Too Scandalous to Wed (23 page)

Henrietta took in an uneven breath at the affectionate sight. Something pressed on her heart. A sense of loss. The loss of Ravenswood and
his
tender kisses.

Mirabelle nipped at the duke’s bottom lip. “Where are my brothers?”

“Locked in the pantry.”

She groaned. “Oh, Damian!”

He grinned. “I’ve given the butler the key with the order
not
to let them out until morning.”

The duchess huffed. “You are not going to leave my brothers in the pantry, Damian.”

“It’s just for tonight, Belle.” He whispered, “I want to be alone with you.”

Oh, the husky words of passion! How Henrietta missed hearing those words from Sebastian. Well, she missed hearing them from the old Sebastian; the old Sebastian she had dreamed up in her head.

“We won’t be alone tonight,” said the duchess.

The duke gathered his dark brow. “Why the devil not, Belle?”

Mirabelle cocked her head. “Because we have company.”

The duke turned his head—and smiled. “Miss Ashby, we meet again.”

Henrietta scooted off the divan to greet the approaching duke. “Your Grace.”

He took her by the hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, as he had on the night of Papa’s masquerade ball.

“Damian, please,” he said. “Miss Ashby, this is an unexpected pleasure. We were set to visit you in a day or two. Congratulations on your approaching—”

But an elbow to the ribs—and a sharp eye from his wife—stopped the duke from finishing the felicitation.

“Er, shall we have a late supper, then?” the duke suggested.

“Yes, of course,” said Mirabelle. “You must be famished, Henry. Damian will escort you to the dining hall.”

The duke quirked a brow. “You are not accompanying us, Your Grace?”

Mirabelle made a moue. “
I
have four brothers to rescue. I will join you in the dining hall in a few minutes.”

“Very well,” the duke acquiesced. He offered Henrietta his arm. “Shall we, Miss Ashby?”

With a smile, Henrietta slipped her hand into the duke’s arm.

“We’ll talk again later, Henry,” the duchess whispered before they parted ways: Henrietta to the dining hall and Mirabelle to the pantry.

As Henrietta moved through the castle with her escort, she couldn’t help but reflect upon the duke.

He seemed a good sort of man. Not the notorious “Duke of Rogues.” And he and the duchess seemed to be
really
happy.

So if the duke could reform, could Sebastian, too? Could
she
be happy with Sebastian, after all?

The troubling thought stayed with her throughout dinner and well into the night.

S
ebastian was at his wit’s end. He was getting married in two days and where was his bride? Off gallivanting about the countryside, visiting the Duchess of Wembury.

He rubbed his tired brow. He wasn’t daft enough to think his betrothed’s hasty departure had nothing to do with him. She was avoiding him, fighting him tooth and nail. And she was winning, the mulish chit. There had to be some way to convince the woman he wasn’t going to hurt her, that she could trust him. But how?

He was dumbfounded. What did Henrietta want from him? Blood? His head on a pike?

Sebastian needed help—and he could think of only one woman in the world who could give it to him.

Across the room, a paneled door opened in the wall.

Sebastian quirked a brow.

Very theatrical.

Madam Jacqueline entered the room adorned with Oriental furnishings. She herself was bedecked in a fresh white turban and flowing wrapper. Jewels sparkled from her ears, her wrinkled throat, her slender fingers.

She moved with grace and confidence. Her steps dainty and refined, she impersonated womanly charm. But Sebastian didn’t doubt she could be cruel—if she wanted to be. One didn’t become the most notorious courtesan in England by being meek. One had to be shrewd and devious.

It bothered Sebastian to think that the innocent Miss Ashby had come to the ruthless woman for help—and all because she’d wanted to seduce him. He was only grateful the cunning courtesan had not destroyed the imprudent chit.

“Lord Ravenswood.” She smiled. “I am surprised by your visit.”

“Are you, Madam Jacqueline? I wonder if perhaps you’ve been expecting me for quite some time?”

There was a gleam of pleasure in the woman’s eyes, a smirking glow that was hard to ignore. She had everything, Sebastian mused. But for all her wealth, her links to royalty, she had no blue blood in her veins. It infuriated her, he reckoned. To have so much power, but be denied one critical thing: lineage. She had to enjoy having the aristocracy come to her for help. To have the rich and lofty lords and ladies at her feet had to give her a sense of accomplishment and pride, vengeance even.

“Tea, my lord?”

“No, thank you.”

Madman Jacqueline poured herself a steaming cup. She reclined on the divan and perused him with enchanting green eyes.

Sebastian could see why the woman commanded the attention of kings and gentlefolk alike. She had a mesmerizing quality about her.

“To what do I owe the honor of your visit, Lord Ravenswood?”

He took in a deep breath. “I presume you’ve heard about my wedding to Miss Ashby?”

She sipped her tea with feminine poise. “Yes, I read the announcement in the paper. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” he said stiffly. It was deuced uncomfortable having to ask the woman for assistance. But pride be damned, he had to figure out some way to get Henrietta to be his
wife
. She didn’t want to live with him; she didn’t want to touch him. How was he supposed to put up with that for the rest of his days? “I believe you offered Miss Ashby some advice—on how to seduce me.”

“I did indeed, my lord.”

“Well, I need some advice in return.”

The woman lifted a painted brow. “How can I be of help?”

He shifted in his seat. “How do I seduce Miss Ashby?”

It was a very subtle quirk of the lips. “I beg your pardon, my lord?”

“You heard me,” he growled.

“But you are engaged to marry the girl.”

“Yes, but the stubborn chit doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

“Really?” The courtesan was filled with mirth. How she must take pleasure in his discomfiture! “And why is that, my lord?”

Disgruntled, he said, “She doesn’t trust me.”

“Why?”

“Because she discovered I’m a scoundrel.”

“I see.” Another sip of tea. “Have you offered her diamonds?”

Restless, Sebastian shot out of his chair and stalked about the room. “Madam Jacqueline, I think we both know I’m not some sort of innocent fawn. I’ve bedded the girl, offered her gifts, saved her from drowning, and
still
she wants nothing to do with me.”

Again Madam Jacqueline raised a brow. “Impressive.”

He growled, “What do I do now?”

The courtesan set her teacup aside and folded her hands in her lap. “It sounds like the girl does not love you anymore.”

There was something very striking about that word: “anymore.” It implied Henrietta had once loved him. To think she didn’t care a whit any longer was…crushing.

Try as he might to convince himself the chit’s esteem didn’t mean anything to him, he knew that to
be a lie. Whenever Henrietta looked at him, he
felt
noble, even heroic. He always had.

It was hard to admit, but over the years Henrietta’s faith in him had been a soothing comfort, an inspiration even. When he was with her, he forgot about his immoral ways. He forgot about his loneliness. He felt only…

“What do you want, my lord?”

Sebastian looked at the courtesan, his reflection shattered. “I already told you.”

“To seduce your fiancée? Why? Do you want Miss Ashby to worship you again?…Or do you want her to love you for who you really are?”

Love him for who he really was? A scoundrel? “She will never love me for who I really am.”

“And who are you, my lord?”

He took in a deep breath. “A villain.”

The courtesan cocked her head. “Perhaps you should change.”

“I can’t change.”

“And why not?”

“Because once a rogue, always a rogue.”

She tsked. “Miss Ashby was once naïve. She’s not anymore. People do change, my lord.”

“Yes, all thanks to you,” he grumbled.

“You don’t like the change in Miss Ashby? You would rather she blindly worship you?”

“No.” He gripped the chair back tight. “I suppose…I suppose I’d rather she love me.”

And he did. He didn’t want Henrietta’s blind adoration. He didn’t want another warm body in his bed. He wanted the woman to be his wife. He wanted her to understand him, to comfort him, to care for him, blast it! And he wanted to do the same for her.

“Do you love her?” Madam Jacqueline asked.

Did he? Could he? Or was he afraid, as Peter had suggested? Afraid of failing Henrietta, of not being a man worthy of her affection?

His pulse was pounding. True, he’d never tried to be Henrietta’s hero. But he was sure he would fail at the endeavor. He had not the heart of a hero. He had not the heart of a good man, even. He had the heart of a villain, as his father had once said.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

Madam Jacqueline nodded sagely. “Then I suppose the question is: can the girl love you? Does she still love you?”

Sebastian was in turmoil. So much revelation, so much truth was pouring into his soul, he didn’t know what to make of it all. “How do I find out?”

Voice steady, she said, “If the girl’s as mulish as you say, I don’t know that you can. Perhaps you should resign yourself to your fate?”

He gawked at her. “And this is your practical advice? Give up?”

“You have already tried everything. You said so yourself.”

“But there must be
something
else I can do.”

She lifted her eyes heavenward. “Well, there is one thing.”

“What?”

She looked back at him. “You can die.”

He glared at her. “You mock me.”

“Not at all, my lord. You asked for my advice, and I have offered it.”

“To die?”

“That’s right.”

Sebastian gnashed his teeth. “And just what would that accomplish—other than to put me out of my misery, of course?”

“Well, if the girl truly loves you, she will admit it once you are dead. You see, my lord, the will can be very strong to protect the heart. But dead, you do not threaten her heart anymore. She will let down her guard, and if she weeps over your corpse, she loves you.”

Sebastian was beginning to think the woman’s turban was wound too tight. “So I die, and Henrietta admits she loves me?”

“I’m afraid it’s the only way to get the girl to confess her true feelings, my lord.”

The old woman was daft. And Sebastian had wasted his time in coming.

“How enlightening, Madam Jacqueline,” he said with a curt nod. “I thank you for your time.”

She smiled. “Not at all, my lord.”

Sebastian headed for the door with brisk strides.

“Lord Ravenswood?”

He paused. “Yes, Madam Jacqueline.”

“When you see Miss Ashby again, please tell her I am very proud of her.”

Sebastian quit the room.

H
enrietta stood in front of the mirror and eyed the fine lace of her wedding dress. Four emotional sisters gathered around her.

Penelope whispered, “You look so handsome, Henry.”

“Like an angel,” confirmed Tertia.

Cordelia sniffed. “I can’t believe you’re getting married.”

“About time, too,” from Roselyn.

Henrietta smiled at her sisters, but her spirit was heavy. All sorts of distressing thoughts marched through her head. Thoughts of her betrothed. Throughout her stay at the castle, Henrietta had observed the duke and duchess in loving interaction. A part of her had ached deep inside to have that same kind of rapport with Sebastian. Yet another part of her had warned her to be reasonable. Sebastian was not the duke. Even if the duke had reformed his roguish ways, it did not mean Ravenswood would, too. She had to remember that. She had to ask her
self one simple question: was she willing to risk her heart to be with the viscount?

Oh, why couldn’t she ever make up her mind?

The bedroom door opened.

Henrietta looked over her shoulder. “Hello, Mama.”

The baroness stepped inside the room, her dress a regal bronze in hue. “You look lovely, Henry.”

“Doesn’t she, Mama?” Penelope pinched the bride’s cheeks to add some color. “A veritable princess.”

The baroness nodded. “Ladies, I’d like a moment alone with my daughter.”

The sisters bobbed in obedience and cheerfully quit the room.

The baroness closed the door. “How do you feel, Henry?”

“Nervous,” she admitted.

The older woman smiled. “I was nervous, too.” She picked up the veil draped across the bed. “Here, let me help you with this.”

Henrietta squatted, for Mama was a tad short.

The baroness artfully pinned the flowing white headdress to her hair, then picked up the crown of white roses. “And now for the finishing touch.”

With a gentle stroke, Mama set the ring of flowers on her head.

Henrietta peered back into the glass, perusing her polished appearance. The nerves in her belly thrummed. It was almost time to make the wedding
march. It was almost time to become the next Viscountess Ravenswood.

She felt terribly queasy.

“I’d like to give you something, Henry.”

“What is it, Mama?”

The baroness held up a sparkling floral brooch, set with rose pearls and diamonds. “My mother gave it to me on the day I married your father. I thought I would never part with it…but I’d like you to have it, Henry.”

Henrietta eyed the brilliant gem and sniffed. “Thank you, Mama.”

The baroness pinned the brooch at Henrietta’s throat, the soft rose a subtle brightness against the ivory lace and silk. “Your father is waiting for you below stairs. He will escort you to the chapel.”

“I’ll be down in a minute, Mama.”

The baroness kissed her cheek. “You will be happy, Henry.”

She whispered, “How do you know, Mama?”

“Because I’m your mother; I know everything.”

Henrietta smiled. As soon as the baroness left the room, she searched for a kerchief. She rummaged through the paraphernalia scattered across the vanity and pried a lacy napkin apart from the rest of the clutter.

She dabbed at her eyes. There was such tenderness in the expressions around her, such warmth. What a chilling contrast to the rogue she was set to marry in a matter of minutes!

A knock at the door.

Henrietta wiped her nose. “Come in.”

She gasped. Sebastian stepped into the room, an achingly handsome sight in dapper blue garb of linen and silk. With a white waistcoat and fresh white gloves, he looked every inch the gentleman.

“What are you doing here?” she said.

“I had to see you before the wedding.” He dropped his sexy eyes to her toes and slowly lifted his gaze. “You look beautiful, Henry.”

She shivered. “Thank you.”

“Really, you look stunning.”

“Yes, I heard you.”

A dashing smile. “I just wanted to make sure you believed me.”

She pursed her lips. “What do you want, Sebastian?”

“To promise you I will make you happy. I won’t grieve you the way my father grieved my mother.”

She looked at him, baffled. “What about your parents?”

Henrietta didn’t know very much about the former viscount and viscountess. Sebastian had never mentioned the couple.

“They didn’t have a very good rapport,” he said. “Father wasn’t the best sort of husband. He was very aloof, strict even. Not an easy man to love.”

Her breath hitched. “What are you saying?”

“I know you’ve had a good upbringing, Henry: a mother and father who care for each other. I want
you to have the same in our marriage. I want you to know that I will make you happy, if you give me the chance.”

Henrietta’s heart fluttered. She didn’t know what to say, what to think. He’d offered to make her happy, but did he care for her?

“Once a rogue, always a rogue,” she said. “You said that once.”

“People change, Henry…you did.” He moved toward the door. “I’ll be at the church.”

Quietly he left the room.

Henrietta’s wedding dress swished and swooshed as she paced the room in fretful contemplation. He was asking her to give him a second chance, to trust him. Could she? Dare she?

The hour of ten chimed somewhere in the house. It was time!

Henrietta rushed to the bed and grabbed the snowy, fur-trimmed cape, scarf, and matching gloves. Her belly in a whirl, she quickly quit the room and bustled through the passageway, over to the steps.

But the whisper of voices from the landing below had her rooted to the spot.

“She’s going to be late for her own wedding, Peter.”

“Don’t fuss, Penelope. We’ll get her to the church on time.”

“Oh, I still can’t believe it, Peter! A prostitute?”

“Well, Seb was desperate, Penelope,” her husband hissed. “You know how much trouble he’s been having with Henry”

“But to visit a woman of ill repute two days before his wedding? It’s most unsavory.”

A woozy Henrietta grabbed the banister for support before she rolled down the stairs.

The ache in her belly throbbed. She gasped for breath. Quickly she skirted across the hall before Peter and Penelope saw her, and sprinted down the servant stairwell.

Tears filled her eyes. Sickness roiled in her gut. Two days! She was gone two days and Sebastian grew so “desperate” for a woman he went to see a prostitute!

Henrietta pounded down the steps, surprising the cook in the kitchen. She brushed past Mrs. Quigly and dashed through the scullery, abuzz with preparation for the wedding luncheon. Once she was in the main part of the house, she passed the dinner hall and the sounds of clattering silverware—the table was being set for the guests—making her way to the back of the dwelling.

That fiend! He just couldn’t keep his hands off a doxy, could he? It was in his blood, the wicked inclination to rut about with anything in a skirt. And if she wasn’t around to ease his lust, he’d find some other whore to bed…and that’s all she was to him, wasn’t she? A whore? All that rot about making her
happy. The man wanted only one thing from her: carnal pleasure.

Henrietta wiped the blasted tears from her eyes. Oh, she was such a fool! She had considered giving the villain a second chance. She
knew
she couldn’t trust him, that he was an unredeemable rogue.

A wretched sob in her throat, Henrietta ducked through the terrace doors, and took in a sharp breath to quell her sorrow.

She yanked on her gloves and sniffed. She deserved another broken heart. She always wavered over every decision. Even a sound one. She had marked Sebastian a rogue. And he was. A despicable rogue! So why had she mulled over the idea that he could reform?

It didn’t matter anymore. This time she was
sure
Ravenswood was a rotten scoundrel. A black devil. And she would not falter in her belief again. She might have to marry the bounder, but she did not have to let him near her heart again.

Henrietta had to stay away from the house. It was stifling, the merriment inside. The festive din of wedding preparations was such a sharp contrast to her crushed spirit. She could not go to the church just yet, either. She needed to be alone.

“Miss Ashby.”

Henrietta looked up, dazed. “Lord Emerson?”

Emerson had his hand tucked inside his breast pocket. “How delightful to see you.”

She sniffed. “What are you doing here, my
lord? Why aren’t you at the church with the other guests?”

“Oh, I won’t be attending the wedding, Miss Ashby…and neither will you.”

He pulled out a pistol.

Sebastian stood beside the altar, waiting. It was just like Henrietta to be late for her own wedding.

The preacher flipped through the Bible, the pages snapping. The chapel, brimming with society’s most fashionable members, was quietly abuzz with idle chitchat.

Sebastian girded himself for a long wait.

He reflected upon his earlier talk with Henrietta. Would she accept his offer to make her happy? He hoped so. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his marital days in strife. And he wasn’t quite desperate enough to heed Madam Jacqueline’s advice, and prostrate his corpse at Henrietta’s feet to get her to forgive him.

But what if the chit rebuffed his offer?

It triggered a cramp in his chest, thinking about such a lonely existence. A ruthless irony, really. The girl had adored him for years; he could have snatched her at any time to make her his wife. But now that he was going to marry her, she didn’t want a fig to do with him.

Perhaps he was a villain, as Henrietta had said? Unredeemable, as his father had suggested? It would certainly explain all the trouble he’d been having, if
he was damned to live a life apart from his wife…in darkness.

Sebastian had to acknowledge the possibility. Maybe he just wasn’t meant to be with Henrietta?

But then he remembered the fiery pulse of his heart whenever he was with the woman, and he had to wonder, if he wasn’t destined to be with the chit, then why did he feel so at peace with her?

Sebastian wasn’t going to give up on Henrietta just yet—or himself—he vowed. Madam Jacqueline had suggested one practical piece of advice: change. He was going to give it a try. He had frightened Henrietta with his boorish behavior at the Hellfire Club; now the chit didn’t trust him. But he was determined to prove to her he was not the same man anymore; he would reform. It was better than croaking, as the courtesan had suggested.

The chapel door burst opened. A breathless Peter stumbled inside. He righted himself quickly, smiled at the loquacious guests, and with brisk, confident strides, marched down the aisle.

Sebastian growled, “Where the devil is the bride, Peter?”

Peter whispered, “Ah, there’s a bit of a snag, Seb.”

“What sort of snag?”

“Why don’t you come with me?” The man’s fixed smile cracked. “Now.”

Sebastian glowered at his brother. After a few whispered words to the preacher and a courteous
nod to the guests, Sebastian strutted down the aisle after his brother.

The Duke and Duchess of Wembury were seated in the pews. Sebastian recognized the couple from the night of the baron’s masquerade ball. At the harried looks on their faces, though, he started to suspect something was dreadfully amiss. Had Henrietta confessed to the couple that she didn’t trust him?…Had she confessed something more? That she didn’t want to marry him?

As soon as he and his brother were clear of the chapel, Sebastian demanded, “What’s happened, Peter?”

There were two horses waiting out front. Both men quickly mounted.

“It’s Henry, Seb. She’s missing.”

Sebastian could feel the blood drain from his face. A cold darkness nestled in his belly, chilling his soul.

With a hard kick, he set the steed at a gallop.