Too Scandalous to Wed (20 page)

“Ah, you have an enemy…but then again you must have so many enemies, Seb.”

Sebastian glared at his brother. “Are you trying to be helpful, Peter? If you are, stuff it!”

Peter chuckled. “All right, I’ll be helpful. How shall we discover the identity of this scoundrel?”

“Forget the scoundrel, Peter. I’ll deal with him later, whoever he is. First I have to mollify my betrothed.”

“Why don’t you offer the girl a present?”

“I’ve already tried that, Peter. I gave her Mother’s emerald ring. A fat lot of good it did me, though. She threw the bauble back in my face.”

Peter sighed. “I wish I could be more obliging, Seb, but deuced if I know the working of a woman’s heart. I misjudge my own wife more’n half the time.” He took a swig of brandy. “You know who we need right now?”

“Who?”

“Father.”

Sebastian creased his brow. “Why Father?”

“Because Father was a philosopher,” said Peter.
“Don’t you remember, Seb? He was always spouting psalms or poetry or some other sage canon.”

Sebastian remembered all right. He remembered being a boy, interned within the schoolroom on a glorious summer day, reciting from the texts of historians and philosophers and scientists alike.

A disciplinarian, Father had served as both parent and teacher, determined to fill the young minds of his sons with clever doctrines. He’d espoused truths and mores with frightening fervor. And he’d expected his offspring to obey the teachings, to live by them. Not a violent man, the viscount was nonetheless capable of instilling fear. And to two impressionable boys, the imposing image of the former viscount had made a lasting impression. To this day, Sebastian could still flinch at the memory of his father’s glower.

Peter said, “I bet Father would have a ready verse to debunk the mystery of a woman’s heart.”

“Well, if Father had such a poetic verse, it didn’t do him much good.”

“What do you mean?”

“He and Mother didn’t have the best rapport, Peter.”

“Rubbish! Mother was very happy.”

“Mother was rich.”

Peter pinched his brow. “So?”

“So of course she was happy. She spent her days shopping—far away from Father.”

Peter scrunched his brow. “Father wasn’t that bad, Seb.”

“Oh no? Don’t you remember our time in the schoolroom, dissecting the
History of Rome
, while every other young scamp was out and about, looking up ladies’ skirts?”

Peter scoffed. “You make childhood sound so miserable, Seb. Father used to take us on outings in the country, don’t you remember?”

“To instruct us on flora and fauna.”

“What about the trip to Italy? It was a very pleasant sojourn.”

“We spent the entire time in a monestary learning Latin. Hardly pleasant.”

Peter made a moue. “You have a selective memory, Seb.”

“You have a defective one, brother.”

“Do you really think so?” Peter frowned. “Do you think I’ve buried the unpleasant memories?”

“I do,” said Sebastian. “Now if only I could do the same.”

Peter glanced at him askance. “What do you mean, Seb?”

A dark thought coming to mind, Sebastian said, “Do you remember what Father used to say about good and evil?”

Peter scrunched his brow. “No.”

“He used to say that some of us were born good and destined to return to heaven, while others were
born damned. That there was nothing one could do about his fate. If you were born damned, all the good deeds in creation couldn’t save you.”

Peter nodded. “Ah, yes, the idea of predestination. I remember now.”

“Do you think Father was right?”

Peter shrugged. “He was spouting church dogma centuries old.”

“Does being old make the theory untrue?”

“Well, no, but it doesn’t make it true, either.”

“I was just wondering.”

Peter glanced at his brother again. “Did you take that theory to heart, Seb?”

Sebastian looked at the hearth and inhaled the scent of burning wood. He wanted to deny it, but could not. In truth, he
had
taken the theory to heart. Considering his wicked disposition, he’d reasoned he was one of the damned, and redemption was impossible, good works fruitless. Long ago, he’d resigned himself to his fate.

But now…now he didn’t want to be doomed anymore. Now he wanted a warm and willing wife in his bed, not a cold fish. His parents had suffered a lonely sham of a marriage. He didn’t want the same cursed destiny. But how to get the chit to trust him?

Change his dastardly ways?

Sebastian snorted.

Even if he tried to be a true gentleman, could a scoundrel really change his ways? He wasn’t so sure. After everything he had done for Henrietta,
she still loathed him, considered him a fiend. Maybe he was one. Maybe that’s why she didn’t want anything to do with him anymore. Perhaps she could see him for what he really was and always would be: a villain. And maybe all the good deeds in creation couldn’t change that.

“Listen, Seb.” Peter elbowed his brother in the ribs. “I know Father was an important figure in our lives, and all, but don’t let what he said so many years ago shape your life today.”

Sebastian mulled that over. Even if his brother was right, it did not negate the fact that he was still a rogue. It was what he was good at…

Well, then, perhaps it was time Sebastian put the rogue inside him to good use. He had saved Henrietta’s life, offered her gifts, acted the gentleman, and she still rebuffed him. Clearly good deeds did not impress her. Perhaps she wanted something a little more scandalous…

Well, if the chit still desired his kisses, he was going to give them to her.

H
enrietta set the candle down. Feeling a pinch of remorse, she opened the black velvet purse and removed the glass globe. Carefully she placed it on the mantelpiece.

Sebastian was not going to like finding it there when he returned to his room. He was going to be downright furious, she was sure.

But Henrietta had to give back the present. She should never have accepted it in the first place. It was inappropriate. She didn’t care for the viscount. To keep such a gift suggested their engagement was meaningful, that their marriage would be, too. But that was not the case, and she didn’t want Sebastian to think otherwise.

Henrietta sighed. She didn’t like to be so ill-mannered. After all, Sebastian had saved her life. But she’d expressed her gratitude. She was not, however, prepared to trust the rogue with her heart and soul.

Henrietta picked up the candle, about to tiptoe
from the room. She shrieked instead, and dropped the flame.

Sebastian stomped on the candle, dousing the flickering light. But it’d already scorched the rug, the scent of burned thread filling the air.

“Good evening, Miss Ashby.”

Oh, that husky male voice! It made her shiver right down to her very toes.

“Forgive the intrusion, Ravenswood. I was just…”

Sebastian took the poker by the hearth and stabbed at the dwindling flames, the fire sparking anew with life.

“You were just what?” he said.

The room brightened, the glass globe aglow.

Henrietta chewed on her bottom lip, dreading the inevitable quarrel. But Sebastian did not notice the globe. Oh no. He noticed her instead.

Smoldering eyes drifted up her frame in a slow and sensual stare, stirring goose pimples to tease her flesh.

“Have you come to bed, Miss Ashby?”

She gasped. “No, I have not!”

“Pity,” was all that he said.

The rogue! “How dare you assume—”

Lips so low she could feel his warm breath on her cheeks, he said in a dark timbre, “Miss Ashby, when I find a beautiful woman in my room, so scantily attired, I must assume she has come to bed.”

Confused, Henrietta peeked at her ensemble and stifled another gasp. Drat! She was dressed in
her night rail and wrapper! It’d wholly slipped her mind.

Quickly she gripped the woolly wrapper by the collar, hiding her breasts.

He tsked. “It’s not like you, Miss Ashby, to be so bashful.”

“And it’s wholly like you to be such a scoundrel,” she quipped.

He grinned. The audacious man actually grinned.

Henrietta pursed her lips. “What happened to the gentleman inside you?”

“He went away.”

“Oh, did he now?”

Slowly he nodded. “You chased him away, I’m afraid.”

“And how did I do that?”

“By coming to my room so late at night.”

She stiffened at his whispered words, so carnal in tone. He was doing it again, making her quiver—and ache. Oh, how she ached! Deep inside her belly. All the feelings she’d tried to repress bubbled in her breast. Feelings of longing. Of need. For him…for his touch…for his wicked kiss.

To quell the loud beatings of her heart, she took in a deep breath. “I said I was sorry. Now if you will excuse me.”

“Do you really want to go?”

Her breath hitched. Softly he traced the line of her brow with his thumb, rounded her eye, then stroked the top of her cheek in a sensual caress.

“I think you’d rather stay,” he murmured.

Henrietta’s heart clamored in her breast when he bussed her brow. She was rooted to the spot. Blood throbbed through her veins.

“I think you want to be with me, Henry.”

Her lashes fluttered closed as he kissed the ridge of her nose. Her nickname had never sounded so sinfully delicious. She was mesmerized by his charm: the deep rumble of his voice, the deft stroke of his finger, the heady taste of his hot lips.

“I think you want me to make love to you,” he said.

Wanton lips brushed hers, stirring a flutter of desire in her belly. It shouldn’t feel so good to be with him, she thought. He was a scoundrel. He had devastated her heart.

But it did feel good.

So achingly good.

“Do you, Henry? Do you want me to make love to you?”

Arched on her toes, she was a hair’s breadth away from his sinfully sensuous lips. But she would not admit to her need outright. It would only give him clout over her. She did want his kisses, though. So much so, it hurt deep inside.

“Sebastian,” she breathed instead.

A warm mouth meshed hard over hers.

It appeared to be enough of a surrender, his whispered name. He would not make her confess her wanton hunger. She was grateful for that.

Henrietta pressed her limbs against him, eager to feel the dips and grooves of his hard body, to mold her frame to his. And what sweet pleasure it was, to have such gnarled muscles rubbing her tender flesh. Even in her woolly wrapper, she could feel the brawn, the sculpted curves of his magnificent figure.

So full of passion, she kissed him with wild abandon, and he, rogue that he was, smiled against her lips with smug satisfaction. She wanted to bite the wicked grin off his face, but alas, she was blissfully distracted by the hot thrust of his bold tongue into her mouth, taking her breath and her wits away.

“I know you, Henry,” he breathed between kisses, suckling on her bottom lip. Nipping at it, too.

She trembled under his deft ministrations, her knees weak.

“I know what you like.” The moist tip of his tongue skimmed over her swollen lips. “You like to watch, Henry, don’t you? You like to look at pictures in books.”

He broke away from the kiss.

Henrietta was about to have a snit in protest.

But Sebastian pushed her back, pressed her up against the bedpost, intent on keeping her aroused, it seemed, for he unfastened his trousers just then.

Henrietta gasped to see the turgid flesh exposed. It was so swollen. So big. And after looking at all those luscious men in Madam Jacqueline’s naughty book of pictures, she was most giddy to see Sebastian in such a carnal way, too.

“Look at me, Henry.” He kissed her between words. “I want you to see what you do to me.”

He took her by the hand.

Henrietta took in a deep breath at the feel of hot flesh between her fingers. Eyes brimming with wonder, she stared at the hard length of him in her sweaty palm.

Sebastian nuzzled her temple and said in a throaty whisper, “Do you see what you do to me, Henry?”

He thickened in her hand.

Henrietta bit her bottom lip to keep from groaning. She was dizzy with giddy passion, moist with sweat.

He nipped her earlobe. “Do you see how you make me feel?”

Henrietta shuddered in his embrace. She squirmed against the bedpost, wanting out of her woolly robe. She wanted to feel his flesh against hers.

But first she wanted more kisses.

She pinched his hair and tugged, searching for his sinfully heady lips, all the while stroking the long, stiff shaft of muscle between his legs.

“What do I make you feel?” He flicked his tongue over her mouth. “Tell me, Henry.”

But Henrietta didn’t want to admit the truth. She didn’t want to open her heart to him, only her body. Just for one night.

She arched on her toes, reaching for his lips.

But he did not kiss her.

“Tell me, Henry. Tell me what I make you feel.”

Her belly a knot of need, Henrietta huffed with unquenched lust, still too stubborn to say a word.

Sebastian pushed her hand away from his throbbing erection. He pressed up against her instead and started to rock his hips.

Oh, sweet heaven! Henrietta bumped her head against the bedpost in passionate bliss. She let out a groan of pure lust, grabbed Sebastian by the waist to keep from collapsing onto the floor.

“I’ll make the ache inside you go away, Henry.”

He was hoarse. And so hard, thrusting against her belly in tantalizing torment. The scoundrel!

“Tell me what you feel, Henry.”

Hips swirling, he undulated against her midriff. She closed her eyes, fighting the rush of heady desire building in her loins. She was wet deep down. So wet. And she could feel her resolve cracking under the pressure of her need.

Henrietta cried out, “Hungry.”

He kissed her: a reward for her compliance. “What else do I make you feel?”

She gasped, “Wet.”

He thrust against her again. “What else?”

Weakly, she said, “Frightened.”

Sebastian took her lips in his for a thorough kiss. “I promise, Henry, you won’t be frightened of me after tonight—ever again.”

She wanted to believe him. Her heart ached for those words to be true.

With deft strokes, Sebastian slipped the woolly wrapper off her shoulders.

Henrietta didn’t feel the chill of the room. Her body was on fire. She held Sebastian tight, not wanting to let him go, not wanting him to leave her in such a desperate state.

“Henry, you vixen.”

He scooped her in his arms and set her down on the bed. Her night rail rucked up to her waist, he nestled between her splayed thighs.

Henrietta moaned at the exquisite pressure pushing against her pulsing core. He teased her for a moment, dipping the cusp of his swollen arousal inside her dewy flesh. She wanted to curse him, the dratted man! If he made her beg, she’d never forgive him.

The tip of his erection nudging the moist folds of her tender flesh, he said in a ragged whisper, “Do you like this, Henry?”

Henrietta gasped for breath. “Truthfully…I don’t.”

Sebastian stiffened. Slowly he eased his erection away from her.

“But I thought…” He looked dumbfounded. “Henry, I thought you wanted me to…”

“No,” she said, then nipped at his bottom lip. She held his lip in her mouth for a moment before she slowly let it slip between her teeth. “I’d much rather be on top.”

His nostrils flared. With a violent shudder, Sebas
tian yanked her to her feet and dragged her over to the cushy armchair by the crackling fire. He kicked the ottoman away and settled in the seat.

“Come here,” he bade.

Before Henrietta could shriek with giddy pleasure, she was in Sebastian’s lap, straddling him.

“Is this better?” he growled.

She couldn’t resist a smug grin. “Much.”

He humphed, not amused by the little trick she’d played a moment ago. But he deserved as much, the rogue, for teasing her senses in such a cruel fashion.

But now that Henrietta had the advantage of being on top, she was positively rife with mirth…and adoration…and curiosity.

Hands trembling, she fiddled with the buttons of Sebastian’s linen shirt, eager to feel his hot flesh and blood beneath her fingertips. He didn’t touch her in return. Instead he gripped the armrests, giving her autonomy to do to him as she willed.

Henrietta was tickled. She was also a bit nervous, hence her fumbling fingers. But at last, she spread the soft fabric of his shirt apart.

Impressed, she perused the wide expanse of knotted muscle. Dark curls, rough to the touch, covered his strapping chest. Her fingers raked through the matted hair, stroked firm pecs, and teased the sensitive nubs of his nipples.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispered, awed.

At her words, he took in a deep and shuddering breath.

Henrietta scooted down the length of his firm legs, and lowered her head, flicking her tongue over one jutting nipple.

He flinched.

She grinned.

With sinful pleasure, she parted her lips and sucked.

Sebastian hardened beneath her even more. She didn’t think the man could get any harder. For some wicked reason, she was pleased to know that he could.

She nipped his nipple. “How do I make you feel?”

Sebastian growled. She could hear the rumble in his breast.

She nipped him again. “Tell me.”

“Hungry,” he gritted.

She sucked on the tight nub. “What else?”

“Hard.”

With a lanky stroke, she licked his nipple. “What else?”

He whispered, “Frightened.”

Henrietta lifted her eyes to meet his torrid gaze. She was mesmerized by the fiery gleam in the dark blue pools.

“Touch me,” she beseeched.

Quickly he crushed her in his embrace, tangled his fingers in her long tresses, and kissed her hard.

Henrietta could feel the breeze on her backside, the cool caress of winter air. Apprehensive, she didn’t want Sebastian to remove her night rail. She
didn’t want him to see her bare, so vulnerable.

“I want you, Henry,” he growled in wanton hunger. “I want to see and feel all of you.”

The mulish man! He was determined to break down all her defenses, wasn’t he? And he was doing an admirable job of it, too, for Henrietta was soon stripped of her flimsy night rail and cushioned against Sebastian’s hot flesh in stark intimacy.

“That’s it, Henry.” He kissed her roughly. “Don’t hide from me.”

So she didn’t.

Henrietta lifted off her haunches, kneeling, her breasts at Sebastian’s mouth. It was only fair, she reckoned. She’d had the pleasure of him in her mouth.

Sebastian groaned, and quickly parted his lips.

Henrietta cooed at the profound pleasure rippling through her limbs. His lips moved over her breast in fluid strokes, suckling her, stoking the flames of lust in her belly.

“Oh, Sebastian!”

She twisted her fingers in his hair. The pinch at her breast as he sucked on her nipple was divine. And with his strong hands rubbing her backside, she was being licked and kissed and stroked into a dizzying frenzy.

Snug against him, Henrietta started to rock her hips, simulating the same torturous thrusts he had tormented her with before.

Sebastian bucked beneath her.

“You little witch,” he groaned, and cupped her hips, guiding her down to his pulsing erection.

Henrietta stiffened.

“Don’t, Henry,” he said, breathless. “It’ll hurt more if you’re tight.”

Well,
that
didn’t make her feel better.

“It’s all right, Henry.” He kissed her neck, and slipped his fingers between her legs.

It was Henrietta’s turn to buck.

Sebastian chuckled. “Did you like that?”