Chapter Sixteen
A siren in lavender silk leaned against the billiards table, tempting him beyond reason. Irina’s gaze hinged on Henry’s as he approached. One shoulder of that beguilingly sinful dress had slipped, exposing her skin, and as he raked her over with his eyes, he noticed she wore no slippers. Something about her bare feet, those elegant, perfect toes buried in the plush carpet, drove an instant possessive need into him. A need to bare every inch of supple flesh to his greedy gaze. A need to take her. Claim her. To make her his and his alone. From the way his siren was looking at him, her lips parted and her eyes heavy with longing, he knew she would welcome it. She wanted him just as much as he did her.
Irina’s nipples strained through the thin fabric of her dress, and Henry touched them, his thumbs rubbing rough circles as he kneaded her breasts. She threw her head back and moaned as he dragged the top of her bodice down. Her breasts came free, spilling into view, and then Henry’s hands and mouth were on them. His tongue swirled the hard peak of one nipple while pinching the tip of the other, and Irina cried out his name. He didn’t care if anyone heard.
There were voices then, muffled and murmuring, but he could not stop. Let them watch. Henry felt himself bulging against the constraints of his trousers, so hard and swollen he could barely breathe. His desire was a wild, bucking thing, trapped and in anguish, thrashing for release.
He felt her hot breath against his ear as her hand grasped and stroked his length, only heightening the sweet torment. Henry lifted her upon the table and pushed her back until she was fully reclined on the red felt. Her dress was gone now, her naked form writhing beneath him, her legs parting in eager welcome. He climbed onto the table and kneed her thighs farther apart. He would not be gentle. He couldn’t be. She screamed her pleasure as he drove into her, thrusting hard and deep and fast, again and again, marking her as his own as his seed rushed into her.
Henry moaned his satisfaction and opened his eyes. He was not atop the billiards table. He was not atop Irina.
He was alone. Staring at his bedchamber ceiling. In his bed. And his smalls were wet, plastered to his thighs. Henry swore under his breath as he realized it had been a dream. A blissfully erotic dream that had been so real, he’d spent himself in his sleep.
Hell.
He lay still for a few moments, his heart thundering back to its normal rhythm, and felt a rapid hollowing sensation in his chest. Not because he had only bedded Irina in a dream, but because she was not truly there, at his side. It had been years since he’d allowed a woman to spend the night through in his bed, what with the constant threat of his body becoming a weapon during one of his night terrors. But for the first time, Henry wondered what it might be like to wake to the sight of her. He pictured her sable hair spread out in waves across his pillows, her violet eyes sleepy in the early morning sunshine. She’d sleep in the nude, he imagined, his sheets a flimsy covering, barely veiling her nipples. He would greet them first, nipping them with his teeth through the linen and then pulling the sheet low to expose the rest of her, his mouth traveling down her bare stomach to the dark curls below.
Henry opened his eyes again and felt once more the sticky cling of his smalls. He could not lie in bed fantasizing about Irina all day, and he wanted to get up and cleaned before Marbury knocked upon the door and let himself in for Henry’s morning ablutions.
He tore off his smalls, washed himself, and found a clean, ironed and starched pair in his dressing room moments before his valet arrived. Still grappling with the disturbing remnants of his dream and his surprisingly undisciplined climax, Henry dressed, and after, Marbury performed his usual morning shave and trimmed his hair. He frowned.
He hadn’t been with anyone but Françoise since Hyde Park. Since the first time he had left for Essex…when Irina had raced him, and when she had coaxed him out of one of his episodes. That had been weeks ago. Sweet Christ, it was no wonder he’d spent himself.
Heading downstairs and walking past his own billiards room, Henry felt an immediate visceral twitch in his groin and suppressed a groan. He would be ruined for billiards forever. Tugging on his suddenly too-tight cravat, he headed for his study. Henry knew what would put Irina Volkonsky firmly out of his mind, and that was an in-depth and thorough analysis of his tenant ledgers. He was meeting Lord Northridge for a local horse auction at the breeder stables in the neighboring village of Horton, which gave him two uninterrupted hours.
Once ensconced behind his desk, however, Henry could not concentrate, though not for lack of trying. After an hour of staring at the same columns and raking through his hair a thousand times, he rose and called for Carlton.
“Where is the countess?”
“In the music room, my lord,” Carlton answered.
Henry found his mother sitting at the pianoforte. He recognized the lilting strains of Haydn’s sonata in E-flat major, her favorite of his musical compositions. The sound of it immediately drew him back to his childhood. Dismissing the waiting maids and without alerting her to his presence, he sat in the armchair directly behind her and closed his eyes. It was exactly what he needed. Though her health had been declining, her skill had not. Her fingers danced over the keys as she played the second movement, the melancholy notes delving into his soul.
When she finished, he gave her a standing ovation. “You continue to astound me with your talent, Mother dear.”
She blushed from his praise. “Henry! I did not see you come in.”
“Will you play another piece?” he asked.
“Which would you like?”
He swallowed. “Beethoven, number five, the adagio.”
His mother slid him an arch glance, and he kept his face composed. It was arguably one of Beethoven’s most romantic pieces. As she began the first few bars, he closed his eyes in bliss. The music flowed over him, doing what nothing else could. He’d first heard it in Vienna, amidst reports that the composer had written it hiding in his brother’s home there while under attack from Napoleon. It astounded him that such beauty could be created in the midst of so much horror.
“Thank you,” Henry said when she finished, standing and walking over to kiss her on the brow. “I’ll leave you to it.”
His mother cleared her throat and shifted on the bench to face him, reaching for his hands. “Henry, I’m glad you are here. I did want to speak with you about Lady Carmichael.”
“Rose?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. “I thought you approved?”
“Of course I do. Her mother is my best friend, after all, and I know why you have chosen her,” she said. “She will no doubt make an excellent wife. And dear William…I should be happy to have him as a grandson, and she will no doubt procure you an heir.”
“Then what is your concern?”
“You do not love her.” The brief, bold statement threw him. He blinked his surprise as she went on. “There is friendship between you, certainly, and caring, but beyond that there is no passion. No love.” Lady Langlevit pressed his hands between hers, and Henry couldn’t help noticing how like parchment her skin had become. He perched on the bench beside her.
“It is my duty to marry, not pursue such frivolous notions.”
“There is more to life than duty, and it saddens me to think you view it as such.” She lifted a veined palm to stroke his cheek. “Oh, my darling boy, you’ve seen so much pain. If only you could leave the past where it belongs and allow yourself the chance to truly live. Happiness is right in front of you—you only need to open your eyes and reach for it.”
Henry stood stock-still. Had all the women in his life suddenly gone mad?
First Rose, then Irina, and now, his own mother.
“I am happy,” he insisted, standing. Forcing a smile to his face and quelling his irritation, Henry kissed her hands and called for the maids waiting beyond the door. “Now you must excuse me, I have an engagement. I’ll see you later. I will be dining at the residence tonight.”
He felt her eyes on him as he left the room, but thankfully she did not press the issue.
“Carlton, have one of the stableboys ready my horse at once,” he said to the butler, tugging on the riding gloves and jacket that Marbury had brought downstairs. “The black.”
Carlton bowed. “Of course, my lord.”
It wasn’t long before North rode up the driveway, and Henry joined him, pulling himself up onto the sleek, prancing four-year-old Orlov, a gift from the Russian tsar after Count Volkonsky’s arrest. The stallion seemed restless, too, but Henry kept him under firm rein as they rode toward the lane. Cerus was temperamental at the best of times.
As the fresh country breeze hit his face, Henry felt his muscles relax. It was good to get out of the house. “How is Lady Northridge?” he asked. “Not too tired, I hope.”
North shook his head, his big gray Andalusian easily keeping pace with Cerus, and grinned. “She is fine, but has yet to awaken.”
“Last evening was entertaining,” North commented a few moments later. “Remi was in fine form.”
“If you call that form,” Henry said, recalling the man’s tryst with one of Hawk’s servants with distaste. “How much do you know of him?”
“Not much, other than he was a childhood family friend of theirs. A distant cousin. Lana mentioned something about his father being particularly exacting when he was a young boy. He spent considerable time at Volkonsky Palace in his younger years before he ran away.”
“Ran away?”
“To Moscow, I believe,” North said, his brow crinkling as he tried to remember details.
Henry hesitated, wondering how to delicately ask the question about the man’s proclivities, but in the end he didn’t have to ask at all. North explained.
“Something about a flagrant affair with a well-known prince. Apparently Count Remisov did not approve of his son fraternizing with other men.”
Henry frowned. “Remisov, did you say?”
“His family name. Maxim Remisov.”
That might explain why Henry’s colleagues hadn’t been able to find any information on a Lord Max Remi from St. Petersburg, despite what seemed like an obvious similarity in the names.
North continued. “He and Irina reconnected in Paris.” He pursed his lips. “Irina is headstrong enough as it is without any of his encouragement. My wife is not happy with his influence.”
Neither am I, Henry thought grimly. “I find him offensive,” he said.
North nodded his agreement. “What’s not to like? He’s young, arrogant, and angry. Much like we were at his age.”
“I suffered wounds from a hellish war. You had an illegitimate daughter. Exactly what does our entitled young lord have to be angry about?”
“Being disowned would be enough to make me damned angry.”
Henry’s brain came to a reeling stop and then churned back into motion. He chewed on that tidbit of information. Lord Remisov had been disowned? Had the young lord now latched on to a young and wealthy patron? That would be the obvious answer. But Irina had said that Max had wealth of his own. Henry trusted his instincts, but perhaps he was being too presumptuous because he simply disliked the man. He was well aware that his judgment became muddled when it came to Irina.
As the road widened they increased their pace, making further conversation impossible, and arrived in Horton in less than an hour. Henry wasn’t particularly looking to add new stock to his stables, but he’d agreed to accompany North, who was interested in purchasing a mare or two. Dismounting, they tethered their mounts to a nearby fence post.
The bidding got underway after the men had had a chance to inspect the stock on display, as well as two pregnant mares due to foal with sires from an excellent pedigree. While North was busy, Henry ran his hands along the glossy reddish brown flanks of a young gelding as the horse nuzzled into his shoulder. He’d always loved the graceful, magnificent animals.
“You’re a beauty, aren’t you?” he whispered, stroking its nose. The thought that Irina would love the horse flicked into his brain. It would be a nice gesture.
In friendship.
Without thinking twice, he nodded to the nearby stableman. “Tell your master to have this one delivered to Hartstone.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Easy!” The shouted command caught his attention. A large stallion was rearing upward in a nearby riding paddock. A gentleman with a crop held on to the reins as he brought the horse roughly under control. Henry flinched as the crop whistled across the beast’s side. He had no love for the crop or for striking defenseless animals. The man struck the horse again, and Henry had the distinct desire to split the offending crop in two. As the horse made the turn, he recognized the rider with a sour start—the very object of his ill humor.
“I’ll take both Arabians,” Lord Remi announced loudly. “This one only needs some discipline.”
Henry remained out of sight, unwilling to enter into any conversation with the young lord. He’d had enough of it the night before, and already, his first impulse was to put the odious man right on his arse. Henry’s eyes narrowed at the two gorgeous steeds he had purchased. They would not be cheap, which confirmed what Irina had said: Remi did not seem to suffer from a lack of funds.
So, he was not a fortune hunter.
Shaking his head, Henry walked back to where North was concluding his dealings. Max Remi might be a pompous prick, but that did not mean he was deserving of mistrust. Henry was uncomfortably aware that what he was feeling might also be jealousy, and jealousy had a way of twisting even the most innocent of things.
…
Irina strolled beside Lady Langlevit’s Bath chair as it was pushed along the brick path in Hartstone’s lavish gardens. The countess was wrapped in a woolen blanket against the light evening chill of the air. Irina could not believe how quickly she’d gone from standing on her own to being pushed around in a chair meant for the invalid. She’d insisted on walking at the start of their excursion, with her maid and a footman following discreetly behind with the chair, and after a short time, she became out of breath.
“Sadly, I am not as young as I once was, my dear,” she said apologetically to Irina as the maid settled her into the wheeled conveyance.
“You only need rest, my lady,” Irina replied.
“How is Lady Northridge faring?” the countess asked.
“Well. She and the babe are both fine. Like you, she tries to do too much and ends up overexerting herself.”
“The curse of the strong woman,” Lady Langlevit said. “We refuse to accept help until it is thrust upon us.” She slid Irina an assessing glance. “I suspect you are still much the same. That hasn’t changed from when you were a girl.”
Irina smiled. “I do like to do things on my own, but sometimes help is necessary.”
“Yes, it is.”
Irina had the sneaking suspicion she was no longer speaking of herself, but the moment passed as the countess stopped to smell some of the brilliant tea roses blooming in the rose garden. They were at the entrance to a massive hedged maze where a beautiful fountain with carved nymphs stood. A nostalgic smile graced Lady Langlevit’s lips.
“When Henry was a boy he would hide for hours in there, calling out for me to find him.” She paused. “Have you been to the center?” Irina shook her head. Like riding in a carriage, enclosed spaces made her nervous.
She’d been walking along a garden path alone that day so many years ago when her uncle and Victor Zakorov’s hired thug had grabbed her, clapping a hand over her mouth and running through the paths, forcing her into a nearby waiting carriage. Irina could not abide the twists and turns of garden paths or labyrinth-like mazes now. She preferred the open gardens where she could see her surroundings.
“There is a lovely greenhouse at its heart,” Lady Langlevit was saying. “My Edward built it for me before Henry was born. It is sad to say that seeing it now pains me considerably.”
“I am sorry.”
“Do not be,” the countess said, patting her arm. “It is a happy kind of sad. The memories will always be tucked away in my heart. He was the only man I ever loved, my Edward. Henry is very much like him.”
“What was he like?” Irina asked.
“Edward?”
Irina flushed. “Henry. As a boy.”
The countess motioned for Irina to sit on a nearby stone bench beside a fountain. “He was a mischievous lad. Clever, too. Always thinking up pranks. He and John would get into the most ridiculous scrapes, with poor little Rose looking on and trying her best to defend them from Edward’s wrath.” She laughed at a memory and pointed at a nearby towering tree. “They used to torture her dreadfully, sending her up into that oak once to save an invisible kitten while they made mewing noises from behind the fountain.”
“Telling stories again?” a deep voice asked. It sent a throb through Irina’s bones. Henry strode toward them, looking incredibly handsome. His bronzed cheeks were flushed with healthy color, and his sandy blond hair was windblown. “Your Highness,” he said with a short bow. “I hope you have been having a pleasant visit. I am sure my mother is glad for your company.”
“Yes, thank you, my lord,” Irina murmured.
“No stories, just the truth,” Lady Langlevit said as he bent to kiss her head with a fond smile. Irina once more marveled at the obvious affection between them. “As naughty as Henry was, he was always the joy of my life.”
Henry’s mouth twisted into a smirk. “Turning me into a martyr already, Mother?” He glanced at Irina. “Don’t believe a word she says. I was a handful.”
“Did your auction go well, dear?” Lady Langlevit asked.
“I bought one horse, a gelding,” he said, propping a booted foot to a second stone bench a few feet away from where they sat. His gaze moved back to Irina. “When it is delivered, perhaps you’d like to have a look at it.”
Irina frowned. Why would he ask her to look at a horse? Unless it was intended for a female rider…for his fiancée, in fact. Suppressing the brisk twinge of an unsettling emotion, she nodded. “Of course.”
“And perhaps you will honor me with another race?” he added in a teasing voice, and her eyes shot to his. “Since you were confident in your winning of the last, I deserve a chance to soothe my sore pride.”
Once more, Irina inclined her head in gracious agreement. “As you wish.”
Henry did not seem as broodingly preoccupied as he usually was and his lightness of spirit was surprising, but perhaps he was taking her request of friendship seriously. It chafed and mollified at the same time.
“You should show the princess the greenhouse one day, Henry,” Lady Langlevit was saying. “She would love it.”
“Perhaps,” he said in a noncommittal tone. “How are you feeling, Mother? Better?”
“I am lovely, thank you.” She smiled fondly at the two of them. “Being in the company of two of my favorite people is wonderful. But as much as I would love to tarry, I’m mortified to admit that the good country air has made me quite famished. Cook should have a lovely tea ready.”
“Very well, then, shall we?” Henry stood, extending his arm to Irina as the footman turned Lady Langlevit’s chair around. Irina accepted, ignoring the little jolt that raced up her gloved hand through the wool of his jacket. It was exceedingly odd how his touch, even through so many barriers of clothing, had such a visceral effect on her.
Henry slowed his step, Irina noticed, so that they walked a few paces behind his mother, out of hearing but still within sight. “Would you like to see the maze one day?” he asked.
“Not particularly,” she replied softly. “While I love the idea of a whimsical greenhouse at its center, I fear it will be too constricting. I much prefer open spaces. The closed-in hedges would drive me mad.”
Henry faltered in step, staring at her. “I completely agree.”
“I suspect that is why I like your course so much,” she ventured, hoping the friendly interlude between them would continue.
“It impressed me that you completed it,” he said. “Without injury.”
She laughed. “It wasn’t easy in the least,” Irina admitted. “But I found it exhilarating.”
“I find it calming,” he said as they entered the rose garden. “When my body is driven to the point of exhaustion, my mind seems to quiet.”
Irina felt a surge of compassion. “Was it because of the war?”
“In part, and also what happened in the years afterward.” He stumbled over the words, as if they were unfamiliar, or as though he’d never said them aloud before. Irina’s fingers tightened compulsively on his arm, and he stared down at them, an inexpressible look on his face. “It helps to keep the horrors at bay.”
“I am sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” he said with another of those indecipherable looks.
Nearing the stables, they walked on in silence as the green landscaped lawns of the manor came into view. A smile chased away the somberness on his face as he changed the subject. “How is your skill with a pistol?”
She glanced up at him. “Is there anything in particular you’d like shot?”
He laughed and shook his head. “I am only curious as to your prowess.”
“You’ll have to see to find out,” she said, grateful for the shift in conversation.
“Better than your billiards skill?” he asked, and Irina couldn’t help the wash of heat that swamped her cheeks. She had come dangerously close the evening before to throwing her body on said billiards table and offering herself to him for the taking.
She jutted her chin, unable to resist the twinkling challenge in his eyes. Irina had no idea why it was so difficult to refuse his every challenge. They were far too similar in their competitive natures. “What was it you said, my lord? Never divulge my strategy?”
Henry grinned at her, his golden eyes dancing as he stopped to remove a stone from the sole of his boot. Irina kept walking, clasping her hands behind her back. “There’s a winner’s board here at Hartstone,” Henry said from his crouched position. “John and I remain the reigning champions at a hundred paces. Neither of us has ever been bested. Care to try your skill?”
“How old were you when it was made?” she asked over her shoulder.
“Seventeen.”
Irina grinned. “Then I accept your challenge.”
They had almost caught up with Lady Langlevit when a screeching noise from the stables startled a brace of pheasants from a bush. They rushed skyward and flew directly into Irina’s path. She flailed and stumbled backward, catching her heel on the edge of the stone path. Gasping for breath, Irina felt herself falling. This was not going to end well. Henry was too far away to be of any use, and there was nothing nearby she could grab ahold of to stabilize herself.
Preparing herself, the breath was knocked out of her as she collided with a strong male body instead of the unforgiving ground. Somehow he had managed to catch her, breaking her fall with his body. Irina didn’t know that it had hurt any less. Like the flagstone at her feet, Henry was all hard, rigid planes.
Caught in his arms, she stared up at him, her breath sticking in her throat at the solid and warm feel of him. The heat of his body seared her, making her nerves tingle and burn. “How did you get over here so fast?” she gasped.
“I prefer foot racing to horse racing, remember?” he said, righting her to her feet. “Can you stand?”
“Yes,” she murmured, still staring at him in wonder. “I’ve never seen anyone move so quickly.”
“The course has helped me to hone my reflexes,” Henry said.
Irina smoothed her dress as he deposited her to where the countess was waiting. She eyed the two of them, concern in her gaze. “Good heavens, Henry, you should investigate. That sounded rather ominous.” She studied Irina. “Are you well, child? Good thing my boy is quick on his feet.”
“I am quite well, thank you, my lady,” Irina said. “And I am indeed grateful for Lord Langlevit’s timely assistance. Such a fall would have been humiliating. And painful. Thank you, my lord.”
Henry bowed, drawing her gloved knuckles to his lips. The moment drew out between them, and time seemed to slow to an interminable pace as he pressed his lips to the kidskin of her gloves.
“I am ever at your service,” he murmured. “Your Highness.”
Henry’s eyes caught and held hers. The heat from his mouth scorched and branded, and when he kissed her hand, Irina felt the chaste touch to the tips of her toes, as if he had plundered the inside of her mouth instead. It was suddenly difficult for her to draw a single breath. She didn’t know if she imagined him lingering over her hand or not, but he seemed reluctant to release her.
He did, however, and after bowing to his mother, strode away in the direction of the stables.