Henry stiffened. “What is it?”
“The first man to steal a kiss—witnessed, willingly surrendered, and not on the cheek—will win the staggering sum of five thousand pounds.”
Willingly surrendered? The whiskey sloshed in Henry’s glass as he lurched up out of his chair. “This is beyond madness,” he growled. “I’d like to set that bloody wager log on fire.”
“I am of a similar mind.”
“Who made the wager?” Henry asked, already imagining the satisfying feel of his hands around the odious man’s throat, whoever he was. These men had no honor. Irina wasn’t some trifling thing to be won. She was an aristocrat for God’s sake, and this kind of betting could put not just her reputation at risk, but her personal safety, as well. He would not stand for it.
“That’s just it,” Thorndale hedged. “It is the real reason I decided to seek you out. The wager was written in by one Lord Remi whom I believe is the princess’s friend. It struck me as odd that he would be the one to encourage such behavior.”
Friend? Henry thought viciously. The crystal glass shattered in his hand. He watched dully as blood welled from a narrow cut.
“Bloody hell, Langlevit,” Thorndale swore, tossing him a cloth napkin from the mantel. “You’ll give yourself a nasty bout of sepsis if you don’t take care of that.”
Henry wrapped the cloth around his hand but ignored the throbbing wound. “It’s of no import. When was the wager penned?”
“This morning.”
Henry’s lips thinned with ill-concealed fury. Max Remi was no friend of Irina’s. He was an opportunist and one out for his own gain with no thought for Irina’s wellbeing. When he saw the cur, he fully intended to put the bastard into the ground. But first he needed to put an end to Irina’s antics once and for all. She would go to Essex for her own safety, and that would be the end of it.
“Stevens,” he barked and tore from the room on the heels of Thorndale. “Ready my horse and send a footman ahead with my card to Lord Dinsmore.” He nodded to his friend who exited to his own waiting coach. “Thank you, Thorn.”
“Go easy on her,” Thorndale said with a tight smile. “It’s not her fault.”
Henry jaw clenched. Though she could not know about the wagers, he felt inexplicably angry with her for being so damned appealing in the first place. He’d watched her for weeks, laughing and flirting and scandalously encouraging the entire male set.
“Of course I will,” Henry bit out. He would never hurt her, but he fully expected to give her ears a blistering about her choice of companions and knowingly endangering herself at every turn.
After Thorndale took his leave, Henry rode like the hounds were after him, his brain agitated with the incendiary combination of drink and emotion. His injured palm stung, but the pain only served to spur him on. By the time he arrived at Bishop House and was escorted into the foyer, he was enumerating all the ways he’d drag Irina bodily back to Essex.
“Lord Langlevit,” Lord Dinsmore boomed, striding to the salon where he waited. To his credit, he passed a blind eye over Henry’s hastily re-knotted cravat and his excessively rumpled appearance. “What a surprise. I just this moment received your card. Is something amiss?”
“No,” Henry said. “I’ve come to speak to Her Highness. It is a matter of some importance.”
He shook his head. “I am sorry, but she decided to continue on to Essex. It seems she wished to visit my daughter-in-law and the countess. She left some hours ago.”
“Essex?” Henry echoed. “Does she travel with Lady Dinsmore?”
Dinsmore shook his head. “Lady Dinsmore required a rest from the carriage up from Peteridge, though we’ll set out in a few days ourselves. I do envy Lady Irina’s wherewithal, riding up north six hours upon horseback!”
He gave a little hop on his heels as if to punctuate his awe.
“She is riding alone?” Henry asked in a deadly voice.
“Of course not!” Lord Dinsmore laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “She’s in the capable hands of that cousin of hers, Lord Remi. No need to worry; he’ll see that she arrives safely.”
Chapter Thirteen
The journey to Essex had been hellishly long, and after a long, warm bath, all Irina wanted to do was sleep. Her backside was still sore from the ride. She did not know what had possessed her to continue on, but she had not wanted to remain in London. She didn’t want to see the inside of another ball or entertain the flirtations of some gentleman who was only out to win a few guineas. Irina corrected herself—far more than a few guineas. She had learned that some of the bets were astronomical. The bloody wagers were starting to take a harsh toll on her emotions.
And then there was Max.
Soon to be her betrothed.
The thought bothered her more than it should. Somewhere and somehow, something had shifted imperceptibly within her. It wasn’t that she did not love Max—she adored him—but the idea of becoming his wife made her feel strangely sad. Perhaps it had to do with what had happened in Peteridge with Henry. Irina had thought she had done an adequate job of distancing herself from him over the past few weeks, but all it took was one unguarded moment, and she was right back where she’d started. Half in love with a man who didn’t believe in love.
Irina inhaled deeply. When he’d spoken of that young girl, she’d seen a side to him she had never imagined. The raw ache in his voice had been unbearable. A man who felt nothing would not have spoken as he had…would not have felt regret or sadness as keenly as he did. She adjusted her earlier statement. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in love, he simply guarded against it. Henry had blocked himself from all feeling, and from any of the vulnerability it could bring. She understood it because she had done the same over the past five years, holding everyone at arm’s length.
Except with Henry, it seemed.
“Sixpence for your thoughts?” Max asked from where he sat beside her in Stanton Park’s exquisitely landscaped rose garden. After her bath, she’d felt too restless to be cooped up inside and had suggested a stroll with Max. The children had all gone on a jaunt to the village with their father, leaving Lana to rest. “You seem quite preoccupied.”
“I am exhausted.”
“No surprise there. Riding several hours on horseback is apt to do that. And on the heels of such heroic actions, too. You really shouldn’t be so gallant next time,” he quipped with a mocking smile. “Everyone was talking about your daring rescue of Lord Langlevit’s runaway horse.” He eyed her, arching an eyebrow. “Though you never did quite tell me the whole story.”
Irina shrugged and kept her face blank. “There’s nothing to tell. I managed to stop his horse. That is all.”
“It’s surprising that Langlevit would lose such control,” he said.
“The stallion was young and untried. It could have happened to anyone.”
“True.” Max shot her a sidelong glance as if he could see right through her lies. He usually did. She smiled brightly at him. “However, you took quite a long time to return,” he added. His insouciance irritated her more than the question.
“What is the problem?” she asked, her smile whittling to a glare. “It seems that you are insinuating that something untoward happened between the earl and me.”
“Did it?”
“No!” She sighed. “It took some time to find and calm the horse, that is all.”
He reached out an arm to her. “Don’t be upset with me, I’m just worried about you where he’s concerned. I don’t like the way he looks at you, the way he’s always watching you, especially when he should be concerned with his own fiancée.”
“Max!”
“Well, it’s true,” he said. “When you started the archery contest, Langlevit couldn’t take his eyes off you. No wonder he lost control of his horse if his attention was attached elsewhere.”
Irin
a pursed her lips, ignoring the quiet rush of delight his words ignited, and rolled her eyes at her friend. “I certainly didn’t take you for the jealous type,” she said dryly.
“I’m not.”
“Then what is this truly about?”
“I think he’s dangerous,” Max began. “Françoise—”
She poked him and feigned a shocked look. “You’re on a first name basis with Lady La Valse? That’s a new development.” Irina shook her head. “You must take every confidence she shares with a grain of salt. Lord Langlevit hasn’t been seen with her for weeks. He’s no longer interested in her charms, it seems, and so it’s no secret that she’s upset. After all, hell hath no fury…”
Max’s gaze hinged to hers. “Like a woman scorned?”
“Exactly.”
“You sound strangely pleased.”
“I’m simply stating the truth.” Irina stood, irritated with the turn of the conversation. She couldn’t give one whit about the Earl of Langlevit’s bedtime partners, though the thought of the voluptuous Lady La Valse in a fit of rejected pique did give her some satisfaction. “If you’re going to be a squawking mother hen all day, I’d rather spend time in Breckenham with the children.”
“No, no, stay,” Max said. “I promise to behave. It’s dreadfully dull here without your company, and I fear I’ll go mad if you leave me to my own devices.”
Irina laughed at his theatrical expression and waved her arm. “How could you find any of this dull? No smog, no smoke, just blue skies and nature’s own beauty.” Irina raised her arms to the sky and twirled. “Smell that clean country air. It’s a gift.”
“I’d much prefer a new pair of shoes,” Max grumbled. “There’s far too much mud in nature if you ask me.”
“Come now, poppet, it’s not all that bad.”
Scowling at her veiled sarcasm, he chucked the head of a rose at her. “I think I will see myself in for a rest, after all. Do we have anything diverting planned for later?” he asked hopefully. “Croquet? Shuttlecock? You know I love anything with that word in it.”
Irina squealed, covering her ears and glancing around. If anyone heard, they would be appalled. “You are shameless.”
“And yet you love me.”
“You are lucky that I do, and yes, there is a dinner planned at Worthington Abbey,” she replied, her lips twitching. “With the Duke and Duchess of Bradburne and some prodigious fellow named Max Remi who has apparently lain all of London at his feet. It should make for scintillating company indeed.”
He stroked his chin and pulled his face into a leer. “Prodigious. So, the country folk have heard of my…substantial endowment.”
“Honestly, is that all you think about?” she asked with a mortified giggle.
“What else is there in life other than the pursuit of carnal pleasure?”
Blushing fiercely, Irina shook her head at him in consternation. He was such a scoundrel. As her humor subsided, she grew pensive. “Max, can I ask you a question?”
“Anything, my dear.”
“Do you ever imagine that one day you’ll fall in love?”
Something dark flashed across his face before it was quickly erased. He twittered under his breath. “What have I always told you? Love is for fools and old men, and luckily, I am neither.”
“I’m being serious.”
“As am I,” he said. “Love is an illusion, a beautiful one while it lasts, but such intrigues always come to an end, and what awaits at that juncture is not enjoyable in the least. At least, not in my experience, which is why I keep all my options open. Carnal pursuits and all that.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I’ve decided that the children’s governess is quite attractive.”
“Profligate!”
“Prodigious profligate,” he said, grinning.
“You are far too jaded for your years.”
Max nodded with a sage look. “There is that, too. Ah, here comes your lovely sister back from her walk to join us.” He bowed as Lana approached and took his leave, winking wickedly at Irina. “I’ll leave you two to catch up while I suss out the kitchen girls.”
“Behave,” Irina said.
Lana looked fetching in a bright yellow muslin dress and far less pale than she had the last time Irina had been at Stanton Park. Irina kissed her on the cheek, and they linked arms. “I’ll walk you back to the house. You look well rested.”
“My darling husband has been an exacting nursemaid of late.”
“Gray is wonderful, and you know it.” Irina defended him with a loyal smile. “How is the babe?”
“Well, I hope.” Lana smoothed her hands over her barely noticeable bump, warmth glinting in her green eyes. “How was London?”
“Fast.” Sighing, Irina leaned her head against her sister’s shoulder as they strolled along the curved flagstone pathways. “Although I did enjoy the weekend at the Duke of Hastings’s estate. I spent some time there with Lady Carmichael.”
Lana’s eyes flicked to hers. “And?”
“She’s lovely,” she said. “You would like her. She reminds me of you in some ways.”
“I’m glad.” Lana interlaced her fingers with hers and squeezed. “Though I’m also sorry. I know how you felt about him. It can’t be easy seeing him promised to someone else.”
“I just want him to be happy.”
“As do we all,” her sister murmured.
They walked in silence for a while, each occupied by their own thoughts. It was the first time that Irina felt she could breathe and just be herself without the pressures placed upon her by her position. Yet for some reason, her blood burned restlessly in her veins. Despite her fatigue, nervous energy looped in coils within her. By the time they reached the entrance to the manor, her fretfulness had only grown. There was only one place she could go…only one place she wanted to go. She seized upon the course at Hartstone. Henry would still be in London, and no one would be the wiser.
“I’m going for a ride,” she announced to Lana as her sister walked inside. “I’m not quite ready to retire.”
Lana sighed in envy. “I do miss riding so.”
“My dear brother-in-law would murder me if I even let you look at a horse,” Irina said. “No, my sweet sister, you need to rest, but I will be sure to enjoy the ride for both of us.”
Running to her bedchamber, anticipation building like a tide in the pit of her stomach, Irina changed quickly into her favorite breeches, ones that laced at the front, and shrugged into the matching riding coat. She was almost breathless by the time she raced back downstairs.
“Where are you going?” Max asked curiously from where he stood near the kitchens, finishing off a fruit tart that he must have gotten off one of the kitchen girls he’d managed to charm.
“Nowhere in particular,” she said as casually as she could manage. The last thing she wanted was Max on her heels, asking questions that she wasn’t prepared to answer, least of all why she felt so compelled to run Lord Langlevit’s course. It was a poor substitute for what she really wanted: to see him.
Bother!
“I’m of half a mind to accompany you,” Max said, licking the crumbs off his fingers.
“There’ll be lots of mud,” she teased with a grin. “Don’t worry, I won’t be long. In the meantime, try not to deflower anyone.”
“I shall make no such promises.”
Hoping that Max wouldn’t take it into his head to follow her out of pure perversity, Irina hurried to the stables and chose the first available horse on hand, a sleek brown mare, and waited impatiently while the stableboy saddled her. She spurred the horse into a gallop, her pent-up frustration only leaving her body when she saw the turrets of Hartstone come into view. She did not go up the winding driveway but galloped past, into the woods instead. The clearing with the barn was easy to find, but Irina decided to tie her horse in a thicket
a little farther along in case any employees from Hartstone had noticed her arrival.
All of her worries seemed to melt away the minute she walked back to the makeshift stable, the sounds of the nearby waterfall muffling her footsteps. Taking her time, she explored the unlocked barn, noticing that it wasn’t a stable at all, but a self-sufficient cottage of sorts. There was a well-made bed in one corner and a table with a stove on top of it. An armchair sat in one corner with a stack of books arranged on a nearby shelf. There was no food in sight, but she didn’t expect there to be with Henry being in Town. Feeling as if she were intruding, Irina slipped from the barn and decided to wander down to the pool before attempting the course.
Whereupon she froze in shocked wonder.
A man stood beneath the waterfall. Not just any man. Henry.
Irina’s breath deserted her body in a wild exit. What was he doing here? He was supposed to be in London. She blinked, wondering if she’d somehow managed to conjure him with her thoughts, but when she opened her eyes, he was still there. Like some kind of mythological river god, he stood with his back toward her, which was mostly obscured by the bubbling flow of water cascading onto his wide shoulders and streaming toward his narrow, muscular hips. The paleness of his lean and scandalously bare posterior in contrast to the rest of him drew her attention, and she flushed deeply. It was suddenly difficult to draw in air. The water blocked enough of him from view, but exposed tantalizing glimpses of bronzed limbs that made her knees feel like rubber.
Sweet Lord, he was naked as the day he was born, and she couldn’t stop staring.
If he turned around, he would see her standing there. And that was something she could not risk. With reluctance, Irina forced her feet to twist and move back in the direction she’d come, but halted once more as a voice filtered through the trees near the path leading to the barn.
“Irina?”
She recognized that voice. Max.
She didn’t dare turn around to see if Henry had heard, but remained frozen like a trapped fox in the hunt as Max called out again. That conniving, sneaky rogue had followed her after all. Irina swallowed her irritation as real fear rose in its wake. If Max caught her with Henry—a naked Henry at that—especially after his earlier misgivings, all hell would break loose.
My Hellion, My Heart Page 16