“Durand should be waiting at the pier,” Remisov said to Crow, passing Irina without noticing anything amiss. “Take our esteemed lordship above deck and send out the signal.”
Durand? Henry tried to place the name, but his focus was still on Irina’s hands. She didn’t seem to still have the knife out, and he released a pent-up breath of relief.
“Remember your promise, Max,” she hissed, her heavy gaze sliding to Remisov, who bent to replace the gag over her mouth. “If he’s harmed, I’ll fight you tooth and nail at every bloody turn.”
Remisov’s eyes glittered at her threat, but he nodded curtly, his lips a thin line. Henry knew he was a loose end. Whoever this Durand was, he would have been paid a handsome sum to get rid of Henry once Irina had done her part. Henry had seen enough deceptions to know Remisov’s intent. His jaw tightened, but he kept his face calm. For Irina’s sake.
With a rough shove, Crow obediently led him out of the cabin. Henry kept his eyes fixed on Irina, who had stopped talking and was instead staring at him when he walked past. There was so much in those violet eyes: dismay, fear, hope, trust. She believed in him. As she sat listening to Remisov and Crow muttering to one another in hushed tones, she looked at Henry as if she knew he would fix everything. That he would save them.
I will.
Even if it meant taking his last breath.
…
At their departure, Irina resumed sawing with a vengeance, the sound of loud voices filtering down through the open cabin door. It still seemed as if she were caught in some unending nightmare. Max had betrayed her. Max, whom she had trusted for years, had rendered her unconscious, shuttled her into a carriage, and gagged her like a trussed-up pig. Not to mention what he’d done to Henry. From what she’d been able to discern during Max’s ranting, Max had delivered a forged letter from Dr. Hargrove, causing Henry to rush frantically from his home and onto a side road, where a band of criminals awaited him.
When she’d reached consciousness inside the carriage, the sight of a bruised and battered Henry had nearly killed her. And every time that huge beast of a man had hit him whenever he stirred, it’d been like a blow to her own skull.
But Henry was strong. He’d come through much worse.
That knowledge had been the only thing that had kept her from falling to pieces for every mile of that excruciating ride. Half asleep from exhaustion—she hadn’t closed her eyes for one second in the carriage for the entire journey—she hadn’t even thought about the tiny knife in her wrist purse until Henry had mentioned it. Not that she could have done anything in the confines of the coach with the female accomplice at her side, watching her every move.
Her fingers ached from the awkward motion of holding the knife, and the ropes burned into the tender skin at her wrist, but after a few minutes, she felt them fraying. Finally cutting free, she removed the filthy gag at her mouth and untied her legs. The cabin was empty, but Irina didn’t know for how long, so she moved quickly, searching for a weapon or anything she could use. She kept up her search as she left the cabin, creeping up to the top deck. There, she saw a few boarding pikes secured in a becket near the mast. They were to deter pirates, she guessed, and she set her jaw grimly as she silently removed one from its mooring. A pike was as good as a sword.
Max’s voice filtered back from the bow. “Quickly now, before we are spotted.”
Staying out of sight, Irina peered over the side and noticed that they hadn’t pulled into port but remained offshore. A tiny rowboat in the distance was leaving the pier. It was occupied by a handful of men and was headed toward them, fighting through the rough water of the harbor. The ship rocked wildly on the churning surface as the tide rolled in, but thankfully Irina had never been prone to motion sickness. Retaining her balance, she inched toward the bow where Henry was being held.
In addition to Henry, she counted four standing with Max, including the giant, Crow. The woman who had been in the carriage was nowhere in sight. Max would have only had a skeleton crew aboard the small vessel—less people to keep quiet about the kidnapping of a peer and a forced marriage to a princess. She and Henry would only have a short time before the rowboat arrived, a quarter of an hour at the most, and for now, the odds were more in their favor.
“Well, hello, lovey,” a voice said into her ear.
Irina didn’t hesitate. She brought the rear of the pike backward in a vicious stab and connected with soft tissue. She turned swiftly to see the missing female clutching her stomach on the deck. Before Irina could silence her, the woman cried out loudly. She cracked the wooden end of the pike against the woman’s temple, and her screaming ceased abruptly. But the damage was done.
Booted feet pounded on the deck behind her. Irina grabbed the pistol that had fallen from the now-unconscious woman’s hand and the rapier tucked into a scabbard at her waistband. Twisting, Irina fired, catching one of the men running toward her in the leg. The other she met at the point of the sword, raking him across the arm and following with a well-placed kick to the groin. He joined his companion moaning on the floor.
The sounds of a scuffle up front reached her as she grabbed the loaded pistols from the fallen men and tucked one into the pocket slit of her riding skirt. Her breath caught in her throat when she reached the bow and took in the scene. Max lay crumpled on one end of the bow while Henry was half-obscured in the meaty arms of the giant. One of Max’s men lay unmoving near where she stood.
“Henry!”
Taking careful aim, with only the guttering lamp and torchlight to see by, she fired at the giant. The bullet struck Crow’s calf, enough to loosen his hold on Henry, who stumbled a few feet away, but it only seemed to make the bigger man more incensed. And Henry was still bound. With a cry, Irina discarded the spent pistol and rushed toward him, using the tip of her sword to cut the ropes at his wrists in the scant second before Crow barreled into him, crashing them both into the side of the ship.
Irina rolled out of the way and sprang to her feet. Removing the second pistol from her pocket, she aimed once more, but their writhing bodies made it difficult for her to get a clear shot. Suddenly, the gun was knocked out of her grip, and she whirled around, fingers on the hilt of her rapier. Max stood there, his own sword raised, watching her with furious eyes.
“You stupid girl,” he seethed, limping toward her. “You nearly ruined everything.”
Irina held her ground, lifting the rapier between them. “No, Max, the burden of that is on you.”
A muscle flexed in his jaw. “You’re going to fight me?”
“I’ve beaten you before.”
Their blades clashed as they met in the air. Max had the advantage of strength and height, but his leg seemed to be injured, which made his gait slower. Within a few strikes and parries, Irina had him cornered. “Yield,” she said.
“You’ve had it so easy, haven’t you?” he spat at her, and she flinched at the look of hate on his face. “The privileged life of a princess with an endless fortune at her fingertips. Don’t you see that everything I’ve ever done has been for you?”
“You did it for yourself,” she said, swallowing the lump of misery forming in her throat.
“Enough,” he snarled. “Drop the sword, or I’ll have Crow snap the earl’s goddamned neck, and then I’ll drag you by your hair below, so help me God.”
Irina suppressed her shout as she turned to see Crow holding Henry like a ragdoll around the neck. She had Max at her mercy, but Henry was at Crow’s. Her arm lowered, the rapier clattering to the deck.
“Come now, Irina, it’s over,” Max said gently, his actions at odds with his words as he wound his hand cruelly in her loosened hair and forced her head forward. “You belong to me. Can’t you see that that man will only ruin you?”
Her gaze slid to where Crow stood. Blood seeped from a wound at Henry’s temple, running into his face, but his burning eyes met hers with f
ierce will, commanding her to remain strong. She hiked her chin. “No, he won’t.”
Releasing her, Max walked toward Crow and Henry, dragging his obviously injured right leg behind him. Irina felt the sudden urge to break it completely. He turned to sneer at her and ripped Henry’s shirt from his shoulders.
“Is this what you truly want?” he hissed. “A man who is nothing more than a dog? Look at him!”
A tortured cry locked in her throat as Crow turned Henry around, the ends of his torn shirt gaping open and falling to his waist. Helpless tears leaked from her eyes as she took in the raw, ragged mess of scars on Henry’s back. Oh sweet God, the evidence of the horror he’d endured made a surge of bile rise into her mouth. Every living part of her ached for the pain he’d suffered.
“Can’t you see?” Max whispered. “He let himself be whipped like a piece of filth, and this is the man you choose?”
Fury replaced the sorrow as Irina straightened her spine. “Those are the scars of a man who fought. Of a man who withstood torture and survived. Can’t you see, Max?”
“Your infatuation makes you blind,” he said. “The earl is a beast. Lady La Valse says he can’t spend a night with anyone for fear of strangling them. Would you want that to be you? Murdered in your sleep?” Max turned to Henry with a scathing sneer. “Your precious lover is so haunted by the demons of his past that he’s become them.”
“We all have those,” Irina replied softly. “Even you, Max. Otherwise, why would you have gone this far? Why would you have broken my trust if it weren’t for your demons?”
She wound her hands in the folds of her dress, and Max smiled, noticing the obvious tell of her frustrated state. “Enough of this,” he snarled to Crow. “Throw him overboard. Let the sea have him.”
“No!” Irina shouted as Crow moved to obey the order.
Delving frantically into her side pocket, she palmed the fruit knife she’d tucked there. The light was weak, and her hands were shaking, but in one swift move she flung the open knife at the giant’s head. And missed. She’d aimed for his eye, but the tip lodged low, beneath his ear—not enough to cause damage, but enough for him to release Henry and pitch backward. Henry didn’t hesitate and used the motion of the boat along with the man’s momentum to toss him over the side. Crow’s body entered the teeming water below with a loud splash.
Irina didn’t move a muscle, though all she wanted was to hurl herself into Henry’s arms. But Max still stood there between them, weapon in hand. With a shout of rage, he lunged at Henry, but Henry ducked, wheeling out of the way. The two men circled each other. Even with the blood coating Henry’s face and the horror of his back, it was clear that they were not evenly matched. Henry was like some sort of savage jungle animal, his muscles bunched and ready, while Max, by contrast, seemed out of his depth. The expression on Henry’s face left Irina in no doubt that he would tear Max to pieces, even though Max was the one who held the sword.
“Max, please. It’s over. It doesn’t have to end like this.”
“You’re right, it doesn’t.” Pausing, Max eyed her and swallowed, his throat bobbing wildly, before he threw himself over the side. Irina rushed to the edge, watching as his head appeared and he swam for the approaching rowboat. Despite his betrayal, she felt relief as he was rescued, pulled to safety by Durand and his men.
Henry wrapped his arms around her from behind. She slumped against him before twisting around to search his face for wounds. “Oh God, Henry, I thought I’d lost you.”
“You’ll never lose me.” His thumb stroked her cheek before his lips covered hers. She couldn’t get enough of him, scraping her fingers against the stubble of his cheeks as his mouth took hers with a driving intensity that left her limp. Irina kissed him back just as fiercely, their mouths grinding together as she dragged his face toward hers, losing herself in the taste and feel of him. She never wanted to let him go. But the sounds of men boarding the ship pushed them apart. She turned to see a man climbing on deck. Henry shoved Irina behind him, eyeing the pistols the man held.
“Whatever Remisov has agreed to pay you, I’ll double it,” Henry growled. He hooked a thumb toward the other rowboats heading toward the ship, likely drawn by the sound of the earlier gunfire. “You don’t have much time to decide. I’m the Earl of Lang—”
The man nodded. “I know who you are. There are people here who will pay a hefty sum of livres for your head.”
This man must have been the one Max had called Durand.
“If you know of me, then you also know what I am capable of,” Henry replied softly. Irina noticed the man lift his chin and then slowly nod in acknowledgment. “But in the interests of everyone here, I’ll double that amount, too.”
Durand was a smuggler of some sort, Irina also realized, and Henry was negotiating in the currency that men like him understood best. “Agreed, then,” Durand said, his eyes lighting at the offer. “Ten thousand.”
Irina gasped at the staggering sum, but Henry did not bat an eye. He removed the signet ring on his finger and handed it to Durand. “Done. Give this to the man I send in exchange for the sum. I will have it delivered within the week.”
“And what of him?” Durand asked, jerking his head to Remisov, who remained restrained in the rowboat.
Henry’s eyes flicked back to Irina’s for a brief moment. She knew her answer was clear in them, and Henry nodded. “Have him cool his heels until you receive the money, then he’s to be released as long as he agrees to remain here in France.” He wrapped one arm around Irina, pulling her close. “One more thing, I will require transport once we dock. And a shirt.”
Durand smiled. “Of course, my lord.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Night was falling by the time Henry had sorted everything out with the harbormaster and secured the carriage, as promised, from Durand. Henry didn’t trust the man, but money was the reigning monarch here, and ten thousand pounds was a paltry sum to pay for Irina’s safety. He’d also made sure to send a message to Lord Bradburne, conveying that both he and the princess were safe and would return to London on the following day. Though it was scandalous that Irina was without a proper chaperone, Hawk knew of his intentions. And soon Irina would, as well.
Henry glanced down at the woman tucked against him in the coach, her eyelids drooping sleepily. Watching her now as she curled trustingly against him was so at odds with the fierce virago who had fended off men double her size on board the cutter. It made him smile. Irina had been magnificent and fearless in the face of overwhelming odds. His heart had stuttered when he’d seen her standing there on the deck, pistol and sword in hand like some kind of avenging pirate warrior. No other woman could have done what she did.
With a soft exhalation, Henry’s fingers brushed the hair out of her face.
“Where are we going?” she asked softly, favoring him with a smile that made his chest feel tight.
“To a country house I own near here in Escalles.”
“Oh.”
His fingers threaded through her hair, and she turned her face into his hand, rubbing her cheek against his palm. “It’s not far, don’t worry. You must be exhausted.”
“I’m well now that I’m with you,” she said, staring up at him.
He kissed her brow, though he wanted to do far more than that at her words and the languid look in those violet eyes. “You’ll have a bath and a meal, and you will feel a hundred times better.”
Despite the late hour, Henry had sent a man from the public stables near the harbor ahead to alert the small resident staff to his imminent arrival. It had been years since he had stayed at the manor, but it had been his home for a long while during his time in France. Henry didn’t know why he hadn’t sold the estate after he’d escaped Paris. Perhaps it was sentimentality. It was here on the coast, tucked away in this tiny little sea village, that he had recovered and found the strength after his
ordeal to return to England. He sucked in a sharp breath as the coach rounded the last hill and the rambling manor came into view. It was not fancy in the least, nor worth a fraction of the cost of some of his other estates, but the sight of it made heat rush to his eyes.
“My Lord Langlevit,” a woman with streaked gray-and-black hair greeted in a warm voice as he stepped out into the courtyard, reaching inside the carriage to assist Irina. “Bienvenue, my lord, welcome home. It has been such a long time.”
“Bonsoir, Madame Renaud,” he said, smiling at his longtime housekeeper and then drawing Irina forward. “This is Princess Irina Volkonsky. She will also be staying with us. Please escort her to a chamber in the guest wing and prepare her a bath.”
Madame Renaud’s eyes widened, and she curtsied. “Your Highness,” she said. “Of course, my lord. Monsieur Renaud will see to it, and Helene can assist Her Highness with her needs.”
She gestured to the tall young woman who had been standing silently beside her. Henry barely recognized Madame Renaud’s daughter, who he knew would now be sixteen. She’d grown at least six inches since he’d seen her last. The young girl bobbed a curtsy, smiling in shy awe at Irina. “I’m ’appy to ’elp you, mademoiselle,” Helene said in a thick French accent.
Smiling reassuringly, he squeezed Irina’s fingers, watching as Helene led her up the stairs. Irina hadn’t said much, but Henry was certain that weariness would undoubtedly be settling in. A hot bath and then a meal was what she needed before a full night’s rest.
By the time he had taken his own bath and changed into clean clothing, the manor was ablaze with light, and a hearty fire burned in the hearth. Monsieur Renaud had seen to the shallow wounds on his face, cleaning them and making sure there was no sign of infection. He was also the man who had tended to the larger ones on Henry’s back years before. The thought of his scars brought with it a curious feeling. Irina had seen them. She had seen the brutal evidence of his shame—that, in fact, he had been whipped like a dog. Though she hadn’t reacted outwardly on the ship, he knew that she’d been affected by them. But Henry didn’t want her pity. He wanted something else from her.
My Hellion, My Heart Page 29