Too Scandalous to Wed (13 page)

“Hold it right there, Henry!”

Henrietta froze with her hand on the doorknob.

“Your father is napping and I don’t want you to disturb him. It took me all morning to calm him down.”

A wave of horrendous guilt washed over her. “Papa must loathe me.”

“Loathe you?” The baroness snorted. “He adores you, Henry. He always will. He doesn’t give a fig about the scandal.”

Henrietta turned around to face her mother again. “Then why is he so upset?”

“Because you’re getting married! Your papa believed you’d live the life of a spinster forever—with him. He’s upset because he’s losing you.”

Henrietta simpered. “Then he doesn’t hate me?”

“No, Henry. He doesn’t hate you.”

Relief filled Henrietta’s heart. She had already lost Ravenswood, the hero she had dreamed up in her heart. And if she had lost her papa’s love, too, it would have been a blow she could not have withstood.

“Do you hate me, Mama?”

The baroness was quiet for a moment, then said, “No, Henry. I don’t hate you. But I’m very angry with you.”

Henrietta bowed her head in shame. “I understand, Mama.”

Lady Ashby sighed and opened her arms. “Come here, child.”

Henrietta rushed into her mother’s embrace and sobbed.

“There now, Henry. It will be all right. You’ll see.”

But Henrietta knew those words could not be true. Ravenswood was a devil. He would make her miserable.

“Perhaps we should talk about the wedding night, Henry.”

Her corset suddenly seemed too tight, and Henrietta took in a deep breath to settle her nerves. She didn’t need any instruction about the wedding night. Madam Jacqueline had made sure of that. But an alarming thought just entered her head: she was going to be Ravenswood’s wife—in every sense of the word. And the wicked scoundrel did have a delicious touch; she knew all about
that
, too.

Well, Henrietta would not tolerate it, his spicy touch. She would not let the rogue play with her heart—or her body. He might soon be her husband, but Sebastian could go to the devil. Their marriage would be in name only. Let the lascivious bounder rut about with the “nuns” at his club. He would
never
touch her again!

S
ebastian opened his eyes. The room was spinning. He shut his eyes with a groan, willing the nausea in his belly to go away.

It was a few minutes of steady breathing before he flicked open his lashes again. Squinting, he focused on the familiar red and gold drapes and embroidered coverlet.

He was home.

How the devil did he get here? Sebastian had no memory of the journey to his London town house.

Slowly he rolled to the edge of the bed and sat up. He cupped his brow in his hands, cradled his throbbing head. He was stiff and sore and dizzy.

But soon the murky fog in his brain started to lift. And he saw Henrietta. She was standing under the gnarled trees, her cheeks stained with tears.

“Shit,” he hissed, the memory of last night storming his weary brain.

That fierce ache in his breast returned, too. A bottle of spirits had dulled the pain for a short time,
but the heady charm of intoxication was starting to fade. Sober now, he was still haunted by the wretched grief in Henrietta’s eyes.

Blast it! She was a conniving chit, remember? She had tried to seduce him; beguile him into matrimony. He should wring the woman’s neck for pulling such a stunt, not wallow in stifling guilt.

Sebastian lifted his head to look around the dim room. It was morning. He could see the sunlight peeking through the part in the drapes. He could also sense another presence in the room.

Groggy, Sebastian scanned the shadows in the bedchamber.

Nothing moved.

He trained his fuzzy vision on the furniture once more. And then he saw it, the figure in the armchair, ensconced like a wraith.

Sebastian grunted. “I suppose I have you to thank for bringing me home?”

Peter didn’t say anything. His face was covered by darkness.

Sebastian stared at his brother, fury clawing its way to the forefront of his thoughts. “And I suppose I have you to thank for telling Henrietta about the Hellfire Club?”

Sebastian could not hide the wrath from his voice. Had Peter not betrayed the location of the abbey, Henrietta would never have stumbled upon him in such a compromising position. She would
never have learned the truth about him in such a vile manner. She was a scheming flirt, true. But she needn’t have witnessed him with the doxy. It was an unnecessary hurt; it would forever haunt him—and he loathed feeling remorse. It was deuced uncomfortable. And he had his pestering younger brother to thank for everything.

“Say something, damn it!” Sebastian regretted his clipped tone. The pounding started in his head again, and he said with more temperance, “Don’t just sit there.”

Peter abandoned the armchair and crossed the room.

Before Sebastian could blink, Peter grabbed him by the front of his shirt, pushed him to the bed, and shoved his knee under Sebastian’s chin. The viscount couldn’t breathe or say a word.

“You miserable son of a bitch,” Peter growled. “You just had to devastate Henry like that, didn’t you? You’re a black-hearted villain!”

Peter got off the bed and started to pace the room with quick, angry strides.

Wheezing, Sebastian shot up, ready to pound his impudent brother into the floorboards. But vertigo knocked him off balance, and he slumped to his knees instead.

“Look at you,” Peter sneered. “You can’t even stand. Is this how you want to spend the rest of your days? On your knees, in a drunken stupor?”

Crippled by a sharp pain in his head, Sebastian sucked in a deep breath, trying to stop the room from spinning before his eyes.

“And to think,” said Peter, “I offered to help Henrietta win your heart.”

“What?” Sebastian barked, winced at the cutting pain in his head, then whispered, “You bloody ass, you’ve been
helping
the chit seduce me?” He was going to kill his brother just as soon as he could stand. “Is that why you sent her to the abbey?”

“I didn’t
send
her. I made the girl promise not to chase after you. She didn’t listen, though.”

Sebastian snorted. “Henry never listens.”

“Yes, well, that might have been
my
mistake”—he pointed to his chest—“telling the girl about the abbey. But why did
you
have to ruin her?”

Sebastian sat on his heels, vertigo passing. “What the devil are you talking about?”

Peter threw up his arms. “The letter you so cruelly passed all over Town.”

Sebastian must still be drunk, for he didn’t think the words coming out of his brother’s mouth were making any sense.

“What letter, damn it?”

Peter stopped pacing. “The love letter Henry wrote to you. You know, the one about your breath, your heart, and other such rot?”

A vague recollection filled Sebastian’s murky brain. “You know about the letter?”

“The whole Town knows about the letter! How could you be so ruthless, Seb? How could you flaunt that letter all over the city?”

“That’s horseshit, Peter! I would never flaunt such a letter. And you damn well know it!”

“Oh, really?” Peter quirked a brow. “So how does the
ton
know about the missive?”

“Damned if I know. But I have the blasted letter right here.” Sebastian reached across the floor for his crumpled coat. He shoved his hand into the silky pocket and rummaged for the missive.

Empty.

“I did have it,” Sebastian murmured.

“Well, now London’s greatest gossips have it.” Peter stalked across the room and flung open the heavy drapes.

Sebastian squinted at the blinding light.

Peter moved away from the window. “And Henrietta is ruined!”

Sebastian hardened. “What are you saying, Peter?”

He smiled, the daft man. “I’m offering to be the best man at your wedding, Seb.”

Sebastian roared. “I will
not
marry the girl!” And right away the spasms started pounding in his head again.

Sebastian wanted to keel over and die.

“And why not?” demanded Peter.

“Because she tried to seduce me! Trick me into matrimony!”

Peter snorted. “Well, you didn’t give her much choice in the matter, now did you?”

Sebastian blinked. He had not expected his brother to say that.

“You’re stubborn, Seb. The girl was in love with you. You were acting the pigheaded fool, so what other choice did she have but to seduce you?”

Sebastian murmured, “I can’t believe I’m hearing this.”

“She risked everything, Seb, to be with you. She went to see a courtesan, for heaven’s sake! She put her reputation in jeopardy, her very heart and soul. And all because she believed you were worth the risk.”

“That was her foolish mistake.”

“Do you really believe that, Seb? Or are you just being a stubborn ass?”

Sebastian growled. “Get out, Peter, before I wring your neck.”

He scoffed. “Don’t play bully with me, Seb. I’ll match you growl for growl.”

Devil take it, what was the matter with Peter? Always the more docile, accommodating brother, he rarely encouraged a confrontation. He certainly never started one!

Sebastian rubbed his aching brow. “What the deuce do you want from me, Peter?”

“Sober and hitched to Henrietta.”

“That does it.” Sebastian sprang to his feet, wavered, and hit the floor again, clutching his throbbing head. “Bloody hell.”

Peter tsked. “Pull yourself together, Seb. The wedding will be on Twelfth Night.”

“Like hell!”

“I’m off to fetch the marriage license myself.”

Sebastian growled, “You treacherous son of a—”

“What are you afraid of, Seb?”

Sebastian glared at his pestering kin, moving around in circles. “Stand still, damn it!”

“I am,” Peter said dryly.

Sebastian humphed.

“Well, Seb?”

Peter folded his arms across his chest. He looked so much like Father when he did that, all officious and stern. It sent a shiver down Sebastian’s spine.

What the devil were they talking about again? “Well what, Peter?”

“Why
are you afraid to be with Henrietta?”

“Rot!” He snorted. “She’s a wily flirt and I
don’t
want her for my wife. How do I know
she
didn’t show that letter all over Town, just to trap me into marriage? She could have come back to the catacombs, after I’d passed out, and stolen the letter from my pocket.”

Peter snorted. “I think I can assure you she did no such thing.”

“I wouldn’t put it past the devious chit…And why are
you
so sure she’s innocent?”

Sebastian gripped the bed for support, struggling to stand. But he failed and dropped onto the mattress.

“Because the girl hates you.” Peter walked over to the armchair and collected his gloves. “No one is happy about the approaching wedding, Seb. Least of all Henry. She did
not
orchestrate this scandal, I assure you.”

Sebastian wasn’t prepared for the stroke of pain that lashed across his chest at Peter’s words.

Peter slipped on his gloves. “You made quite an impression on the girl at the abbey, I understand. She doesn’t give a fig whether you live or die anymore. Bravo, brother!”

Despite the pang in his breast, Sebastian gritted, “Good.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Peter moved to collect his greatcoat. “Now about the wedding…”

“Blast it, I haven’t agreed—”

“Are you really going to leave Henry in disgrace? Her whole family?”

Sebastian was sorely tempted to let the conniving chit stew in her own foolery, but deep down he knew he would never really leave her in ignominy. Angry as he was at the girl, he could not abandon her in shambles. He had known Henrietta for far too long to just desert her at such a grim point.

“She should never have written that silly letter,” Sebastian grumbled.

“No, she shouldn’t have, but the deed is done. I’ll summon the tailor to get started on the wedding clothes.”

Sebastian growled in defeat. “Blast it all to hell!”

“It’s your life, Seb. If you’re determined to be miserable, so be it.”

“And what other choice do I have but to be miserable? I’m being forced to marry!”

“Yes, that’s true.” Peter slipped into his greatcoat. “The wedding is going to take place whether you like it or not, so that’s why I suggest you make the best of it.”

“And how do I do that?”

Peter picked up his top hat. “Well, perish the thought you try to get along with the girl—your betrothed.”

“What a ghastly word.”

“Well, here’s another ghastly word for you, your soon-to-be mother-in-law is hosting an engagement party on New Year’s Eve. You have four days to sober up and pull yourself together.”

“Damn you all!”

“I love you, too, Seb. And I suggest you be on your best behavior. The Ashby family is very upset with you. You have a lot of kin to appease.”

“Shit.”

“Especially the sisters.”

“Why especially?” Sebastian snapped.

“Well, the Ashby sisters were always dead set against you marrying Henrietta. Once they suspected you might be smitten with the girl, they were determined to tear the two of you apart.”

Sebastian hissed, “Is that why her sisters were always fussing about?”

Peter nodded. “They wanted to make sure you never had a moment alone with Henry; that you never had a chance to disgrace the girl. Well, so much for that.” Peter adjusted his top hat. “And then there’s the baron.”

“What about the baron?”

“He’s quite miffed, Seb. You are stealing his ‘darling boy’ away, remember?”

Sebastian rubbed his tired brow.

“And then you have Lady Ashby to confront.”

“Surely
she’s
happy about the wedding. She’s been hosting masquerade balls for years hoping to marry Henry off. Isn’t she getting her wish?”

“Yes, but she could have done without the scandal.”

Sebastian gnashed his teeth. “I’m
not
the one who caused the scandal.”

“A trifling detail.” Peter headed for the door. “The engagement party is in four days, remember. Clean yourself up and be prepared to pacify a lot of angry Ashbys.”

Angry Ashbys?
He
should be the angry one.
He
was the one being carted down the aisle in bloody chains.

“Buck up, Seb.” Peter opened the door. “Think of it this way: it’s a new start to a new year.”

Sebastian growled.

Peter left the room and closed the door behind him.

Sebastian, feeling dizzy again, stretched out on
the bed. He closed his eyes, willing the thrumming pain into submission.

Marriage.

To Henrietta.

The thick fog in his head was making it hard for the words to sink into his brain. And how the devil had the letter made its way around Town anyway?

He tried to think back, but his memories were awash in shadows and sounds and fuzzy faces. He remembered reading the letter, but then…

“Shit.”

Sebastian stuffed his head under the pillow, for he had not the strength to get up and draw the drapes. He wanted to sleep, to disappear into the darkness of dream. He couldn’t remember what had happened to the blasted letter after he’d read it. He didn’t want to think about the cursed piece of paper anymore. He didn’t want to think about the approaching wedding, either. Or his intended bride. He just wanted to sleep and forget about the nightmare his life had just become.

But something pinched his pinky finger.

Sebastian stuck his head out from under the pillow and squinted. The ring on his finger felt tight, his knuckles swollen. He must have gotten into some sort of row the other night; he couldn’t remember. But it was the design on the ring that really captivated him. The interwoven rope, the knot.

He thought back to Christmas Eve, the night Henrietta had given him the ring as a gift. He remem
bered the enchanting look in her eyes, the spirited sound of her laughter. He remembered the scent of jasmine in her hair…and the sultry kiss under the mistletoe.

Something twitched in his belly at the lusty memory. And now the vixen was going to become his wife.

The door opened.

The housekeeper, Mrs. Molony, shuffled inside. Without so much as a “good morning,” the stout woman set right to work on making the bed—around his sluggish body. So accustomed to his frequent binges, she did her domestic duty without complaint or hesitation.