Chapter Twenty
White’s was teeming with activity, but Henry turned a deaf ear to it. He expected it had everything to do with that damned wager book, which had become the bane of his existence.
Now that he had admitted his feelings to himself where a certain princess was concerned, the copious lists of bets chafed more. The only way he could stop it would be to make an offer of marriage himself, and that he would not do without first speaking with Irina’s guardians or his mother. He’d almost ridden straight to Essex after their brief interlude at the Botanical Gardens, and if it weren’t for the fact that he’d had business to tend to with his solicitor regarding Rose, he would have.
Sipping his whiskey, he exhaled sharply at the memory of Irina and the bemused look of astonishment on her face when he’d hiked her skirts and settled himself between her thighs. Christ, he’d have given anything to lay her down on the grass and finish what he’d started. The taste of her had been scintillating, the sight of her lissome, slim legs even more so. He wanted to behold her in all her natural beauty without a stitch of clothing on…feast his eyes on her with no fear of interruption. Henry could have cheerfully murdered Lady Lyon right then, although her unknowing intrusion had likely been a blessing in disguise. If he and Irina had been discovered in such a scandalous position with his head buried between her thighs in a public garden, the gossip would have been unstoppable.
But good God, the risk had been worth it.
Henry shuffled his cards in restless agitation, his body twitching with immediate lust at the erotic recollection. If the mere thought of her brought him to such a state of readiness and a dream could make him expend himself, he couldn’t begin to imagine what the actual act would bring. Henry smiled to himself as he enumerated all the ways in which he would give her pleasure. Irina would be an eager student. Though she’d been stunned at the intimacy at the waterfall and at Yardley, Henry knew that she would revel in learning everything he had to teach her about her body. And his. Irina took pleasure as he did, without shame or artifice—she luxuriated in it with abandon and enthusiasm.
Henry was looking forward to the task already.
“Smiling because you’re fleecing them all, Langlevit?” the Duke of Bradburne asked as he sat across from him in one of the empty chairs with a knowing grin. “Or because you have other more pleasing affairs on your mind?”
“A bit of both,” Henry replied lazily, glad for the table’s low overhang as he placed his latest bet, carefully watching the faces of his two opponents—two young peacocks he barely knew. He’d chosen the outlying table for that very reason. Henry did not want to converse with anyone, he simply wanted for a quiet diversion.
Playing cards was only a means of passing the time until another of his horses was re-shod for the journey to Essex. His favorite and fastest horse had turned up a stone in his hoof, and Henry did not want to put him through the grueling pace of a trip to the country. And when he’d finished his business with his solicitor, he’d decided to take luncheon at the club and enjoy a few quiet hands of vingt-et-un.
He did not mind the duke joining him now, however. Too much of his own thoughts left him in an engorged state unfit for polite society. “How long are you back in town, Hawk?”
“For the week,” he said.
“And Her Grace, is she with you?”
“No,” Hawk said. “She is still in Essex with the children. Lady Northridge has been committed to bed rest for the remainder of her confinement, and my wife has taken it upon herself to see to her comfort.”
Henry frowned. He’d received no such information as to Lana’s worsening condition, and Irina would have said something or insisted on returning if she’d known.
“It is only a precaution,” Hawk added, as if he could read the worry on his face. “Lady Northridge did not want to needlessly worry her sister.”
After a few minutes of intense play, Henry decided to fold, awarding the winning hand to the duke, who grinned with satisfaction. The two other young gentlemen who had been sitting at the table groaned their disappointment and rose, deciding to try their luck elsewhere. Henry nodded to the dealer to continue, despite it being only Hawk and him remaining.
He glanced up at the duke who seemed intently focused on the new hand he’d been dealt. “Hawk, may I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
Henry cleared his throat, lowering his voice. He knew the dealer would be discreet, but he could not account for other more curious ears around them. “How did you know…that Lady Bradburne was the one? That it was a love match.”
Hawk’s stare met his, a slight crease puckering his brow. “That’s a rather loaded question.”
“Yes, I know.” Henry shrugged in apology. “It is fine if you do not wish to answer.”
“No, you just took me by surprise,” Hawk said, taking a draught from the glass of whiskey at his side. “I suppose I always knew somewhere deep down that she was the one for me. She made me want to change, and no woman had ever done that before. I was quite set in my ways, as you know.” A fond smile settled on his face. “Briannon was…is…a force of nature. She saved me from myself.”
“So it was always love?”
“Not at the start,” Hawk said grinning. “She nearly drove me to madness first. Still does, but I would not have it any other way. Briannon is strong of heart and mind, and she challenges me every single day to be a better man.”
Henry smiled into his own drink. “So, what you’re saying is that finding the right one makes you feel like ripping your hair out at the roots and inspires a deep desire to improve yourself?”
“Exactly.” Hawk arched an eyebrow at his dry tone. “Although I don’t recall Lady Carmichael being of a particularly vexing temperament. She seems rather even-keeled.”
“I’m not referring to Rose,” Henry confessed after a beat. “She decided we didn’t suit, after all.”
“I am sorry to hear it.”
Henry shook his head. “Don’t be. It was a farfetched scheme to solve a ridiculously inconvenient matter of a stipulation on my title.”
“So of whom do you speak?” Hawk asked, humor alight in his eyes. “Or is the young lady’s identity of a delicate nature?”
“Clearly not, especially if it has a wager against it,” Henry muttered, his eyes darting a vicious glower to where even more young men had congregated since his last look around that bloody book.
“Ah, of course.” Hawk nodded, following his stare. “Her Grace did remark that she thought there was something between the two of you at the dinner at Worthington Abbey. Women have a certain intuition with that sort of thing. Might I assume that an announcement is in the works?”
“One that can’t come soon enough,” Henry said with a nod. “I intend to speak with North and Lady Langlevit on my return to Essex this afternoon. Then I plan to chuck that wager book into the fire.”
The duke barked a laugh and leaned in, raising his glass and keeping his voice low. “Then may I be the first to offer my unofficial congratulations to your forthcoming nuptials.”
“Thank you, though the lady and her guardians still have to accept.”
“Lord and Lady Northridge should find no fault with your offer,” Hawk said. “I think Lady Northridge wants those wager sheets destroyed as much as you do. Things have gotten out of hand.” He signaled the dealer for another card. “As far as your Princess Irina, if she’s anything like Briannon, I can only wish you fortitude and forbearance, and an endless supply of patience.”
The devoted look on Hawk’s face was at odds with his words. It was clear that he adored his wife even if he claimed she did try his patience, and it was also clear that Hawk would not have it any other way. Henry thought of the warmth he’d noticed between them, much like the connection he’d seen between North and Lana. Both strong men, North and Hawk had chosen to wed equally strong women, and they seemed more content than they’d ever been.
As much as Henry joked about ripping his hair out, he knew he would not change one thing about Irina, either…not her spirit, her daring, or her spontaneous joie de vivre. He liked her cheeky humor and her intelligent, albeit argumentative, opinions. He especially liked that she did not conform to what society expected of a lady. No such debutante could have run his course and completed it, nor would she have expressed an unabashed desire to do it again.
No, he wanted her exactly as she was. Fearless and unapologetic.
Henry’s eyes fell on a tall newcomer who joined the throng, and the noise rose rapidly upon his arrival. His fingers gripped the snifter as pieces of the conversation reached where they sat.
“We have a new winner!”
“Well done, mate!”
“It still needs to be verified.”
“Christ,” he muttered as Hawk shot him a sympathetic smile over the table. Henry nodded to the factotum to finalize his account. He’d had enough, and clearly, the raucous celebration of whatever new favor Lady Irina had given away was not about to conclude any time soon.
“Why, there’s the man who can verify the wager was met,” a familiar voice drawled, making the air in Henry’s lungs compress into a tight aggravated space. “Sitting right over there. Lord Langlevit, in fact.”
Henry’s eyes narrowed on the approaching horde with Lord Remi at its center. “Verify what?” he growled.
“That Lord Remi escorted Lady Irina into the arbor at Lord and Lady Dinsmore’s soiree,” a young buck said in a bawdy tone, making Henry instantly want to knock the man’s teeth into the back of his throat. “The winnings are one thousand pounds, but we must have proof. A witness must confirm the claim!”
A bloody fortune, Henry thought.
Henry had no intention of willingly besmirching Irina’s reputation by confirming any such intimate tête-à-tête with Remi in the garden. A muscle tensed in his jaw as he set down his cards and folded his murderous hands into his lap. A brawl in the middle of White’s would not be a wise idea, though every nerve in him screamed for such satisfaction.
“I witnessed nothing of the sort,” he said coolly.
Remi’s stare never wavered from his, though a challenging smile played about his lips. “Is that so?” he said. “I seem to recall you finding us in a very compromising position when you announced that Lady Dinsmore was looking for her delectable young charge.”
Henry’s chair scraped back on the carpet, and the noise died down to hushed whispers. He rose, menace fairly rippling off of him. The duke stood as well, dispersing most of the closest spectators with a lethal glance. “I caution you, Lord Remi, to reconsider your words,” Henry said in a deadly quiet voice. “The lady’s honor is in question.”
Remi laughed, unperturbed. “Alas, that was not the bet, otherwise it would be a compromising situation indeed, would it not, Lord Langlevit?” He waved a careless arm as if unconcerned for his own safety. “Luckily the wager was only for a private and delightfully chaste stroll with the lady in the arbor.” He paused. “Which you can confirm, of course, upon your word as a gentleman.”
Henry tensed, every muscle within him itching to lay the arrogant man flat on his dandified back.
“Never you mind,” someone shouted from the rear of the gathering. “Lord Everton saw Lord Remi and Lady Irina enter the arbor from the balcony and can corroborate Lord Remi’s claim. The wager is won.”
The crowd dispersed, but Remi remained standing before Henry, triumph in his eyes for a long moment as tension spiked between the two men. He leaned in, his voice whisper soft. “You don’t know her like I do.”
“You disgrace her,” Henry said through clamped teeth.
Remi smiled. “I’ve never done anything Her Highness did not want done.”
“What do you mean by that?” Henry snapped, his self-control wavering as visions of Remi’s neck in his hands made him see red.
“Like I said, Lord Langlevit, you will never know her like I do.” His smirk widened. “Whose idea do you think all of this was?”
Henry faltered. Was Remi insinuating that Irina had encouraged the wagers? Advocated placement bets on his behalf? His brows slammed together. Never had Henry wanted to give in to his savage inclinations more than he did at that exact moment. His entire body shook as he willed himself under control, his fist clenching and unclenching at his side.
“Easy,” Hawk cautioned from beside him.
“I’m fine,” he ground out.
“I see you’ve taken my meaning,” Remi said, “and if you don’t believe me, ask her. I have nothing to hide, after all, and neither does she. I certainly did not intend to set my cap in a ring.” The young man eyed him with a singular smile. “You are aware of my tastes, after all. I have nothing to gain.”
“You have a fortune to gain.”
“I have more than enough coin at my disposal, my lord.”
“You were cut off from your family,” Henry hissed. “You have no income.”
“But I do have many, many friends.” Remi bowed in a mocking pose before turning on his heel and striding away to collect his winnings.
Ah. He had sponsors. Much like a mistress, Remi was kept by his guarantors in lavish style in return for the favors he performed, Henry realized. Which was why he never seemed to want for money. Or company.
“I must take my leave,” Henry bit out to Bradburne, and he called for his carriage in the same breath. He would not be responsible for his actions if he remained in the room any longer.
The ride to his house was quick, and Henry hoped to God that his horse was ready. The sooner he could put an end to the betting, the better. Even if Irina had been a part of it at the beginning, he knew that she would not have encouraged it now. She was impulsive, certainly, but she was not foolish.
“Stevens,” he barked with impatience as he strode through the entryway, noting the complete lack of noise. “Where the devil is everyone?”
Stevens rushed into the foyer, his normally stoic countenance ruffled. He held a folded piece of parchment on a silver tray. Henry’s eyes narrowed on the note, and his first thought was that it was from Irina. “What is it?”
“It’s from Dr. Hargrove, my lord,” Stevens said. “It arrived not long ago by express delivery.”
Henry snatched the letter. It was about his mother. She’d taken a turn for the worse, and Dr. Hargrove had instructed Henry to leave for Hartstone at once. The strength drained from his limbs, cold fingers taking hold of his heart. “Where’s my horse?”
“Ready and waiting in the mews, my lord.”
Henry did not want to waste a single minute changing into traveling clothes. He strode toward the back of the house and headed for the stables. The young stableboy had his mount saddled out in the front.
“Thank you,” Henry said, hauling himself astride and turning the horse about.
As much as he wanted to race out of London, he kept the pace sedate as he rode along Cranbourn Street leading out of the mews, careful not to trample anyone walking underfoot. Turning onto a far less crowded street toward Charing Cross Road, he came upon a carriage standing clear in the middle of the road. Its owner, a richly dressed lady, seemed to be in dire need of assistance. She was waving madly at him as he approached and placed herself directly into his path.
Henry wanted to lead his horse around. He did not have the time to stop. He did not want to stop, but years of good breeding demanded he do so.
“Please, my lord,” the lady begged. “Can you please help? Our carriage wheel broke, and I fear my daughter’s leg is injured. She fell. She’s only three.”
Cursing beneath his breath, he alighted. “Where is she?”
“Inside, my lord. I am Lady Barnelby. Please, I beg you, help my poor Sadie.”
As he approached the carriage, his irritation mounting by the second, Henry blinked, taking in the woman’s tear-streaked face and her obvious distress. A thick strand of pearls lay at her throat, though her richly embroidered dress seemed threadbare upon closer scrutiny. His gaze dropped to her gloveless hands, noticing the brown sunspots discoloring her skin. They seemed odd and out of place. Other things like her pronunciation of “you” niggled at him.
The street suddenly seemed unnaturally quiet as they stopped at the entryway to the carriage, the door hanging open drunkenly on one hinge. There was no coachman in sight, either. Henry’s entire body tensed as his brain analyzed the details he’d seen, putting them together and coming up with a tableau that did not make sense. Now he understood why the sunspots had bothered him and why she had an accent. They weren’t out of place, but the gown and jewels were.
Because she was no lady.
She was a highwayman.
Instinct alerted him to the movement of a person inside the carriage far larger than that of a small child. Her accomplice, he presumed.
Henry reached into his own jacket pocket for his pistol and gnashed his teeth. He had not bothered to change into his riding clothes. He had not even stopped to retrieve his bloody pistol for the six-hour ride to Essex.
He felt the cold butt of a gun poke into his ribs as the women in distress pressed close to whisper into his ear. “Inside we go, love. Careful, now.”
Henry wasn’t afraid. He could handle one woman and one gun. What he didn’t know was how many accomplices lay in hiding, not counting the large one inside the carriage. His brain calculated the odds of escape and survival as she shoved him toward the side of the coach.
“I don’t want to have to hurt you,” he warned through his teeth.
“Do ye now?”
Henry lunged forward, knocking the gun out of her palm with one stroke and sending it skidding across the dusty road. He had seconds before the hulking person in the carriage came to her assistance. His pulse pounding in his brain, Henry kicked a leg out, catching her in the backs of hers. She went down like a sack of bricks. This was it. His opening to escape.
Out of the corner of his eye, he detected movement. Another assailant? No, it was someone on a horse that looked vaguely familiar. A boy. Squinting, he recognized one of his stableboys from the mews and the leather harness he carried. Along with his pistol. Stevens must have sent him to deliver it.
Henry hesitated, deliberating whether to run toward the boy or into one of the nearby houses for cover as he’d planned to do.
“Get ’im, Crow,” the woman on the ground screamed.
Henry turned to run, but his hesitation cost him dearly as something unforgiving crunched into the side of his head. Pain flowered in angry waves behind his eyes, making him reel and sway. Dully, Henry looked around to see Crow the coachman, an ugly lumbering beast of a man, wielding a wooden log in hand. The log came toward him again, but Henry was far too disoriented to duck.
It caught him square in the skull.
The last thing he saw as his vision ebbed was the boy riding closer. Henry wanted to warn him to stay away, but no words came. And soon, his thoughts disappeared altogether.