Too Scandalous to Wed by Alexandra Benedict Page B

Jacqueline.
    And as she opened the book of naughty pictures to a random page, her thoughts turned wily and wicked, as she pondered which of the erotic acts to perform with Sebastian.
    Under waning candle glow, she traced her fingers over the sultry images, daydreaming about Sebastian.
    She had come to admire the sensuous pictures in the book; she didn’t blush to look at them anymore. Each provocative image illustrated a bond of ecstasy between a couple.
    Henrietta longed to know that kind of bliss, to share that kind of intimacy with Sebastian. It was a burning need inside her, to be close with the man she loved.
    She flipped the page again, and paused.
    A romantic illustration seized her imagination: a couple in silhouette, ensconced in a big, comfy chair by a roaring fire. The woman straddled the man, her flimsy night rail rucked up to her waist. Her loose shift exposed a plump breast, too—and the man in the picture looked very eager to taste it.
    It was a titillating image, but also passionate. There was a deep, dark look in the couple’s eyes. Henrietta could feel the intense bond between them. She wanted that same kind of rapport with Sebastian, and she started to feel all warm inside just thinking about it.
    The door burst open.
    Henrietta gasped and slammed the tome closed, shoving it back under her pillow.
    Dazed, she gaped at the entourage pouring into her room: four sisters draped in evening wrappers and curling ribbons in their hair.
    The women quickly circled the bed like a swarm of angry bees.
    Penelope, the eldest of the bunch, stuck her hands on her hips, and said, “Henry, are you having an affair with Ravenswood?”
    Body still hot and tingly from staring at sinful poses, Henrietta struggled to gather her wits and bring her erratic heartbeats under control. Heavens, was she having a nightmare?
    “Out with it, Henry,” said Roselyn. “Don’t idle in bed.”
    “Speak up, Henry,” from Tertia.
    “Yes, Henry, do tell us the truth,” insisted Cordelia.
    Henrietta wanted to plug her ears with her fingers. Drat! How had her sisters spied the subtle courtship? She had been so careful, acting aloof in public and bolder in private.
    Baffled, Henrietta said, “Why do you think I’m having an affair with Ravenswood?”
    Penelope narrowed her dark brown eyes. “I’ve just had a little chat with my husband. Peter believes Ravenswood is smitten with you.”
    Gripped by a profound urge to hop up and down on the bed, Henrietta swallowed her pleasure instead, and said, “Really?”
    A snort from Penelope. “My fool husband thinks it absolutely marvelous that the two of you get married.”
    So did Henrietta. So why the devil didn’t her sisters agree?
    “I don’t understand,” said Henrietta. “Why don’t you like Ravenswood?”
    “We do like him.” Roselyn folded her arms across her chest in an imperious manner. “But we like him as Penelope’s brother-in-law, not your husband!”
    Henrietta was confused, and wondered, “And why would you dis like him as my husband?”
    Tertia sighed. “Oh Lord, listen to the fool girl.”
    “Henry,” said Penelope in reproach, “you must see how inappropriate such a match would be.”
    Inappropriate? That she marry a respectable viscount? The man that she loved? Was her sister mad?
    “I most certainly do not,” said Henrietta.
    “The poor dear.” Cordelia tsked. “She’s lost her wits.”
    “I’ve done no such thing.” Henrietta huffed. “I think you’ve all lost your wits. I’ve loved Ravenswood for years. Why are you scolding me now?”
    “Oh, hush, Henry.” Tertia wagged her finger. “You don’t really love the man. You’re just trapped in a girlhood dream.”
    Henrietta humphed in indignation. “Rot!”
    Roselyn sighed. “Fine, Henry. Then tell us, why do you love Ravenswood?”
    Henrietta could think of a hundred reasons; there were so many memories to draw from. The fall harvest for one. She had been seventeen at the time and very