“Stop yapping!”
An arm strapped to her throat, Henrietta was forced down the stone steps into the catacombs. She trembled. The brisk air nipped at her nose. It was dark inside the catacombs: a torch here or there. It was noisy, too, the rowdy din of merry “friars” echoing throughout the tunnel.
She closed her eyes to bring her thundering heartbeats to a steadier canter. “If you’re a former member of the club, what are we doing here?”
“I’m going to avenge myself on Ravenswood and win back the respect of the friars. And you are going to help me do it.”
“Like hell! You can go to the devil, Emerson. I won’t help you!”
She jabbed her elbow into his ribs.
He grimaced—and tightened his grip.
“I’ve never met such a fussy slut,” he growled.
Emerson tore the neck cloth from his throat and gagged her.
Henrietta choked on her tears, her shame. Why did she keep associating with members of the Hellfire Club?
Torchlight flickered, casting the statues in the tunnel in a fiery glow. She stumbled through the chilling channel, pushed to the arena’s threshold.
Henrietta paused.
Inside the banquet hall, she spied the notorious banquet table—and the shackles at the table’s edge.
Her heart shuddered.
“Emerson!” the friars jeered. The room was filled with heckling villains, wenches, too, all foxed and loving it. “Did you run off to get married?”
The cackles must have burned Emerson’s blood, for Henrietta could feel him bristle behind her.
Emerson growled, “She’s not my bride, brothers…she’s ours.”
The inebriated friars piqued at the implication.
Emerson pushed her toward the table. Henrietta screamed against her gag and kicked, letting loose a savage tantrum. But it was futile. The drunken carousers grabbed her wrists, her ankles, and hoisted her onto the banquet table.
Her tears smothering, she swallowed a sob. She kicked again, but Emerson gripped her ankles, spread her legs apart. He secured the manacles at her boots. Some other foul oaf wrested her bound wrists and clipped the heavy irons above her head.
There was a throbbing pressure on her breast as her heart pumped hard and fast. She flicked her eyes across the room in dashing strokes, searching for help, for some way out. But she was trapped.
Emerson moved to the head of the table. He looked at her with venom, and whispered, “Once the friars feast on you, I’ll be accepted back into the club, and Ravenswood will be devastated. Your pain will be his.” Emerson stepped back and smiled. “Who has a knife, brothers? Let’s tear this dress to pieces and enjoy our bride.”
A glittering knife appeared.
Henrietta thrashed against her bonds.
“Don’t fight too much.” Emerson winked. “It’ll only hurt more.”
A pistol cocked.
Henrietta bristled…but then her heart throbbed with unfettered joy.
Ravenswood!
The earth stopped spinning. The sickness in her belly went away. One look at the most sinfully handsome man in creation, and everything in her heart and soul was put to right.
The viscount stepped into the catacombs, covered in snow. He was a wonderful sight! Breath ragged, the exertion of a pounding ride was clear in his body. He had come for her. Hell-bent to get to her. She wasn’t alone in the chilling darkness of the abbey anymore, trapped with a band of devils. The relief inside her was overwhelming. The joy almost crippling.
With ominous strides, Sebastian approached, murder in his eyes. “Let her go.”
The friars slowly backed away.
A flabbergasted Emerson quickly gathered his wits and released her.
Trembling and sweating, Henrietta yanked the neck cloth out of her mouth and let out a sob.
“Come here, Henry,” Sebastian ordered, gun still trained on the dastardly Emerson.
She took one shaky step, then two. But before she could reach the viscount, Emerson yanked a pistol from his coat.
Eyes wide, heart fluttering, Henrietta demanded, “What are you going to do with that?”
Emerson jerked her roughly against him, coiled his arm around her throat, and placed the pistol to her temple.
“I’m going to have my revenge on the viscount,” he whispered.
Henrietta could feel the earth spinning again. Revenge? On Ravenswood?
“Stop right there, Ravenswood,” cried Emerson, “or I’ll kill her where she stands!”
Sebastian stilled.
“Drop the pistol, Ravenswood!”
Emerson clearly didn’t want to give the viscount an opportunity to shoot him. And Ravenswood didn’t hesitate.
Cold metal hit the stone floor and resounded throughout the catacombs.
Henrietta wanted to scream, but Emerson’s grip across her neck prevented the outcry. Unarmed, Ravenswood was a clear mark. She thrashed instead.
“Hold still!” barked Emerson. “Do you want me to squeeze the trigger by mishap?”
“Be still, Henry,” Sebastian snapped.
She went very still.
Something snagged on her heart at the sight of Sebastian, an ache so profound, she gasped for breath. She didn’t know what the sentiment was; she had never felt such a crushing pressure before. But to see him standing there. To know that he was in danger…
“You just had to take everything from me, didn’t you?” said Emerson, his voice croaking.
Even though Ravenswood was defenseless, Emerson still trembled. Henrietta could feel him quivering against her back, the sweat from his palm against her neck.
“Don’t be a fool,” growled Sebastian. “I didn’t take anything from you.”
The villain snorted. “I suppose my pride is nothing to you?”
“What the devil are you talking about?” Sebastian said darkly.
“The friars all think me a coward.”
Sebastian looked confused. “Why?”
“Because you chased me under the banquet table when I suggested we have this wench for our next banquet. I was a laughingstock! Don’t you remember?”
“I was foxed, Emerson.”
“Well, I remember,” he spat. “I was going to make everything right tonight, but you had to take that away from me, too. Well, I’m going to make you suffer for what you did to me.”
Emerson lifted the gun from Henrietta’s temple and pointed it at Ravenswood instead.
With a startled gasp, Henrietta kicked back her boot and slammed it into Emerson’s shin.
He yelped and tossed her aside.
She hit the ground.
Sebastian started toward her, but Emerson regained his balance and steadied the pistol. He aimed the weapon once more at the viscount’s chest.
With a desperate cry, Henrietta grabbed the pistol Ravenswood had cast aside. In a sweeping gesture, her wrists still bound, she cocked the gun, aimed, and shot the gun clear out of Emerson’s grip.
Both men looked stunned.
Sebastian quirked a brow at her. “You really are a good shot, aren’t you, Henry?”
Henrietta let out a half sob, half sigh of relief.
Emerson screamed.
The coward hit the ground, frantically searching in the shadows for his pistol: his only means of protection against Ravenswood’s wrath.
But it did no good.
Ravenswood grabbed him and trounced him soundly: a solid jab to the midriff.
Emerson keeled over, coughing.
“I’m going to let the magistrate deal with you,” said Sebastian between seething breaths. “I’m going to enjoy watching you hang.”
Ravenswood picked up the villain’s gun and walked away. There was no reason to hurt the feeble creature anymore.
Blinded by stinging tears, Henrietta scrambled to her feet and rushed out of the banquet hall.
Sebastian shouted, “Henry!”
But she didn’t stop. She had to get out of the catacombs, away
from the abbey. She stumbled up the winding stairs, darted through the dark passageway, and burst out into the cold night air.
She tossed Papa’s pistol into the snow, brought her shivering fingers to her face—and wailed.
“Henry, are you all right?”
A warm and hard set of arms wrapped tight around her.
She stuck out her wrists. “U-untie me.”
Sebastian unfastened the knot at her wrists, kissed her bloody wounds before he bound the injuries with strips from his neck cloth.
Something thunderous resounded in the distance.
“Wh-who’s that?” she said with shaky breath.
Two figures on horseback were fast approaching, the horses’ hooves kicking up snow in wild stomps.
“It’s just Peter and the magistrate, Henry. You’re safe.” With a gentle caress, Ravenswood touched her bruised and tender cheek. “That miserable bastard!”
She jerked her face away. “I-I’ll be all right. Please take me home.”
Sebastian glowered. “Henry, what is it?”
Wretched tears! It was so hard to find her voice amid the sobs in her throat. “I just want to forget about everything that happened today.”
He looked stricken. “Henry…did Emerson force himself on you?”
“No!” She wiped the briny drops from her eyes. “Stop being so wonderful, Sebastian! Stop acting like a gentleman! I can’t take the lies anymore.”
He grabbed her by the shoulders, rankled. “Devil take it, Henry—”
“I know you went to see a doxy while I was away,” she cried. “You haven’t changed one little bit!”
He let her go then, brushed a shaky hand through his unkempt curls. “You’re right. I did go to see a prostitute.”
She shuddered. “You’re not even going to try to deny it?”
“I went to see Madam Jacqueline, you foolish chit!”
Henrietta hiccupped. “The courtesan? But why?”
“Because I needed her advice. I didn’t know how else to get you to trust me.” He sighed. “You’re bloody stubborn, Henry. When are you going to realize that I’m not the same man you stumbled upon in the Hellfire Club?”
Henrietta looked deep into Sebastian’s eyes: warm, even under the ghostly moonlight.
Amid the cold and dead of winter, he breathed and radiated a noble strength…a truth.
He grouched, “And Madam Jacqueline has a message for you.”
Disarmed by the intensity of what she was feeling, Henrietta squeaked, “What is it?”
He growled, “She wants me to tell you that she’s proud of you for so thoroughly bewitching me.”
For some absurd reason, Henrietta simpered at the words.
“Henry.” Sebastian lifted his hand and traced his forefinger softly across her cheek. “You vixen, I—”
“You son of a bitch!”
Henrietta gasped.
A weak Emerson staggered out of the abbey, eyes burning with an unquenchable hatred for Ravenswood. He snatched the pistol Henrietta had discarded in the snow, lifted it—and aimed it straight at her. “I want you to live with pain, Ravenswood.”
Ravenswood twisted his body around her and roared, “No!”
The shot ripped through the quiet countryside, echoing.
Henrietta screamed.
Ravenswood hit the snow, so still.
“Sebastian!”
On her knees, a tearful Henrietta hovered over the wounded viscount.
The snow was steeped in blood. She could feel the sticky liquid between her gloved fingers. Sebastian had stepped in front of a bullet to shield her. He had saved her life—again!
Frantic, Henrietta patted his body, searching for the wound.
The magistrate appeared, Peter fast on his heels. The men dismounted and quickly tackled Emerson to the ground, confiscating the weapon.
But it was too late to help Sebastian.
Cheeks stained with tears, Henrietta pounded on Sebastian’s chest. “Wake up!”
But Sebastian didn’t move. He wasn’t breathing, either.
A tremendous grief swallowed her heart and spirit then. A boundless misery that sucked her into a chasm of darkness.
She crumpled on top of Sebastian and let out a sorrowful sob, wanting to die right there beside him. He had changed his wicked ways for her. He had told her so himself, but she hadn’t believed him.
The guilt nestled in her throat. It was bitter to taste. She was going to suffer for her stubbornness. She was going to spend the rest of her days alone—without Sebastian. Oh God!
“I knew you loved me, Henry.”
Henrietta bristled.
Slowly she lifted her head and looked down at Sebastian.
Even through her tears and jarring hiccups, the fuzzy smile across his sensuous lips was easy to see.
“Why you miserable”—she struck him—“wretched”—she struck him again—“rogue! Did you just play dead?”
Sebastian grabbed her and hoisted her until she was straddled across his lap.
“Tell me you love me, Henry.”
“I would rather eat worms!”
He grabbed her cheeks and yanked her to his lips—or a hair’s breadth away. Oh, sweet heaven, it felt so good to be this close to him again!
“Tell me you love me, Henry.”
Henrietta inhaled the spicy scent of rosemary and lemon, looked deep into the rogue’s dashing blue eyes—and kissed him. She crushed her lips over his until he couldn’t breathe.
“I love you,” she whispered. And kissed him again. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”
Sebastian chuckled between kisses and gave her a tight hug. “I love you, too, Henry. I don’t know when it sneaked up on me, the sentiment, but I think I’ve loved you for a long time…And I always will.”
Henrietta was weeping again. But for a whole other reason. The fear in her heart was gone. She trusted Sebastian. She loved Sebastian. Really loved him. For years she had nursed a girlhood fantasy. She had been smitten with a dream. But now she knew Sebastian’s true nature…and it was more wonderful than she had imagined. He wasn’t perfect—neither was she—but he was her imperfect hero. And she loved every bit of him.
“Uh-um.”
“What the devil do you want, Peter,” growled Sebastian. “Can’t you see I’m engaged at the moment?”
“Yes, well, I was going to offer to dress that wound in your arm, but if you’d rather bleed to death…?”
Henrietta gasped. “Your wound!”
She quickly groped along his arm and fingered the thick moisture, oozing.
“It’s nothing,” said Sebastian. “A mere graze.”
“Still.” Henrietta struggled to get off his lap. “We have to get you to a doctor.”
But the mulish man wouldn’t let her go. “Do we have to go? I’d rather stay right here with you, Henry.”
“Yes, we have to go!” She staggered to her feet.
With a sigh, Sebastian rolled and stood up, too. He was all covered in snow from their tussle, and looked like a whimsical snow angel.
Henrietta quickly stripped the scarf from her throat to wrap around his injury.
“I see I’m not needed.” Chuckling, Peter returned his attention to the magistrate and Emerson.
“Well, Henry, I suppose there’s only one thing left to do,” said Sebastian.
Henrietta was busy ministering to the viscount’s injury, so she furled her brow and said, “I’ll have the wound stitched up in a second.”
“Not that, Henry.” He took her by the hands and kissed her knuckles. “You still have to consent to be my wife—in every way.”
A brow lifted. “Oh, do I now?”
“Henry,” he growled.
With a wicked smile, Henrietta slipped her arms around Sebastian’s midriff and arched on her tiptoes. “Kiss me and I’ll think about it.”
And he did kiss her: a wild, sensuous, heart-stopping kiss.
As if she’d ever give that up for the res
t of her days.
Epilogue
H enrietta dandled the baby on her knees.
“He has Peter’s nose,” she said, inspecting the infant’s profile. “Don’t you think so, Sebastian?”
The viscount shrugged. “I suppose so.”
Henrietta looked at her husband, sprawled in an armchair, legs stretched and crossed at the ankles. He was like a lazy cat, perusing his surroundings.
“Something else on your mind, my lord?”
He grinned at the appellation, a term of endearment now. “I’m just admiring the sight of you, my lady.”
Henrietta snorted.
She lifted the baby to her lips and kissed him on the nose. “What a rogue your uncle Seb is. How shall we punish him, Frederick?”
Frederick gurgled in his aunt Henry’s arms.
“Lock him out of the bedroom, you say?” She grinned. “What a wonderful idea.”
Sebastian chuckled.
Peter sauntered into the room just then, and beamed to see his son. “How is the dear boy?”
Henrietta handed the fussing babe over to his papa. “A darling, Peter. As ever.”
The proud father settled into the settee and propped the infant across his chest. “He is a dear, isn’t he? Handsome, too. Although I think he has your nose, Seb.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes.
Henrietta fell back in her chair with mirth. It was such a warm family gathering. She was so very happy for her sister and Peter. Little Frederick was a much sought-after addition to the family.
Henrietta sighed, content with the idle autumn day. The family had gathered again at Baron Ashby’s country home. Poor Papa had been very sorry to see the last of his offspring marry and leave the nest. But Henrietta had kept her promise to visit often. The whole family had made the same vow, much to the baroness’s displeasure. Mama was not one to suffer a house filled with noisy children. But for the sake of the baron’s good cheer, Mama reluctantly endured the reunions.
Henrietta nestled in her chair and gazed at her husband with love. How she adored the man! It filled her heart with such joy, being with him, her reformed rogue.
The dastardly Emerson had been exiled to Australia. His father, the Earl of Ormsby, happened to wield enough clout to spare his wretched son from the gallows. Even though the earl did not get along with his son, he couldn’t let the villain hang. Blood was blood. Or so Henrietta had heard. She did not trouble herself with such details. Life in a penal colony was a much more fitting form of punishment, she was sure. All she really cared about was her family—and her darling husband.
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