Too Scandalous to Wed (4 page)

Good Lord, did lovers actually do
that
?

Madam Jacqueline quirked a painted brow. “You will start by going through the entire book, Miss Ashby. You will stare at every page, and stare and stare again, until you can look at the pictures without blushing…until you want to engage in those very acts with Sebastian.”

Henrietta’s heart thumped terribly loud. She didn’t know if she could do such a thing!

But one look at Madam Jacqueline’s wise and charismatic gaze, and she understood she didn’t have a choice. If she wanted to seduce Sebastian, she had to learn to be both his friend
and
his lover.

“Yes, Madam Jacqueline, I’ll do as you say. And I’ll pay you for your teaching.”

If I survive the lessons
. Heavens, what a mortification this was going to be!

“I have no need of your money, Miss Ashby.”

Henrietta’s brow furrowed. “Then why are you doing this?”

The woman smiled, a very charming gesture. “I wish to pass along my wisdom. I feel it a terrible thing to waste.”

T
he manor house, nestled amid snowy mounds, stood prominent against the winter land. Smoked curled from each of the six chimneys, and in the fading afternoon light, the candle flames, sparkling from each of the glazed windows, gave the home a warm and inviting glow.

Sebastian reflected upon the quaint country dwelling—and the quirky family that hibernated within. Five months ago he had quit England for the mainland. It’d been an agreeable trip, filled with gluttony and sinful pleasures. But all good things must come to an end. Five months ago he had severed all communication with the Ashbys, hoping the youngest and most willful of the brood, Miss Henrietta Ashby, would set her cap for a more deserving gentleman. Now he’d returned to see how his plan had fared.

The sleigh slid to a stop, the sleigh bells chiming, announcing Sebastian’s arrival. He was wrapped
in bearskin to keep warm and tossed aside the fur, stepping out of the cutter.

The butler greeted him at the door, helped to divest him of his greatcoat, collected his hat and gloves.

Sebastian looked around the country house. Everything seemed the same, he thought. The inlay side table to his left. The ornate mirror to his right. All the same. And yet something was out of place…

Sebastian didn’t have a chance to reflect upon the oddity, though, for he soon heard the proverbial voice, a baritone timbre, and he turned to find the baron shuffling toward him, arms outstretched.

“Ravenswood, my good man, how delightful to see you again!”

Sebastian offered his hand in greeting. “Thank you for the invite, Lord Ashby.”

“Nonsense, my boy, you are family. Family, I say. The Yule festivities would not be the same without you.”

Sebastian nodded in appreciation. “How are you, my lord?”

“Oh, the same, Ravenswood. The same. A few pounds heavier, a few white hairs shorter.”

The viscount quirked a smile. For all the baron’s foolery, he was a charming old fellow. “I’m glad to hear it, my lord.”

“We’ve missed you these last five months, we have.” The baron gestured to the study door. “Come, Ravenswood. Join me for a drink.”

Sebastian cocked his head in acquiescence.

The baron beamed and led the way. As Sebastian trailed the rotund man, he once more reflected upon the nameless oddity that had plagued his senses. The chairs, the pictures, all seemed to be in the right spot. So what was it then? What was amiss?

“The hounds.”

The baron looked over his shoulder. “I beg your pardon, Ravenswood?”

“Where are the hounds, my lord?”

“In the kennel, I’m afraid.” He sighed. “Lady Ashby ordered the poor boys out of the house after one…er, decorated her favorite rug. The boys are not allowed back inside for the rest of the day. Punishment, you know.”

Ah, so that’s what was wrong. No hounds. Sebastian knew there was something missing underfoot…No, wait. That wasn’t it, either.

Sebastian inspected the house as he moved through it, searching for…a little hoyden.

That’s it! That’s what was missing. Henrietta.

Where was Henrietta?

Sebastian furrowed his brow. She was always the first to greet him. For the past eight years, without fail, she had bounded up to him in salutation before he’d set both feet inside the house. It was the only time she was ever
on
time for anything.

Sebastian perused the empty foyer once more. “I say, Baron, is the
whole
family here?”

“Quite. Quite.” The baron ushered him inside the
study. “You are the last of the guests to arrive. So good of you to join us, Ravenswood.”

Sheltered inside the study, Sebastian settled in a comfortable armchair and inquired, “Is the family well, Lord Ashby?”

“In capital health, my dear boy.”

Odd. If Henrietta wasn’t ill and tucked away in bed, then where was she?

The baron made his way over to the bookcase and collected a decanter, filling two glasses with a splash of brandy.

“So tell me, Ravenswood, how was the mainland? Drab compared to our mighty England, I daresay.”

It was nothing of the sort, but the viscount wasn’t about to admit that. He accepted the drink with a nod of thanks. “Quite right, my lord.”

Resting his heavy frame in an opposite chair, the baron plunked his feet upon the ottoman with a sigh.

Sebastian stared at the door, waiting for it to open, anticipating Henrietta to come fluttering in, all out of breath and professing apologies for being tardy in her welcome.

But she did nothing of the kind.

Perhaps the girl was wed and thought nothing of him anymore? Now
that
was an agreeable thought.

Taking a sip of brandy to warm his belly, Sebastian wondered, “And how fares the youngest Miss Ashby?”

“Henry? Capital. Capital. The darling boy is such a pleasure.”

Sebastian grimaced at the “darling boy” bit. The baron, so determined to have a son, brooked no argument that Henrietta was, in truth, a lady and thus needed to be reared accordingly. A deuced nuisance it was, too, for had Henrietta been raised as a proper young miss, she’d be married by now, instead of hounding him.

“I’ve been gone so long, my lord,” said Sebastian. “Tell me, has there been any cause for celebration here at the house?”

Like a wedding, perhaps?

“Oh yes!” the baron cried. “A happy event indeed.”

Splendid! The girl was married. No more adoring looks or scandalous quips to combat. Sebastian could rest easy now, be free of the smitten chit.

“I have leather-tip cue sticks!” The baron clapped his hands together. “Isn’t it grand? We must play a game of billiards, Ravenswood.”

Not exactly the good news Sebastian had been hoping to hear.

With a sigh, the viscount tried another tactic. “My lord, about Miss Ashby?”

“Yes, Ravenswood.”

“Is the girl fond of anyone?”

“To be sure, Ravenswood. To be sure. The dear boy’s fond of many folks. He’s got a most generous heart, I daresay.”

Sebastian took another swig of brandy, and since
subtle conversation was not the baron’s forte, asked outright, “My lord, is the girl engaged yet?”

“Rot!” cried the baron. “Henry’s got more sense than to get himself leg-shackled. Nasty business, I say. Drives a poor chap into hiding.”

Sebastian glanced around the cramped reading nook. A dusty nook, filled with heavy tomes. It was the only part of the house reserved for the baron’s exclusive use.

The viscount sighed in disappointment. “Yes, nasty business.”

The baron gave a curt nod. “One needs a strong disposition to be riveted. An authoritative voice, a firm hand. Now I have such a disposition and can weather the storm of matrimony, but dear Henry is a most delicate boy, and I feel better suited to a quiet life at home.”

“Quite right, my lord.” Sebastian downed the rest of the brandy. “But is the girl interested in a gentleman?”

“Interested? My Henry?” The baron looked at the ceiling. “Why, I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure, my lord?”

“Oh yes, quite sure. Why, I’d hear all about it from Lady Ashby if Henry had a beau. Now back to my cue sticks…”

The viscount turned his thoughts to more pressing matters. The girl was still unattached, was she? He had underestimated her stubbornness. Well, then he’d just have to go back to the mainland.
Traipse through the Parisian underworld and consort with the Italian demimonde. It was an infernal bother, visiting all those lovely Spanish wenches, but he was a gentleman, and as such he had a duty to disabuse Miss Ashby of her girlhood fancy. He had no choice, it seemed, but to return abroad to cavort with more foreign beauties—after Christmas, of course. He wasn’t a total degenerate. He did adhere to some religious observance.

“Please excuse me, my lord.” Sebastian stood up. “I would like to rest before dinner.”

“Capital idea, Ravenswood! The butler will show you to your room.”

Sebastian moved to the door. “I will see you at dinner, my lord.

“Yes, of course, my good man. At dinner.”

And with that, the baron promptly closed his eyes and went to sleep.

Sebastian quietly vacated the study and made his way through the familiar passages. He didn’t need the butler to show him to his room. He had occupied the same bedchamber for eight years whenever he called upon the family. He knew his way around the house very well.

Sebastian mounted the steps, making his way to his room. He was going to rest for a bit, then dress for dinner.

But he was still baffled. If Henrietta wasn’t even engaged, then why hadn’t she come down to say hello?

“You’re leaving after the holidays?”

Sebastian glanced at his flabbergasted brother. “That’s right, Peter.”

“But you just returned home, Seb. Why the rush to run off again?”

Because Sebastian needed to part from a certain incorrigible hoyden…who happened to be late for dinner—as usual. Not that the family seemed to mind. Accustomed to the girl’s tardiness, the brood had simply immersed themselves in the freshly cooked fare, an empty chair left for Henrietta at the far end of the rosewood dining table.

Sebastian sliced open the broiled fish. “I have a rather pressing matter of business to attend to on the mainland.”

Peter snorted. “You mean you have a pressing itch in your—”

“Peter,” Sebastian drawled. “Mind your manners at the dinner table.”

Peter shook his head. “I don’t understand you, Seb.”

“Oh?” He quirked a brow. “And what don’t you understand?”

“Why you have to go abroad to attend to ‘business,’” Peter whispered. “What the deuce is the matter with English wenches?”

Sebastian chuckled. “Nothing a’tall, brother. I just need to go abroad. Trust me.”

The other man sighed. “Well, we’re here till
Twelfth Night, so let’s make the best of what little time we have together…Did you hear the baron has leather-tip cue sticks? We should play a game of billiards, Seb.”

“I suspect we will, Peter.”

Sebastian scanned the amassed company. The “we” included the baron and baroness, and
all
the Ashby sisters and their respective spouses. Sebastian didn’t really get along with the other gentlemen, though; too prudish for his taste. He only got along with his brother, really. And the baron, of course. Sebastian just wasn’t the sort of man to make friends easily or engage in platonic pleasantries. He was more of a flirt. A seducer. And after the death of his parents from consumption almost ten years ago, he’d immersed himself in more unsavory pursuits.

“By and by,” said Peter, “why are you here? I’m bound to the family till death, but you’ve no familial obligation. Unless, of course, you want the last of the sisters for yourse—”

“Finish that thought and I’ll stab this fork into your hand.”

Peter chuckled, well aware of his brother’s plight with Henrietta. “And spatter blood all over Lady Ashby’s fine linen tablecloth? Heaven forbid.”

“Then I suggest we let the matter rest.”

“Sound advice, but I feel I must warn you, Seb, you might have to settle down one day, however foul the idea.”

“Rubbish.”

Sebastian was never going to tie the marital noose around his neck. What the devil for?

“The estate needs an heir,” said Peter.

“Yours will do just fine.”

An airy sigh from Peter. “While nothing would please Penelope and me more, you know very well it might never come to pass.”

It was a rotten truth, and Sebastian knew it. The three other Ashby sisters were already mothers—their seven brats, thank the heavens, tucked away in the nursery—but Penelope had yet to have a babe, much to the sorrow of both her and her husband.

“The duty might fall upon you yet, Seb.”

Bloody hell. Still, Sebastian wouldn’t dwell too much on the ghastly matter. Penelope was not yet thirty, while Sebastian was already thirty-six and too jaded to even contemplate marriage. There was still plenty of time for the young woman to produce an heir. He needn’t fret about the dreadful responsibility. Not yet anyway.

From across the table, Penelope offered him a warm smile. “Tell us, Ravenswood, has the fashion in Paris changed much since the spring?”

“Most assuredly,” he said with a flirtatious wink. “But I must admit, I paid little attention to the vogue.”

“Oh lud!” from the other sister, Roselyn. “Why couldn’t you have been more of a dandy, Ravenswood, and heeded the trends?”

Sebastian bowed his head. “It was dreadful of me, I know.”

Next Cordelia chimed, “Did you happen to notice the more fashionable colors, Ravenswood?”

“Pink, I believe.”

“Pink?” Tertia, the last of the sisters, wrinkled her brow. “Surely not, Ravenswood. Pink was last season’s color. You must be mistaken.”

But before Sebastian could offer another opinion, Henrietta appeared.

Sebastian bristled.

The chit paused in the doorway, her head held high, her shoulders set back. A charming smile touched her lips; a playfulness winked in her eyes. After a brief delay, she entered the room with uncanny confidence, her rich, auburn locks in a whimsical twist, tendrils bouncing by her ears.

What had happened to the girl?

A few cordial greetings drifted from the table, but otherwise the gathered party made no particular gesture or remark to reflect upon Henrietta’s baffling transformation. Was the family so distracted by hunger? How could they just sit there in perfect harmony and not gape at the little hoyden skirting across the room?

Skirting? No, she wasn’t skirting. She was…swaying. Artfully so. The soft and rhythmic rustle of her petticoats tickled his ears as she swished this way and that. Good God, the girl had hips!

“Henry, my boy,” the baron shouted in jovial salutation. “How good of you to join us.”

Henrietta pressed her lips to her father’s brow—her round rump arched ever so slightly. “Good evening, Papa.”

A peculiar spasm gripped Sebastian’s heart. What the devil was the matter with the girl’s voice? So deep, husky even, the inflection steady. Did she have a cold?

Sebastian watched, transfixed, as an attending footman helped Henrietta into her seat. With a flick of the wrist, she unfurled her white linen napkin and set it across her lap. A meal was placed before her, and she set to work on gracefully devouring the fare—without so much as glancing his way.