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.”
Irina 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.
She would have to deter him and somehow explain her presence here on someone else’s private property, along with the nature of the secret course belonging to the Earl of Langlevit, no less. Gritting her teeth, Irina made to move toward him when a large wet hand reached around to cover her mouth. It startled a surprised, though muffled, squeak from her.
“Shhh,” Henry whispered into her ear, drawing her out of sight behind a large oak tree just as Max appeared on his horse at the top of the path. “Be still.”
Sandwiched between the large tree and the equally large man at her back, Irina obeyed, her heart thumping in her chest as Max frowned, his eyes canvassing the area. He took in the start of Henry’s course before his curious gaze moved back to the waterfall. Irritation surged once more at the fact that he had followed her. Trembling with suppressed fury, her fingers gripped the rough bark of the oak. Max stood there for some time and called her name again. To her horror, he dismounted and started walking down the path. It wouldn’t take much for them to be discovered.
Irina stiffened, and Henry’s thumb stroked across her chin in a quiet attempt to calm her rattled nerves. Her breathing eased somewhat as Max halted a stone’s throw away, his eyes studying the waterfall and then the pool. Irina noted sourly that he didn’t seem to mind the mud too much. What a little liar! With a shake of his head, Max headed back toward his horse, and within moments, was gone. Neither she nor Henry moved for a long minute, in case Max decided to circle back.
A slight cramp in her leg made her wriggle, and she heard Henry’s sharp inhalation as her hips rocked into his. She was getting quite adept at freezing mid-motion, but this time, everything inside her body went feral even as she went completely still. Her blood simmered like a wild thing, her heartbeat trebled its pace, and her breath rattled in her lungs.
She was alone.
Pressed against a tree.
With a naked man glued to her back.
Henry’s hand released her chin and dropped to rest across her collarbone, his fingers stroking lazily across her throat. Without a word, he drew her against him. Irina sucked in a soft gasp, realizing the dampness from his nude body had seeped into her own clothing. He was so warm she’d noticed none of it. Her breath came in shallow agonizing pants as his hand wandered down the front of her, skimming over her breasts to her stomach and back up. He still hadn’t said a word, even though she was quite sure that Max had gone.
Mesmerized by the sensual stroking of his fingers along each of her ribs that left rivers of warmth in their wake, Irina remained silent. After a moment, she felt his warm breath on her neck and then his lips, planting sweet touches along the crest of her nape. Climbing up the sensitive column of her neck, he sucked her earlobe into his mouth. She nearly collapsed. Heat shivered through her in molten waves while his mouth continued to explore her skin and his hand drifted upward.
Cupping her jaw, Henry tilted her chin up and took her lips in so gentle a kiss that it made her want to swoon with the tenderness of it. He teased the seam of her lips with his tongue before delving inside to stroke against hers. The kiss turned carnal, and he groaned low in his throat. Arching her neck, Irina attempted to twist her body around, but he kept her firmly still, with her back to him.
Henry was hard everywhere. She squirmed against his uncompromising frame, and he laughed quietly, one of his hands falling to her hip. “Stop moving, sweet,” he whispered, his tongue shifting to trace the outline of her ear, making her daft. “Or you’ll unman me.”
Freezing once more, she felt heat rush into her body at the insistent prod of him against the seat of her breeches. She’d forgotten he was naked. And that was his…oh God. Irina sucked in a shuddering breath. She was innocent, but she was not naive. Max had never been scandalous enough to deluge her with details of what happened between lovers, but she’d heard enough salacious talk to discern what the bulge pressing into the base of her spine meant. The hot, hard length of him made her blood thicken to molasses in her veins and her toes curl in her riding boots.
Her thighs went weak. Good heavens, there was nothing soft about him. Henry’s hands roved over her body restlessly as his mouth claimed hers once more. Lost in sensation, she opened for him, relishing his taste and the seductive feel of his tongue rubbing against hers. Once more, she made to turn in his arms, but he held her still. “No, I like you like this.” His voice was like rough velvet across her rapidly fraying nerves.
Irina gasped as his hand slipped inside the neckline of her coat and under the cotton chemise within. He rolled an aching nipple between his fingers and then shifted his attention to the other breast. Sharp bolts of liquid fire shot from their tips to the center of her hips, making her moan his name into his mouth.
“Henry, please,” she said, not knowing what she was asking for.
But he seemed to, and obliged with a muffled growl as he nipped and suckled at her throat. His hand slid down the front of the coat, undoing her buttons as he went, until it gaped open. Both his hands reached beneath her chemise to cup and knead her breasts as she lolled back against him in senseless abandon, lost to the storm he was inciting inside her. With deft fingers, he skimmed down her torso, his warm hands exploring the waistband of her breeches.
“Laces,” she murmured as his fingers fumbled in search of a clasp. Good Lord. She couldn’t believe she’d just instructed him on how to loosen her clothing. But if his touch felt anything like it had when he’d undone her coat, she wasn’t about to complain.
The laces unsnapped loop by loop, each flick of the leather cord making her pulse leap in reckless anticipation, until she felt the waistband loosen and Henry’s large hand inch its way downward past her silk drawers. Irina held her breath as he pressed his palm against the very core of her. Moaning, she writhed against his hand, wanting him to touch her more but unable to articulate exactly what it was she wanted. Everything ached at the point where his palm met her body.
“God, Irina, you’re so warm,” he whispered into her ear. One teasing finger slid past the slit in her drawers, threading through the soft curls there. Irina arched back against him in bewilderment. “Relax,” he coaxed, scraping his teeth along her neck. “Let me touch you.”
Words failed her as his fingers began to stroke through her sleek, damp center, causing white-hot sensations to streak through her limbs and into her belly.
“Oh—oh.”
Suddenly, Irina couldn’t focus a single coherent thought in her head—her brain had become as utterly pliant and useless as her body was in his hands. Those clever, devious hands that were doing things that could not be decent. A decadent shiver took her unawares, and she gasped. She didn’t want decent.
“You feel like silk,” he murmured, trailing scorching kisses along her jaw. “Hot, wet silk.”
His words seduced almost as much as his fingers did. Irina’s mouth fell open on a shattered exhale as pressure began to build with each glide of his finger against her. She moaned in deliciously shocked surprise as Henry strummed her body like a virtuoso. He plucked and stroked and circled her flesh, making her mad with desire, while his mouth continued its lush sampling of her sensitive nape.
Irina knew she should have been frightened. She was alone in the woods with a man…his hands caressing places that had never been touched. But she also knew Henry would never hurt her. Alone with him at last, she wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t wary. She felt bold, wanton. Like a free-spirited Greek nymph.
Pleasure built in lavish surges within her as his fingers and mouth coaxed unbelievable sensations from deep inside. He groaned when she arched backward and tilted her neck, a sigh rising in her throat. Was he enjoying this as much as she was? Was she wrong to crave his touch so shamelessly?
Whimpering softly, Irina tipped her chin up and sought his lips. His tongue mimicked the motion of his wicked fingers below. Pleasure ebbed and flowed in surges as her hips rocked against his hand.
“Henry—”
“It’s yours, just reach for it,” he told her and took her lips again, his clever fingers quickening their pace.
Her thoughts turned to nonsense. With a soft cry, she felt her body tightening until she could hardly bear it, and then she shuddered against him as violent waves of pleasure rocked through her. When the inner storm finally subsided, her brain felt numb and her sated body boneless.
Never had Irina felt anything so stirring…so soul shattering.
So unbelievably wicked.
Weak-kneed, she sagged backward into the spooning arch of his body. Supporting her weight, Henry removed his hand from the damp crux of her, still cupping her intimately as she collapsed against him, her breath coming in short, strained pants. She wanted to laugh at the shocking pleasure of it. She wanted to weep with how tender he’d been.
Neither of them spoke as Henry finally turned her to face him, his patient fingers re-lacing her breeches and buttoning her coat. Irina felt herself coloring fiercely. Only now she truly understood the meaning of carnal pleasure. She had just been the willing recipient of it.
Embarrassment filled her in a blazing rush at how wanton and pliable she’d been in Henry’s arms. She had let him touch the most intimate part of her, and worst of all, she’d enjoyed every blissful minute of it. Irina dared a look up at Henry through her lashes and felt the warm satiety depart her body. This time a whole other unpleasant emotion gripped Irina, something that matched the brooding, furious expression on Henry’s face. Confusion swiftly followed, and once more, she became fixed in place. He stared at her as if she’d grown a pair of horns, when he’d been the one to incite the devil in the first place.
She’d done nothing wrong. Had she?