

  It took her a moment to gather her wayward thoughts and reply, “Perish the thought. The children would never forgive me.”

  He let go of her hand, let it slowly slip between his strong fingers. “I will get you a cold compress, Miss Ashby.”

  She delved deep into his stormy eyes, shivered at the loss of his touch. “No, wait!”

  Sebastian looked back at her. “What is it?”

  “Stay, Ravenswood. I have a present for you.”

  He eyed her curiously. “A present? For me?”

  Henrietta removed the small trinket from beneath her sleeve and presented him with the gift. “Here.”

  Sebastian stared at the satchel with obvious confusion. “What is it?”

  She thrust her hand forward in encouragement. “Open it.”

  Setting his drink aside, he accepted the black velvet purse. For a moment, he did nothing but hold it. But soon he stretched the golden cords and opened the little sack.

  Carefully, Sebastian removed the ring and lifted it to the light for a better look. It was a gentleman’s ring, crafted from gold, the emblem on the surface a Celtic love knot.

  Did he recognize the symbol? She hoped not. She didn’t want to frighten him off with a clear show of her affection. But he didn’t look alarmed. In truth, he looked very surprised.

  “Do you like it, Ravenswood?”

  Chapter 8

  Y es, he did like it. He liked it very much.

  Sebastian slipped the ring over his pinky finger. A perfect fit. “Thank you, Miss Ashby. It was very thoughtful of you.”

  He’d never received a gift before. Not like this. Not from a woman. It was usually he who did the gift giving, showering a mistress with jewels to keep her content. But he’d never been the recipient of such a gesture himself.

  It was a warm sentiment, to be bestowed with a present. Especially if the gift was from a…friend.

  “I’m afraid I don’t have anything for you, Miss Ashby.”

  “Rot, Ravenswood! We are friends, you and I. And friends give gifts without expecting anything in return.”

  He looked into her warm brown eyes, so spirited. Such a lovely pair of eyes to match such a lovely soul…

  Young Edward bounded up to his aunt Henry then, and stole her away for a game of hoodman blind.

  Henrietta flashed him a dazzling smile before she took off with the boy, then fastened the blindfold over her eyes and hunched to tickle and tag the children skipping around her.

  Sebastian watched her for a time. He pressed the back of his head against the cool glass window, and let his eyes wander in curiosity over the little hoyden.

  She was draped in a woolly frock, a rusty red in hue. The apparel matched the sunset shade of her long locks, twisted in an elegant knot, yet contrasted with the creamy brightness of her soft skin.

  Sebastian eyed the naked flesh at her neck, her bust. He pictured his lips tasting the tender skin, his tongue licking the sweet scent of jasmine at her throat…

  He slew the salacious thought at once. He was a villain. A jaded wastrel, through and through. It was just like him to think such a wicked thought, to corrupt the innocent Miss Ashby in his mind’s eye.

  If only the chit didn’t have such a devastating figure: curves in all the right places. He could resist the allure of her smoky drawl then, the soft touch of her faerie fingers…

  “You look smitten.”

  Snapped from his reverie, Sebastian snarled at his brother. “Rubbish!”

  Peter occupied the abandoned seat next to him, and said, “You have a dreamy look in your eyes.”

  The devil he did!

  “I’m just tired,” was Sebastian’s curt reply.

  But Peter continued with his diagnosis, unperturbed. “A sort of hazy expression across your face.” He gesticulated with his fingers. “I’ve never seen you like this, Seb.”

  “There’s nothing the matter with me.”

  “Did I say there was anything wrong with you? Having feelings for a woman isn’t a malady, Seb, like some might suggest.”

  Sebastian growled, “I’m not smitten with Henrietta.”

  “Then what do you feel for the girl?”

  “Brotherly regard.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “Well, I hate to tell you this, Seb, but most men don’t look at their sister like she’s something tasty to eat.”

  Sebastian resisted the impulse to crush his brother’s throat. “Henrietta and I are just friends.”

  “Friends? Are you daft?”

  Sebastian glared at his brother. “And why the devil not?”

  “You can’t be friends with a beautiful woman. Hell, you can’t be friends with a pla
in woman! There’s just something about you, Seb. You have a tendency to rut about with anything in a skirt.”

  And since Sebastian was having such a devilishly hard time stifling his wicked thoughts about Henrietta, he wanted to throttle his brother all the more for pointing out the wretched truth.

  Still, Sebastian wouldn’t admit to the struggle inside him.

  “You’re wrong, Peter,” he said firmly. “I can be friends with Henrietta. I’m sure of it.”

  And he was.

  Really.

  Later that night, still unsettled by the conflicting sentiments inside him, Sebastian strolled through the quiet household on his way to his bedchamber.

  He fiddled with the ring on his finger, twisting it round and round, thinking of Henrietta.

  Five months ago, he had abandoned the chit, hoping she’d find herself another mate. Well, she’d not set her cap for another bloke, but she’d also not pestered him with adoring looks or flaunting gestures, either. Instead, she’d offered him friendship.

  Sebastian twisted his lips. He didn’t have very many friends. Oh, he’d many partners in debauchery, but none he’d consider friends. He’d certainly no female chums, so he didn’t know what to make of his newfound “friendship” with Henrietta.

  And where the devil had the whole idea of friendship come from anyway? Five months ago she’d wanted to snag him as her husband. Now she wanted to be his friend? Was he to assume she’d given up on the whole idea of being the next Viscountess Ravenswood? Or was the mischievous chit up to something?

  He’d no idea. And he couldn’t ask Henrietta outright. She’d only fib if it was a ploy of some kind. One thing was for certain, though. A friend was not supposed to stir the heat in your belly. Peter had been right about that.

  Disgruntled, Sebastian turned a corner, passing through an arched entranceway—and smacked right into Henrietta.

  Alarmed, he said, “Forgive me, Miss Ashby.”

  “Oh, bother that.” She rubbed her nose in the most delightful way. “It was an accident. Think nothing of it, Ravenswood.”

  “Did I hurt you?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Not a’tall.”

  He cut her a dubious stare. That fragile feminine face crashing into his brute form had to sting, even a little. “You’ve not broken it, have you?”

  “Rot!” She sniffed. “I’m stronger than I look.”

  He had to admire her spirit. Most women would be reduced to tears right about now. Some might even demand reparation: a diamond necklace, for instance. But not Henrietta. He suspected she wouldn’t carp even if he’d injured her. And that only made her character all the more mystifying.

  “Where were you off to in such haste, Miss Ashby?”

  “I was looking for…”

  “For?”

  She looked straight at him. “I was looking for my sisters.”

  He quirked a brow. “It’s after midnight. Your sisters are likely in bed. Which is where you should be, Miss Ashby.”

  “You’re quite right.” She waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll speak with my sisters in the morning. Good night, Ravenswood.”

  “Good night, Miss Ashby.”

  She turned to leave, then paused. “Oh dear.”

  “What is it?”

  She looked back at him, a bright blush dusting her cheeks. “I’m afraid we’re in a terrible fix.”

  Was the girl about to faint? Had she bumped into him a little harder than he’d thought?

  Sebastian reached for her elbow to steady her. “Miss Ashby, are you unwell?”

  “Oh, I’m quite well, but…”

  Her lashes flitted upward.

  Sebastian followed her gaze—and his heart shuddered at the sight of the mistletoe.

  Now where the hell had that come from? Prior to the Yule festivities, he’d made considerable effort to locate all the ghastly foliage in the house so he could avoid it. And that mistletoe had not been there before.

  “My lord, I do believe I owe you a kiss.”

  Blood throbbed in his veins at the sound of her silky smooth voice. And when she started to chew on her bottom lip in that wanton fashion, blood started to pound in other less savory places, too.

  She could not kiss him. He was adamant. For eight years he’d stood fast to escape the girl’s kisses. He would not flounder now, give her reason to believe he cared for her in an unbrotherly fashion. It would only break her heart to learn the truth. He was determined not to devastate her.

  “But you and I are friends,” she said next, eyes slanted in demure innocence. “And it wouldn’t do a’tall if I kissed you on the lips.”

  Sebastian heard the breath rush through his teeth. Rampant relief filled him. Thank heavens the girl had good sense! For he had not the fortitude to resist a pair of plump pink lips, dusted with the scent of jasmine. He was sure about that.

  “Instead, Ravenswood, I will kiss you where you’ve never been kissed before.”

  His breath hitched.

  So much for the girl’s good sense.

  It could not be stopped, the fire burning in his belly at her wanton proposal. The rogue within him took an instant liking to the proposition, the more reasonable part of him tossed to the wayside.

  Sebastian could do naught but stare, mesmerized, as she reached for his hand.

  He bristled, grasping for his wits, about to pull away, when a jarring voice inside him cried: Devil take it, Seb, let her show you where you’ve never been kissed before!

  And upon that blasted reproof, all thoughts of propriety were stomped asunder.

  Slowly Henrietta lifted his hand to her lips. Ever gently, she pulled back the cuff of his sleeve, the fabric scraping over his skin, making him shudder.

  Mischief twinkled in her bright brown eyes, and she whispered, “I shall kiss you right…here.”

  Sebastian closed his eyes, the rogue within him groaning in feral satisfaction.

  Warm, wet lips kissed, then sucked at his wrist, the rhythmic movement of her mouth reminding him of other sensual pleasures.

  “Henry,” he breathed hoarsely, trembling under her salacious ministrations.

  It was an entreaty, her name. A plea to break away from him, for he had not the power to do it himself. And unless the girl abandoned him this instant, she was going to find herself up against the wall—

  Sebastian was startled by the sudden surcease. Limbs throbbing in repressed ecstasy, he struggled to regain control of his mind, his breath, his very soul.

  “There now,” she whispered warmly, eyes bright with sensuality. “We’ve not broken with tradition.” She smiled. “Good night, Ravenswood.”

  She sauntered into the darkness of the corridor, leaving him stranded under the mistletoe in abject chaos, for not only had he broken with tradition by allowing the girl to kiss him, but he’d done the one thing he’d vowed never to do: call her by her nickname.

  Chapter 9

  H enrietta burst into her bedchamber.

  Heart still throbbing in her throat, she closed the door and sprinted toward the bed. She buried her face in her pillow and let out a squeal of delight. A bit more composed, she sat up and sighed. But the giddiness inside her refused to be tamped, and she giggled again.

  He had called her Henry! It was the sweetest sound she had ever heard, that guttural whisper. Every fine hair on her body had spiked to shivering attention when he’d said her nickname.

  And she had kissed him! Not on the lips, but still, she had tasted the heady musk of his skin for the first time—and was utterly intoxicated.

  Letting out another dreamy sigh, Henrietta flopped back onto her pillow. Her plan was working splendidly. And at a clipped pace. She could not afford to slow down. She could not give Sebastian a chance to reflect and realize that something was amiss; that he should leave the house at once.

  But she didn’t want to move too fast, either, or she might make the man balk and run anyway. It was such a tricky balance to keep.

  Yet she needed t
o be bolder if she wanted to seduce the viscount. She had worked on her friendship with Sebastian, but now she needed to nurture the other part of their relationship, too. She needed to become his lover.

  Heart ticking in enthusiasm, Henrietta reached under her pillow and yanked out a black, leather-bound volume: a parting gift from Madam Jacqueline.

  And as she opened the book of naughty pictures to a random page, her thoughts turned wily and wicked, as she pondered which of the erotic acts to perform with Sebastian.

  Under waning candle glow, she traced her fingers over the sultry images, daydreaming about Sebastian.

  She had come to admire the sensuous pictures in the book; she didn’t blush to look at them anymore. Each provocative image illustrated a bond of ecstasy between a couple.

  Henrietta longed to know that kind of bliss, to share that kind of intimacy with Sebastian. It was a burning need inside her, to be close with the man she loved.

  She flipped the page again, and paused.

  A romantic illustration seized her imagination: a couple in silhouette, ensconced in a big, comfy chair by a roaring fire. The woman straddled the man, her flimsy night rail rucked up to her waist. Her loose shift exposed a plump breast, too—and the man in the picture looked very eager to taste it.

  It was a titillating image, but also passionate. There was a deep, dark look in the couple’s eyes. Henrietta could feel the intense bond between them. She wanted that same kind of rapport with Sebastian, and she started to feel all warm inside just thinking about it.

  The door burst open.

  Henrietta gasped and slammed the tome closed, shoving it back under her pillow.

  Dazed, she gaped at the entourage pouring into her room: four sisters draped in evening wrappers and curling ribbons in their hair.

  The women quickly circled the bed like a swarm of angry bees.

  Penelope, the eldest of the bunch, stuck her hands on her hips, and said, “Henry, are you having an affair with Ravenswood?”

  Body still hot and tingly from staring at sinful poses, Henrietta struggled to gather her wits and bring her erratic heartbeats under control. Heavens, was she having a nightmare?