Too Scandalous to Wed (9 page)

“There you are, Ravenswood!”

Reeling, Henrietta smacked her head against the open glass door of the armoire. She clutched her breast in an attempt to quell her rampant heartbeats.

Ravenswood looked no less harried, combing a shaky hand through his curly mane, nostrils flaring.

Penelope and Roselyn flanked the viscount, each hooking a hand—perhaps “claw” was a better word?—around his arm.

Penelope flashed a dazzling smile. “We’ve come to escort you to luncheon, Ravenswood.”

“The Christmas bell’s been found,” said Roselyn. “It was hiding in the kitchen, by the fire. One of the hounds must have put it there.”

And so Ravenswood was snatched away, like a
hapless mortal kidnapped by mischievous faeries.

Henrietta could do naught but stare after him, willing her heart to stay lodged in her breast. Heavens, what a fright! She bloody well had to remember to lock the door next time she tried to kiss Ravenswood.

“Come, Henry!” Penelope sang from the doorway. “Luncheon awaits.”

Henrietta scowled at her sister. So close. She had come so close to tasting Sebastian’s sweet lips.

Drat!

S
ebastian stood by the library window, staring into the black beyond. Insomnia plagued him. He’d not nabbed a wink of sleep since his arrival four days ago. And it was getting to him, the restlessness. He thought of Henrietta more and more. In very ungentlemanly ways.

Snowflakes flicked across the pane of glass, a mesmerizing flurry. He watched the little white dots dance and whirl, trying to banish the image of Henrietta from his mind. But the willful chit refused to go. She pouted her lips at him, so flush, so tempting to taste.

Sebastian moved away from the window. With a disgruntled growl, he poured himself another glass of port. Dash it! Trapped in a house with a family to drive one mad. First the peculiar Miss Ashby teased and tantalized his senses. Now her sisters behaved in the most baffling manner, peppering him with idle questions, following him around the house.

Sebastian rubbed his brow. Twelfth Night seemed an eon away.

The creaking hinges disrupted the viscount’s musings.

“Forgive me, my lord. I didn’t mean to disturb your privacy.”

Sebastian bristled. She was stunning. Billowing russet red locks glowed in the firelight, hugging the curves of her shoulders, her breasts, her well-rounded hips. She was dressed for bed in a flimsy night rail, butter yellow in hue, tucked beneath a thick woolly wrapper. Such a wild temptress, exposing a scandalous patch of skin: her bare toes!

“What the devil are you doing here, Miss Ashby?”

Sebastian was having a deuced hard time purging the whimsical chit from his thoughts without her prancing about so scantily attired. Not that he was in a more fitting form of dress, clad in breeches and a wrinkled linen shirt. Why, the two of them looked ready for a night of passionate lovemaking.

Bloody hell.

She stepped deeper into the library, her voice smoky. “I could ask you the same question, my lord.”

He perused her supple figure. Even beneath the bulky wrapper, her curvy form was evident.

Sebastian gritted his teeth, tamping the wanton stirrings in his belly. But it was hard to dismiss the chit’s plump and oh-so-provocative curves. His fin
gers burned to trace the shapely outline of her figure, to divest her of that woolly wrapper…

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said, a bit strangled.

“Neither could I.” Sashaying over to the bookcase, she skimmed her fingertips along the leather-bound volumes. “I’ve come to fetch a tome. Some light reading might help put me to sleep.”

Staring at her delectable arse was definitely
not
going to put him to sleep, so Sebastian set his port aside and made a move toward the door. “I will leave you to your book reading, Miss Ashby.”

She whirled around. “No!”

He quirked a brow. “No?”

“I mean, please don’t leave on my account.”

He made a curt bow. “Good night, Miss Ashby.”

“Ravenswood—ouch. Dash it!”

His heart pinched at her cry of distress.

Quickly he turned around to find her clutching the back of a chair for support, her expression pained.

He hastened to her side. “Miss Ashby, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she gritted out. “Just stubbed my toe on the chair leg.”

“Come here, you foolish girl.” He moved to her side and scooped her in his arms. Blast it! Did she have to feel so devilishly good against him?

Tamping the snarling hound of lust in his belly, Sebastian whisked her over to the settee and set her down.

He knelt beside her. “Let me have a look.”

He captured her foot in his palm. It was such a small foot. A wonder it could cause her so much pain.

He stroked the big toe, swelling slightly. “Can you wiggle it?”

Chewing on her bottom lip, she said, “I think so.”

The toe twitched

“It’s not broken.” He let go of her foot, for it was causing him an absurd amount of pleasure to touch her in such an intimate place. “Where are your slippers, Miss Ashby?”

“I couldn’t find the pair. It was dark in my room.”

“Of course it was dark.” He glanced at the mantel clock. “It’s well after midnight. Why didn’t you summon your maid?”

She snorted. “And wake the poor girl at this hour?”

“It’s the girl’s duty, Miss Ashby, to serve you and your whimsical needs. That’s why you pay her.”

“There’s nothing whimsical about my getting a book to read.”

“It’s very whimsical when you insist on traipsing through the house at such an ungodly hour.”

She sniffed in defiance.

He glowered at her. “Well, Miss Ashby, after a
sensible
, barefooted jaunt to the library, how do you intend to return to your room? You can hardly walk.”

And
he
wasn’t going to carry her. The three steps
to the settee he’d taken with Henrietta in his arms had stirred a fire in his belly he was still struggling to douse. Carting her through the house was going to leave him a pile of cinder before he ever reached the chit’s room.

“Then I shan’t go back,” she said.

Up went a dark sable brow. “Oh?”

“I’ll just stay here for the night.”

“In the library? Alone?”

“Any why not?”

“I can think of one very good reason,” he growled.

“Such as?”

“Such as an aghast footman stumbling upon you in the morning. You’re half dressed, Miss Ashby.”

“Rubbish.” She fluffed her wrapper, a bit more of her flimsy night rail peeking through the part in the woolly fabric.

The muscles in his groin hardened.

Sebastian tried not to look at the delicate arch of her ankles and the soft swell of her calves, both visible through the translucent shift, but the wicked rogue within him was adamant about taking in the provocative sight.

“I just need a blanket and I’ll be fine,” she said.

He blinked, dispelling the vision of her wanton legs. “And I suppose the duty falls upon me to fetch you that blanket? While your maid sleeps soundly away?”

Her lashes fluttered. “Would you mind, my lord?”

He pressed his lips together. The little hoyden always flirted with impropriety. Was she really going to stretch out on the settee in her undergarments? Blast it! Of course she was. She was just the kind of rash chit to do such a thing. At least a blanket would cover her dainty toes.

Disgruntled, Sebastian hoisted himself to his feet. He spotted a coverlet across the room, draped over a chair back, and set out to recover it.

He returned to the settee.

“Thank you, my lord.”

He unfurled the blanket and draped it across her form, sorry to see so many delectable curves disappear. No! He was not sorry to see the curves covered. He was grateful to be spared from further temptation. Really, he was.

“You’re welcome, Miss Ashby.”

She clasped her hands together in her lap. “Will you fetch me a book, Ravenswood?”

“You still want to read?”

“A little, yes.”

He sighed and headed for the bookcase. The girl was making him restless. He itched to touch her. To peek under that woolly wrapper…

Sebastian took in a deep breath. He was a bloody fool.

He reached the bookcase. “Anything in particular, Miss Ashby?”

“Shakespeare.”

His finger paused on a tome. “You read Shakespeare?”

“Voraciously.”

He located
Sonnets
and pulled it from the shelf. “Really?”

“You look surprised, Ravenswood.”

“I admit, I am, Miss Ashby.” He moved back to her side and handed her the volume. “It was years ago, but I remember the family attending a production of
Hamlet
at the theater.” He crouched beside her again. “And you very loudly proclaiming: ‘Shakespeare is a dull, old wart.’”

Even in the dimly lit room, he noted the blush dusting her cheeks.

“I’m afraid your memory is a little rusty,” she said. “It must have been one of my sisters.”

“Perhaps you’re right, Miss Ashby,” he murmured. “Enjoy your reading. I hope it brings you sweet dreams.”

She clasped his hand. “Will you read it to me?”

Sebastian stared at the elfin fingers caressing his meaty palm. Such soft fingers, stirring the heat in his belly with each deliberate caress.

He shuddered.

“Please, Ravenswood.” Her forefinger whisked across his knuckles in faerie strokes. “Be a dear friend and read a little to me?”

Thoughts deserted him. He could not come up with an excuse to refuse her request.

How the devil did he keep finding himself in these predicaments?

“Very well, Miss Ashby.” He sighed and collected a nearby chair. He took the book from her hand and opened it to a random page. “‘My love is as a fever, longing still…’” Sebastian closed the book. “On second thought, I don’t think this is a very good idea.”

“Rot, Ravenswood!”

“Really, Miss Ashby, I should go.” He set the book aside. “It’s late.”

She placed her hand on his knee this time. “Ravenswood, is something the matter?”

Yes! The wrapper had parted the moment she’d leaned forward, exposing even more of the fluffy night rail—and the plump swell of one breast. Funny how he’d never noticed her breasts before, always shoved together in a confining corset. But now the drop and natural curve of the supple flesh seemed so enticing. His fingers twitched to part the wrapper even more; to mold the lush breast to his hand.

“Well, Ravenswood?”

Henrietta started to rub his knee, deft strokes exciting the rogue within him.

He gripped her hand with the intent to remove it from his leg, but he squeezed it instead. Not hard. A firm hold to make sure she couldn’t pull away. And then he did the most ridiculous thing: he brought her wrist to his lips and kissed it.

H
enrietta didn’t want to move the seduction along too quickly. It was a risky move, for she might frighten Sebastian away. But with four sisters threatening to devastate all her plans, she didn’t have a choice in the matter. Time alone with Ravenswood was precious, and she had to make every private moment count.

And so she’d intended to put to good use one of Madam Jacqueline’s seduction tips: if all else fails, feign injury. A man can never resist rescuing a damsel in distress. Only, in her haste to stop Ravenswood from leaving the library, Henrietta really
had
stubbed her toe.

But despite the pain throbbing in her foot, a different kind of throbbing gripped her heart…her loins.

With bated breath, Henrietta watched Sebastian lift her wrist to his lips. She thought her heart would stop, the anticipation was so great.

And when his warm mouth tickled her skin, sending shudders of pure delight scampering along her limbs, she closed her eyes and sighed in total fulfillment.

Soft lips moved over her wrist in feathery kisses. He flicked his tongue over her thumping pulse, then gently sucked at the sensitive spot, making her shiver and coo.

He was doing to her what she had done to him the other night. And he was very good at it! Henrietta ached inside to hold him. So many years of longing had culminated in this erotic moment. But Sebastian was determined to be a tease.

Slowly he pushed up the sleeve of her wrapper, pressing kiss after warm kiss to each patch of skin he uncovered.

When he reached the hollow of her elbow, and his dark locks grazed her tender breast, her heart thundered even more, the wild beats deafening echoes in her ears.

“Ravenswood,” she whispered, and stroked his curly black hair, beckoning him closer.

He obliged her.

Shifting from the chair, he moved to the edge of the settee.

The dark fire in his eyes forewarned of heady passion. Her sisters had advised her he was a dangerous man. But Henrietta was too aroused to quail under the viscount’s scorching look. Besides, she
trusted the man. However much he desired her, he would never hurt her. She was faithful in her belief.

Sebastian trailed a finger along the parting in her wrapper, widening the woolly garment.

Her breathing deepened.

“You’re not a little girl anymore, are you, Henry?”

He whispered the words, a dark timbre.

Henrietta placed her palm over his hand, and in a shaky voice said, “No, Ravenswood, I’m not.”

She pushed his hand to her beating heart, the swell of her breast fitting into his large palm.

He lifted his eyes, such a stormy pair of eyes. “Do you want me to touch you here, Henry?”

Henrietta was having a devilishly hard time keeping her voice steady. Months of training with Madam Jacqueline had prepared her to flirt, but she’d yet to feel a man’s hand on her body. That Ravenswood was the first to caress her in such an intimate way made the moment all the more wonderful—and made her all the more giddy.

“Yes,” she whispered, taking in a shuddering breath. “Touch me.”

His fingers splayed to take in the entire mound of her breast. He cupped the flesh in his sturdy palm, and gently squeezed.

Henrietta closed her eyes and dipped her head back, thrusting even more of her aching breast into his masterful touch.

Heavens, what a delicious torment!

“Oh, Ravenswood,” she breathed, her nipple puckering under his languorous caress. “Don’t stop.”

Sebastian kissed her throat, the spicy scent of him filling her lungs.

“Say my name, Henry.”

She gasped when he nipped at her neck, then soothed the bite with the flick of his hot tongue.

Henrietta shivered. “Kiss me.”

He lifted his lips to graze hers ever so softly. “That’s blackmail, Henry.”

“A fair trade,” she whispered instead, breathless.

Pulse throbbing, Henrietta waited for his reply.

Sebastian delved deep into her eyes, probing. His fingers still rubbed her breast in tantalizing motions, making her head spin and her belly dance. But it was a kiss on the lips she wanted more than anything else in the world.

His hand moved away from her breast. “Say my name first.”

Henrietta wanted to whimper at the loss of his balmy touch, but she soon sucked in a sharp breath when his hand started to rove to other more intimate places.

Sweat gathered between her breasts, her knees trembled, as he slipped his hand beneath the blanket and under her night rail.

The rogue!

Henrietta stared, mesmerized by the hand rubbing along her leg.

“Say it, Henry.”

Robust fingers caressed her calf, making the blood pound in her head—and other places, too.

The flesh between her legs started to throb. A moist heat gathered at her apex. Henrietta didn’t want to say his name. She was more curious to see where his hand was going to end up.

He nuzzled her cheek. “Say my name, Henry.”

Her lashes fluttered at the heady sound of him.

But she quickly cried out at the sudden firm pressure between her legs.

She trembled and ached under the deft strokes of his thick fingers tickling and teasing the oh-so-sensitive folds of flesh.

“Say it, Henry,” he beseeched again. “Say my name.”

A finger slipped deep inside her wet passage.

“Oh, Sebastian!”

She almost choked on the words, the pleasure was so intense.

He kissed her then. A hard kiss that pinched her breath and made her dizzy with delight.

Moisture pooled in her eyes, between her fingers. She cupped his cheeks in fervid desire, drinking in the rich taste of him, the spicy scent of him.

“Say it again,” he breathed, and thrust a second finger inside her wet passage.

She groaned. “Sebastian.”

“And again,” he said roughly, pumping his fingers deep inside her, kissing her between commands.

She sensed he wanted her to make up for all the
times she’d called him by his title. And she would gladly oblige him.

“Sebastian!” she cried again, and again, and again.

Between hot kisses and wanton strokes, Henrietta sensed a deep, thrumming tension winding in her belly. The pressure was so great, demanding release, she wanted to scream. She didn’t dare, though. Instead she groaned, telling Sebastian she was on fire, that she needed to be doused.

Blessedly, his fingers worked their magic.

The muscles in her womb shuddered, the spastic pulses taking away the tight knot of thrumming need, dazzling her senses.

Henrietta couldn’t move. She was a blissful lump on the settee, so sated, so full of joy.

Sebastian didn’t seem able to stir much, either. And it was a long, breathless while before either one of them could say a word.

He kissed the tip of her nose softly. “I think you owe me something, Henry.”

Dazed, Henrietta said, “Thank you?”

He chuckled. A deep, rumbling sound that made her feel all fuzzy and warm.

“I appreciate the gesture, Henry, but it’s not what I had in mind.”

She wrinkled her brow. “Then what?”

He gave her a roguish smile. “I do believe you owe me your baby toe.”

“Oh.” She
had
made that promise the night of
Papa’s masquerade ball, hadn’t she? Well, if the man wanted her toe, he deserved it. She stuck her bare foot out from under the blanket. “Take it. It’s yours.”

He looked at the foot, bent down, and kissed the baby toe.

Henrietta smiled, devilishly pleased with his romantic gesture.

“Come.” He scooped her up in his arms, blanket and all, and collected a candle. “I’ll take you back to your room.”

With a sigh of contentment, Henrietta rested her head against the groove of his neck and closed her eyes.

It’d been perfect, the kiss. Everything she had ever dreamed. She was now surer than ever that Ravenswood was her mate in life. And after tonight’s passionate encounter, she was just as sure he’d ask for her hand before Twelfth Night.