Too Scandalous to Wed

by Alexandra Benedict

  “Out with it, Henry,” said Roselyn. “Don’t idle in bed.”

  “Speak up, Henry,” from Tertia.

  “Yes, Henry, do tell us the truth,” insisted Cordelia.

  Henrietta wanted to plug her ears with her fingers. Drat! How had her sisters spied the subtle courtship? She had been so careful, acting aloof in public and bolder in private.

  Baffled, Henrietta said, “Why do you think I’m having an affair with Ravenswood?”

  Penelope narrowed her dark brown eyes. “I’ve just had a little chat with my husband. Peter believes Ravenswood is smitten with you.”

  Gripped by a profound urge to hop up and down on the bed, Henrietta swallowed her pleasure instead, and said, “Really?”

  A snort from Penelope. “My fool husband thinks it absolutely marvelous that the two of you get married.”

  So did Henrietta. So why the devil didn’t her sisters agree?

  “I don’t understand,” said Henrietta. “Why don’t you like Ravenswood?”

  “We do like him.” Roselyn folded her arms across her chest in an imperious manner. “But we like him as Penelope’s brother-in-law, not your husband!”

  Henrietta was confused, and wondered, “And why would you dislike him as my husband?”

  Tertia sighed. “Oh Lord, listen to the fool girl.”

  “Henry,” said Penelope in reproach, “you must see how inappropriate such a match would be.”

  Inappropriate? That she marry a respectable viscount? The man that she loved? Was her sister mad?

  “I most certainly do not,” said Henrietta.

  “The poor dear.” Cordelia tsked. “She’s lost her wits.”

  “I’ve done no such thing.” Henrietta huffed. “I think you’ve all lost your wits. I’ve loved Ravenswood for years. Why are you scolding me now?”

  “Oh, hush, Henry.” Tertia wagged her finger. “You don’t really love the man. You’re just trapped in a girlhood dream.”

  Henrietta humphed in indignation. “Rot!”

  Roselyn sighed. “Fine, Henry. Then tell us, why do you love Ravenswood?”

  Henrietta could think of a hundred reasons; there were so many memories to draw from. The fall harvest for one. She had been seventeen at the time and very anxious to get her hands on a juicy apple after so many months of wanting. She’d been about to clamber up a tree to fetch said apple, when Ravenswood had appeared. He’d offered to scale the gnarled tree in her stead and had climbed to the tips of the branches to obtain the sweetest fruit for her. Her heart still fluttered at the memory.

  “Because,” said Henrietta, “he makes my heart—”

  “Go pitter patter?” said Tertia.

  “Do you get butterflies in your belly?” from Roselyn.

  “Or tongue-tied in his company?” said Cordelia.

  Henrietta made a moue.

  “It’s called infatuation, Henry.” Penelope folded her arms. “It’s not love. Now are you having an affair with Ravenswood or not?”

  Four piercing stares stabbed her.

  Henrietta was stubbornly quiet for a moment, then said, “I’m not.”

  Yet!

  The sisters liberated a collective sigh of relief.

  “Thank goodness,” from Penelope.

  “We’ve come just in time,” said Roselyn.

  No, you’ve come at the most importune time, thought Henrietta, and bunched her brow in consternation. “I still don’t understand the sudden disapproval of Ravenswood.”

  “There’s nothing sudden about it, m’dear,” said Tertia. “Ravenswood was always unsuitable for you. But so long as he didn’t return your affection, there was never the danger of a match being made.”

  “Danger? Unsuitable? What rot!” Henrietta clambered to her knees, eyes level with her sister’s. “Ravenswood is a viscount. He is most suitable.”

  “We’re not speaking of titles, Henry.” Tertia sniffed in displeasure. “We’re speaking of character.”

  “The man is a rogue!” Cordelia blurted out.

  Roselyn pinched her. “What Cordelia means is Ravenswood isn’t husband material.”

  “He’ll make you unhappy,” said Penelope.

  Henrietta glared at all four of her sisters. “I know Ravenswood is considered a rogue, but I’ve every intention of reforming his roguish ways.”

  Well, not too much, thought Henrietta, for she happened to like a bit of the rogue within him. Ravenswood was flirtatious…sensuous. A reputed rake, he enjoyed the company of a lady. That made him a rogue, true. But the man could make her toes curl. Henrietta quite liked the feeling. And so long as the viscount was faithful to her once they married, he could be as “roguish” as he liked.

  “Henry!” Roselyn shook her head. “You can’t reform a rogue.”

  Now where had Henrietta heard that before?

  “Especially a rogue like Ravenswood,” said Tertia.

  “Why especially?” Henrietta demanded.

  The sisters all looked at one another.

  “Ravenswood is handsome, to be sure, and charming,” said Penelope, “but he’s also sinister.”

  Henrietta snorted.

  “He is,” insisted Roselyn. “The talk about him is scandalous. It’s frightening, too.”

  Henrietta bunched her brow. “What talk?”

  “There’s talk he’s a member of a notorious club.” Tertia went on to whisper, “One dedicated to vice.”

  Henrietta scoffed. “It’s all rubbish, I’m sure.”

  But then Henrietta remembered her chat with Ravenswood the other day. He had confessed he belonged to a club, a “gentlemen’s club.” She was sure it was just like any other club, though, where one smoked and played billiards and such. Although Ravenswood had also mentioned her best friend’s husband, the “Duke of Rogues,” was once a member…

  Still, the gossip was drivel. If her dearest chum could marry the “Duke of Rogues,” then surely Henrietta could wed Ravenswood. The club couldn’t be that notorious.

  It was all just idle gossip, she was sure. The papers were often wrong about such stuff. Madam Jacqueline had been a purported shrew, yet the woman was nothing of the sort. And while it might be fun to listen to scandalous chitchat, Henrietta wasn’t going to choose her mate from the ton’s society papers! She knew Ravenswood. He was dashing. Wonderful. He was going to make her very happy.

  She just had to convince her sisters of that truth.

  “No, really,” Cordelia chimed, “I’ve heard the talk, too, Henry. The club is like a den of sin, unfit for respectable company.”

  Henrietta grimaced. “Rot!”

  “Henry, it’s true.” Penelope lowered her voice. “Peter often laments about his brother; how he wishes Ravenswood would give up his immoral ways and settle down.”

  Henrietta thought “immoral” was a tad too strong a word for a flirt, but she still defended the viscount with a tart: “Ravenswood will give up his ‘immoral’ ways and settle down.” She pointed to her chest. “With me.”

  Penelope sighed. “Henry, Ravenswood isn’t the man for you. You must give up this foolish childhood fancy!”

  Henrietta meshed her lips together in defiance. “I intend to follow my heart, sisters.”

  Four sets of arms went across four sets of bosoms.

  “Well, Henry, if your heart is in the wrong place, then I suppose the duty falls upon us to protect you.”

  Henrietta looked at her eldest sister, aghast. “What do you mean?”

  But it was Roselyn who enlightened her: “If Ravenswood’s got the fool idea into his head that he can have his way with you, then we’ll just have to convince him otherwise.”

  Perish the thought!

  “I don’t need protecting from Ravenswood,” was Henrietta’s hasty rebuttal. “He would never hurt me.”

  “He will hurt you, Henry.” Cordelia offered her a rueful expression. “You don’t know the man a’tall.”

  “I’ve known the man for eight years!”

  “N
o, Henry, you’ve dreamed about the man for eight years,” said Tertia. “He’s not a knight in shining armor.”

  Something bubbled in Henrietta’s throat. A vile lump of pain that was hard to swallow.

  Why were her sisters doing this? Petty gossip was no reason to interfere with her contentment. She didn’t bother in any of their personal affairs. So why were they bothering in hers? And so cruelly at that?

  Henrietta sniffed. “Why don’t you want me to be happy?”

  It was a smarting pain, to have her own sisters be so determined to quash all her joy.

  “That’s just it, my dear,” said Roselyn in a more soothing voice, “we do want you to be happy. And Ravenswood will not make you happy.”

  Henrietta quelled her sorrow to assert, “Only Ravenswood will make me happy. He might show the world his roguish side, but I know his heart. He’s not a villain, and I won’t listen to any more of this rubbish.”

  Penelope sighed again. “Willful girl.”

  “Where does she get it from?” wondered Tertia.

  “It’s all Papa’s doing,” quipped Roselyn. “He should have taught her to obey.”

  “Now she’ll never listen to reason,” said Cordelia.

  A nod from Penelope. “Then I suppose we’ll just have to take care of this matter on our own.”

  “No,” said Henrietta, panicked.

  “We’ll make sure Ravenswood stays far away from her,” agreed Tertia.

  “No!”

  “He shan’t be allowed to say two words to her,” chimed Cordelia.

  “No! No! No!”

  Roselyn bobbed her head. “It’s settled then.”

  And the four harridans left the room in accord, Henrietta glaring after them, wondering how the devil she was going to get out of this muddle.

  Chapter 10

  H enrietta had slept in. Drat! She was supposed to spend every waking moment seducing Ravenswood. But last night she’d had the most dreadful dream. It had started out pleasant; she and Sebastian tangled together in the bedsheets. But just when Sebastian was about to slip his hand beneath her petticoat, four ravens had swooped into the room and pecked out his eyes.

  Henrietta let out a huff. Troublesome sisters. What the devil did they mean by threatening to interfere in her life? Henrietta wasn’t a child anymore. She didn’t need a guardian—four guardians. All she needed was a few more private rendezvous with Ravenswood.

  Oh, lud! Madame Jacqueline had not instructed her on the art of ridding oneself of meddlesome sisters. What was Henrietta to do now?

  The parlor loomed ahead. Henrietta could hear the buzz of chatter. She smoothed out her skirt and took in a deep breath to soothe her agitation before stepping into the room.

  Even among a crowd, Henrietta spotted Ravenswood with ease. There was something about the man: a magnetic pull that always teased her senses. My, he looked dashing, primped in a marine blue waistcoat and dark breeches, sooty black locks curling at his temples. But it was his eyes that captivated Henrietta. Smoldering eyes that darkened the moment she entered the room.

  “Good morning, Henry!”

  The four unanimous greetings had Henrietta seething beneath her composed cheerfulness. She was too late. The harridans had circled Ravenswood at the breakfast table. She couldn’t get anywhere near the man.

  Still smiling, Henrietta tried not to sound too petulant. “Good morning, sisters.”

  She took an empty seat at the far end of the table, her eyes resting on Ravenswood once more. She could see the fire burning in him. The fire she had ignited the night before with a sinful kiss.

  Henrietta shuddered under his scorching gaze. The steel blue of his sexy eyes transfixed her. Made her giddy, too, for she realized then a night apart had not doused the flames of his desire for her. Capital! Now if only she could steal a few moments alone with the viscount to keep that fire burning.

  Henrietta inclined her head and smiled. “Good morning, Ravenswood.”

  But Sebastian had no opportunity to offer a return greeting, for the harridans captured his attention then with a plethora of mindless questions.

  “Tell me, what do you think of the French lace at Penelope’s sleeve, Ravenswood?”

  “How about the exquisite fringe on Cordelia’s shawl, Ravenswood? Isn’t it grand?”

  “Of course, the green ribbon in Tertia’s hair is very fetching. Wouldn’t you agree, Ravenswood?”

  “And let’s not forget the chemisette at Roselyn’s neck. It’s so fashionable, isn’t it, Ravenswood?”

  Sebastian looked a bit spooked, surrounded by so many demanding females. He hadn’t a chance to breathe between answers, never mind look back at Henrietta.

  Curse her sisters! They were going to occupy the viscount’s every waking moment, become a wall between her and her love.

  Henrietta had a strong urge to flick forks across the table at her sisters.

  “Here you are, Henry, my boy.” In a clandestine gesture, the baron pushed a crumpet on a white linen napkin across the table. “I saved the last one for you. I know how much you like sweets.”

  “Thank you, Papa.” Henrietta gave her father a warm smile. She reached for the crumpet and buttered it, all the while telling herself she would not let her sisters disrupt the wonderful progress she had made with Ravenswood. She would find time to be alone with the viscount. Her sisters could not devastate true love, however much they tried.

  Henrietta stuffed the buttered crumpet into her mouth.

  “You look weary, sister.”

  Mouth full, Henrietta glanced sidelong at her brother-in-law Peter.

  “I understand you didn’t get much sleep last night.” He sighed. “I believe I owe you an apology, Henry, for it was I who spoke with Penelope about Seb’s…attachment to you. I just didn’t think she’d fly into a tizzy about it.”

  Henrietta swallowed the crumpet, her heart skipping a beat. She didn’t have time to be vexed with Peter for confiding in Penelope and setting in motion this whole blasted affair. She was only curious to know: “Do you really think Sebastian is ‘attached’ to me?”

  Peter looked at her thoughtfully, almost hopefully. “I do.”

  A surge of bubbly emotions stormed her breast. It was comforting to know she had an ally in Peter, that at least one member of her family wasn’t bent on destroying her chance at happiness with Ravenswood.

  “Oh, Peter”—eyes darting across the table, Henrietta peeked to make sure no one was eavesdropping—“what am I going to do? My sisters are dead set against my marrying Sebastian.”

  He whispered, “I’ll help you.”

  “You will?”

  Peter nodded. “It’s high time Seb settles down. You’re perfect for him, Henry, and he knows it. He’s just being stubborn.” Peter paused, then: “You do care for him, Henry, don’t you?”

  “With all my heart,” she said.

  “Right then.” Another firm nod. “I’ll take care of your sisters. You look after Sebastian.”

  But for the present company, Henrietta would have smothered Peter with grateful kisses. “Oh, thank you, Peter!”

  “Think nothing of it, Henry. This is all my fault anyway, so I’ll right the matter.” Peter looked down the table at his brother, then said, “I don’t know what you’ve done to Seb, but he’s not looked so smitten in…well, ever. So you just go about your way and leave the sisters to me. Oh, and Henry?”

  “Yes, Peter?”

  “Thank you for caring for him.”

  She patted his hand. “You don’t have to thank me, Peter. The blackguard stole my heart long ago. I didn’t really have a choice in the matter.”

  Peter smiled at that.

  “Heavens, look at the time,” piped Roselyn. “We’ll be late for church!”

  The whole table erupted in chaos then.

  It was Christmas Day, and the annual Yule service was set to start within the hour.

  “Fetch the children!”

  “Ready the sleighs!”

>   Like a herd of horses, the family poured into the corridor and headed for the front door.

  Henrietta busied herself getting ready: wrap, muff, fur hat. All the while, she slowly maneuvered herself next to Sebastian. Behind him, really. In the tumult of the household, he didn’t notice her standing there.

  Henrietta was about to impart some whispered words—to remind Sebastian of the kiss they’d shared the other night—when Penelope whisked by and hooked her arm in his.

  “Come Ravenswood.” Penelope smiled. “You’ll ride with Peter and me.”

  Drat! Henrietta glared after the departing couple. She didn’t know how Peter was going to get her sisters away from Ravenswood, but Henrietta dearly hoped he’d come up with something soon.

  Bless Peter! He’d caused such a ruckus in the household, Henrietta was sure to find a moment alone with Ravenswood.

  The whole family was in a tizzy because Mama’s Christmas bell was “missing.” It’d been in Mama’s family for more than a hundred years, and it was tradition to ring the bell before the Yule feast.

  According to lore, the little porcelain bell blessed the food and the family. No one could eat until the bell sounded, so a troop of famished Ashbys were scouring the house, looking for it.

  But Henrietta was looking for something a mite different: Ravenswood.

  She bustled through the passageways, peeking into the branching rooms. She noted the parlor was empty, but just then a dark head popped up from behind the settee.

  Sebastian.

  And he was alone!

  Henrietta took a moment to fluff her skirts and ease her thundering heartbeat. With as much aplomb as she could muster, she waltzed into the room.

  “Any luck, my lord?”

  Sebastian stopped dusting his trousers to stare at her, a seductive glow in his dark blue eyes.

  Henrietta was having a devilishly hard time keeping her wits about her. For far too long, Sebastian had looked at her with platonic regard. Now each time he glanced her way, a carnal fire burned in his eyes. It delighted her to her very core, his wanton attention, but it also distracted her.

  “I’m afraid not, Miss Ashby.”

  So he was back to calling her Miss Ashby, was he? It didn’t matter. She’d have him breathing her nickname again soon enough.