Too Scandalous to Wed by Alexandra Benedict

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Unwilling to taint any woman with the terrible secret hidden in his heart, Sebastian, Viscount Ravenswood, has sworn never to marry. Luckily, whimsical Henrietta Ashby was never much of a temptation for the devilishly handsome rogue—until now. Suddenly, Henrietta has learned to seduce him with a bewitching charm . . . and clandestine midnight kisses.

Henrietta would go to any lengths to catch the eye of the man she's long loved from afar—even seeking the help of the most notorious courtesan in England! But as Sebastian's secret follows them from the ballroom to the boudoir, and his diabolical enemy plots revenge, will Henrietta risk her life to offer him a passionate redemption . . . or will he prove to be too scandalous to wed?

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Chapter One

London, 1821

"Good heavens, Henry, you're still in your drawers!"

And Henrietta Ashby was going to stay in her drawers until she figured out the ideal dress to wear—much to the dismay of her mother, Lady Lara Ashby.

"I'll be there in a minute, Mama."

Distraught, the elder woman proclaimed, "But Henry, the guests have already arrived!"

Henrietta wasn't interested in the guests below . . . well, she was interested in one particular guest, hence the crucial decision she had to make.

"Which one, Mama, the pink or the peach?"

Lady Ashby fluttered her fan in quick succession. "Henry, can't you ever make up your mind?"

Unfortunately, Henrietta could not. She had a penchant for disorder and a tendency to waver over every decision. Alas, it was not her fault she had such a flighty disposition. Truly, it wasn't. Henrietta was the youngest offspring of Baron Nicholas Ashby, and, as such, the most pampered of the lot. She also served as the baron's surrogate son, thus the nickname Henry.

You see, the baron had a brood of children—all girls! Desperate for a male heir, he had christened his fifth daughter Henry, and like any indulgent papa, the baron catered to his "son's" every wish and whim without complaint. Though there was no property to inherit or title to come into, that did not stop Henrietta from acting the part of the doted-upon son and heir. The only trouble with being Henry was the freedom to do as she pleased without a thought to the consequences.

"I think I'll go with the pink," said Henrietta.

"Fine." Lady Ashby sighed with impatience. "I want you below in five minutes!"

The door thudded closed.

Jenny, the poor chambermaid, blanched at the command, not that Henrietta noticed. She eyed the rose silk ruffs and heart-shaped neckline and thought: It's perfect!

The peach frock went flying through the air, skewered on a bedpost. Discarded and forgotten, the dress dangled in neglect like so many other wisps of fabric scattered across the bedroom floor.

Musing, Henrietta glanced around the cluttered space. "Now for the mask."

She went over to the bed, tossed the weekly gossip papers aside—she'd been reading the juicy tidbits earlier in the day—and sifted through the many scattered headdresses, looking for the best match.

With a pleading look in her eyes, the young chambermaid lifted a bejeweled headpiece. "Will this do, miss?"

Henrietta eyed the glittering adornment. "Yes, that will do."

Jenny whistled a sigh of relief and quickly ushered her mistress to the vanity. It took a little longer than five minutes, but soon Henrietta was all decked out in a resplendent evening gown of shimmering rose silk and a lovely jewel-encrusted mask to match.

She twirled in front of the full-length mirror, inspecting her reflection. The frock complemented the auburn glow of her hair and deep brown hue of her eyes to perfection.

If this doesn't draw his notice, I'm going to scratch out his eyes.

With that encouraging thought in mind, Henrietta thanked her maid.

Jenny started to tidy up the room.

"Never mind that," said Henrietta. She took Jenny by the hand and shooed her out the door. "Cook needs help in the kitchen, I'm sure. You can clean the mess later."

Jenny sighed and skirted off. "Yes, Miss Ashby."

A spring to her step, Henrietta made her way down to the ballroom. Baron Ashby's annual masquerade ball was fast becoming a tradition. The third so far, it was first initiated at the behest of Lady Ashby to help find her youngest daughter a mate. With four sisters already wed, Henrietta was the last of the brood to get leg-shackled. Spinsterhood was fast approaching, and that, of course, put Lady Ashby in near hysterics.

But what Mama did not realize was Henrietta's determination to resist every suitor save one—Viscount Ravenswood.

Henrietta's heart pinched at the thought of Ravenswood. Even his name made her shiver right down to her toes.

Oh, love was such a pesky affair! For eight long years she had dreamed of Ravenswood, ever since his younger brother Peter had married her eldest sister, Penelope. Eight agonizing years, and still the blasted man thought of her as a charming chit, nothing more.

Henrietta had a mind to clout the viscount for his mulishness. She wasn't a lass of twelve anymore, but a passionate woman of twenty with a need for one equally passionate man. And if the vexing lord would only stop thinking of her as a spirited imp, she could finally take her rightful place as the next Viscountess Ravenswood. She wasn't getting any younger, didn't he know?

The ballroom loomed ahead.

Her steps more refined, Henrietta gracefully moved to the arena's threshold. She paused under the arched entranceway and scanned the array of twirling dance partners. Her eyes skipped over the feathered headdresses and looked beyond the crystal chandeliers and polished marble statues of Roman gods, searching for Ravenswood.

"Good evening, Miss Ashby."

She bristled. He was the only one in the family who didn't call her by her nickname. It annoyed her beyond words, his willful refusal to grant her even that small level of intimacy.

Slowly she turned around to confront the towering figure of masculine energy.

Henrietta let out a little gasp at the sight of Ravenswood. He was decked in striking sable black attire, the white ruff of his cravat set high in an elegant knot at the center of his throat. A thick throat. A strong throat. One that made Henrietta wonder where a peer like Ravenswood would get such corded muscles.

But soon thoughts of "where" turned to thoughts of "who cares" as something squirmed in her belly. A moist heat that dazzled her senses every time she stood near the man. He was immaculate in apparel; only his sable black locks were a bit untidy, a few stray curls draped over and around his red silk mask.

Heavens, he was stunning! Oh, why hadn't she brought along her fan? It was overwhelming, the heat radiating from Ravenswood.