Chapter Twenty-Two
The sloshing of water and the sick sensation of his stomach rolling side to side jarred Henry awake. He opened his eyes with effort, half afraid the giant called Crow would, once again, rap him on the skull and make him crash back into unconsciousness. It had happened twice before—or was it three times? He’d lost count since he’d been in that darkened carriage, jolting over endless rough roads. The moment he’d start to wake, Crow would hit him, and the blackness would swallow Henry. Each time, he’d hear a muffled scream, but he couldn’t tell if it was real or in his head.
Only now, as he took in the sight of a ship’s deck and felt the cool, salted air blowing into his face, did he begin to hope that he would be allowed to wake fully. It was dark, with guttering torches and oil lamps strung along the railings. Henry’s skull throbbed, and he was thankful for the lack of bright sunlight. Blinking away the pain, Henry took in the details surrounding him. He was on a small boat, and noting the compact sails above, figured it to be a cutter. Some kind of packet ship meant for quick travel. He’d heard the word Dover murmured once when he’d risen to consciousness, and knew they had to be in the Pas-de-Calais, heading toward France.
There were no other passengers save for him on the deck, and his captors were nowhere in sight, but Henry didn’t doubt they wouldn’t be too far away. His hands were bound behind his back, though the ropes were loose enough for him to possibly work his way out of. He tried, rubbing his wrists forward and back, pulling them apart and grimacing at the spikes of pain in his back and head, and now, wrists. The last time he’d been bound and gagged like this… He closed his eyes and breathed evenly. He could not slip back into that memory, not now. He needed his wits about him, and panic would only serve to turn them to mush.
“Git up,” a voice growled from over his shoulder. Henry opened his eyes and felt the familiar coarse tug of Crow’s hand. He gripped Henry’s arm and yanked him to a standing position. “High tide and rough water tonight. Don’t want you rolling overboard—just yet.”
“What is it you people want?” Henry asked, the rag in his mouth smothering his words. His mouth was parched, and he realized he hadn’t had a sip of water for hours on end.
“Shut it,” Crow warned and with a violent nudge, pushed him toward the mouth of a companionway leading below.
Money. Revenge. Information. These were the only reasons people kidnapped in Henry’s experience. As he stumbled down the narrow flight of wooden steps to below deck, his mind accelerated through every available possibility. Someone knew he’d been a spy for the crown. Someone wanted revenge or information, yet again, on other officers still in the field.
Every single thought, however, came to a roaring standstill when he saw the people in the space below deck. His eyes landed first on Irina, seated in a wooden chair. Her mouth had been gagged, her ankles bound, her wrists tucked behind her back. Beside her stood Lord Remisov, free as a bird and wearing a cocky and rather put-out expression. Crow kicked the back of Henry’s knee, and he slammed onto the floor, his knees digging into the pitted boards. Irina’s scream was muffled by her gag, but it was familiar…and he understood then that the scream he’d been hearing whenever Crow would knock him unconscious in the carriage had been hers.
Henry sprang back up to his feet and paid the price as his vision swam.
“I’d truly hoped to avoid all of this,” Remisov said, though his voice was not its usual, easy cadence, light with sarcasm. It was heavy and acerbic, and it matched his disgruntled expression perfectly.
“Had you remained the beast you were, Langlevit, everything would have gone off without a hitch. Or if I had been able to keep the princess away from you,” he said, shaking his head as he stroked Irina’s tousled hair. She flinched, and Henry lunged forward. Crow’s big hand clapped down onto his shoulder and hauled him back with an easy pull.
“It is always the bad ones that are irresistible, though, isn’t that right, darling?” Remisov went on, his question directed at Irina. She glared at him, her eyes puffy from the tears she’d shed. What had the bastard done to her? Henry strained at the ropes at his wrists and gnashed his teeth against the sour-tasting rag in his mouth.
“You will come to see in time that I’m doing you a service, though of course, at this moment you cannot see it as such,” he went on, still stroking Irina’s hair, come loose from pins and combs here and there. “But he would only break your heart in the end, making all your time and care wasted on him pointless. I’m trying to save you, Irina. When we marry—”
Irina thrashed in her chair, the legs skittering over the floor, and she said something incomprehensible behind her gag.
“Yes, you will,” Remisov said, also gathering she’d shouted an instant refusal. “We’ve already made our pact, and you know as well as I that it is the best decision for both of us. A marriage free from the regular ties that bind it, and the winnings…well, if you decide to give your part to the Bradburne Trust, that is your initiative. I will take my half and leave you be until you can forgive me for what I’m sure you think is a betrayal,” he said with a gesture to their surroundings.
Henry marveled at how insane and delusional the man was. He had kidnapped an English peer and a Russian princess with plans to force Irina into marriage, and he didn’t believe it was actually betrayal? Try as he might to convince Irina—and perhaps even himself—that this was an act of compassion and caring, Henry knew Remisov cared for only one thing: money. The fifty thousand pounds the marriage pot was currently worth, and then Irina’s own inheritance, would set the conniving prick up for life.
Irina started to shout, all of her words muffled, but that didn’t deter her. Remisov glanced to Crow.
“Have the tides cooperated? Are we far enough from port now?”
Crow must have nodded, for Remisov started to remove the gag from Irina’s mouth.
“Say that again, darling. I might be able to understand you now. But I warn you—I have no patience for screaming outside of the bedchamber.”
Once free to speak, Irina instantly turned to Henry. “Are you hurt? Your head—”
He shook his head tightly, receiving a shock of pain, but he was determined not to show it to her. He would be fine and would remain strong. For her. He’d get her out of this situation somehow. He only needed to stay calm and not allow the memories clawing at him to snag hold.
Irina, apparently convinced, whipped her head back to Remisov. “How could you, Max? I trusted you. That was the only reason I even considered marrying you! Our friendship! Not the money.”
“Some of us don’t have the luxury of not caring about the money, my dear princess,” Remisov replied.
“You don’t have to, either, not right away. Your father is in good health still, and that cousin of yours won’t inherit for years and years. Your mother will continue to provide for you at least until—”
“There is no allowance, Irina!” Remisov shouted, and Henry saw Irina jump. “None. There hasn’t been, not ever.”
She blinked her surprise up at him. “But then, how have you…”
Irina stopped speaking as understanding dawned in her eyes. Henry knew she had pieced the answers together, just as he had. The expensive heirlooms Remisov had stolen before leaving St. Petersburg…they’d funded him for a time. Then favors to whomever paid for them. Men and women alike, it did not matter. Whoever would pay to “keep” him, be it for weeks or months.
“You should have told me,” she whispered.
“And had you pity me? Endured having you give me money, like I was some pauper?”
“How would it have been any different than this? Any different than how you’ve been living all these years?”
“I’ve earned what I’ve received!” Remisov shouted, his collected calm shattering without warning. It alarmed Henry, who’d seen men snap before. Hell, he was one of them. There was a breaking point, and once passed, it was impossible to retreat.
“I’ve been surviving on my own for years, Irina. You have no idea the things I’ve had to do, so don’t sit there and tell me you could have fixed it if only you’d known! It is my life, and you’ve made your promise to me to make it better. Now you wish to recant? Because you think yourself in love?” He sneered at the word, though Henry’s chest throbbed with it. Love? Had Irina confided in Remisov that she loved Henry? Had she called the marriage scheme off? It must be. Why else would Remisov panic and stoop to this alternative?
“It was wrong of me to ever make that promise to you, I know that now,” she answered, carefully choosing her words, Henry noted. She could see Remisov breaking as well. “But I will not marry you, Max. You cannot force me—”
“Oh yes, I can. And I will.” He smiled coldly at her. “You’ve already given your pledge. Your willing pledge. Marriage was your suggestion, remember?” Remisov chuckled. “Though it was pathetically easy to put the idea in your head. You were so desperate for someone to marry you, after all.” Irina’s face paled as Remisov continued. “Ever the virgin wallflower. So many offers, except from the one you craved.” His mocking eyes flicked to the earl. “Unfathomable that you would throw away your future for a man who will never love you.”
Henry started to lunge forward again but stopped at the cool and insistent press of a blade at his throat. Irina gasped when she saw it. Crow placed a restraining hand on Henry’s arm, just in case the blade he held to his jugular wasn’t incentive enough.
“We are on our way to France, where we will wed,” Remisov said. “Whether I deposit Lord Langlevit on the shores at Calais alive or dump his body into the Channel tonight depends entirely upon you.”
Even in the dim lamplight, Henry could see Irina’s color draining away. She stared at the man she’d trusted implicitly with an expression that was not quite fear and not quite disbelief. It was sadness, Henry thought, and disappointment.
“Even if I were to marry you, it would never last. I’ll have it annulled the instant I am able. And besides, my sister retains control over my inheritance until I turn twenty-one. Once she hears about this, she will alter it so that you receive nothing.”
“I don’t need your inheritance, darling, not with over fifty thousand pounds at my fingertips. And I’m almost positive no court would grant an annulment when the bride is found to be with child,” he said, and with a waggle of his brow, Remisov’s meaning drove home. Irina gaped at him, and Henry pushed forward, against the resistance of the blade. A prick of pain at his throat, and Crow’s fingers digging into his arm, slowed him.
Henry shouted through the gag, wanting only to launch into Remisov and rip him apart.
Irina shouted for Henry to stop. “Fine,” she said quickly. “You get what you want, Max—I’ll marry you. Just stop! Leave Henry alone!”
No. She would not. She would never marry that lowlife, scum-sucking leech. But Henry knew that if he kept struggling and fighting, driven only by hate and fear instead of reason and intelligence, he would get himself killed, and then she would be forced to marry him.
He stopped thrashing and shouting, and Crow tugged him to a corner where there was another chair. It was nailed to the floor, Henry saw, as he was thrown into it, his ankles tied to each front leg. Once they reached French soil, he would have to do something to put an end to this madness. There was time, though not much, to hatch a plan.
The clipper ship plunged toward Calais, ripping through the Channel at a speed that made Henry glad their chairs were nailed to the floor. Remisov had disappeared into another cabin belowdecks while Crow had been left to stand guard over Henry and Irina. The giant sat on the companionway steps, staring at the two of them in awkward silence. Though Irina’s gag had been removed, Henry’s had not, making any conversation impossible.
Soon after Remisov had left, Irina had mouthed “I’m so sorry” to Henry, who had quickly shaken his head. She could never have anticipated that he would take such extreme measures. He’d lied to her, leaving her completely in the dark about his financial straits. Henry wanted only to comfort her and let her know that he would take care of everything, but the gag stayed in his mouth, leaving him the next hour to peruse a possible course of action while watching Irina.
He took in every detail of her: her leather half-boot footwear was serviceable, and if she needed to run, the skirts of her riding habit were not so voluminous and cumbersome that they would hinder speed. A small drawstring pouch hung from one of her bound wrists, and it looked heavy enough to hold some coin, meaning she could support herself for a time if she got away alone.
Henry was surprised that Remisov’s accomplices had not stripped her of the wrist purse and taken whatever they could. Which meant he’d likely instructed them to keep their hands off Irina and promised them a good amount of compensation for them not to try and take the minor amount in the pouch.
He hoped there was enough in that reticule to get her back on another packet—
The reticule. An image flashed in his memory of Irina on the balcony at Hadley Gardens, pressing the wicked point of a pen and fruit knife into Marcus Bainley’s ribs. She’d claimed to keep the short, folded blade in her purse at all times.
God, he hoped she still had it.
Henry cleared his bone-dry throat and made some wretched sounds through his gag. His tongue was swollen and his head ached, so a sip of water was a necessary thing, but it wasn’t his only objective right then.
“Please,” Irina pleaded with Crow. “He’s trying to say something.”
“Nuffin’ I want to hear,” the man returned.
“He needs water,” she went on, and he marveled at how she knew this. Then again, she was astute and clearly worried about him.
“Dead men don’t need to drink,” Crow replied, this time with a smirk in Henry’s direction.
“Dead? Max said he wouldn’t be harmed. I only agreed to the marriage because of it! If he’s lying, I’ll never agree—”
Crow stood up and cut her off. “All right, all right, just keep quiet.”
He didn’t want Remisov coming in and seeing that he’d upset Irina, most likely. Henry wanted to believe Crow had only been joking, but he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he’d slipped up and given something away.
He came to Henry’s chair and took out the gag. His jaw ached, and he could barely move it to speak.
“Water,” he said, and with a groan of utter annoyance, Crow went to a bucket and ladled up a spoonful.
“And…what about fruit?” he said, his tongue feeling board stiff and desperate for liquid. Both Crow and Irina stared at him, confused. “Do you have any fruit?” he asked again, looking directly at Irina with what he hoped was a barely discernable widening of his eyes.
If she could reach into her pouch and take her fruit knife, she could try to slice through the hemp rope at her wrists.
“Fruit?” Crow echoed, his face scrunching up in confusion. “I knocked you too hard, I fink. Like hell I’m gonna give you fruit, if’n I had it.”
Irina was frowning at Henry, as well, her head shaking as if she also worried he’d been cracked over the skull too much.
“Or a pen?” he asked. Irina was cocking her head, frowning still, when Crow came at him with the ladle of water.
“Shut it! A pen and fruit. What the bleeding hell is wrong wif ya?”
He poured the stale, slightly brackish water down Henry’s throat, getting most of the water on his collar and shirtfront before stuffing the gag back into his mouth and knotting it tightly behind his head. Henry didn’t care. Irina had stopped frowning and was now trying to school her expression of excitement. She’d caught on to his hints.
Crow went back to his post on the companionway steps and crossed his arms. He leaned his head back on an upper step and looked at the ceiling for a while. Then, even as the waves tossed the packet ship, he closed his eyes.
Irina instantly began to fumble behind the chair she’d been bound to, her fingers reaching and swishing around in a desperate attempt to open her drawstring purse and reach for her small folding blade. A few minutes later, she bit her lower lip and nodded, indicating she’d managed to get it. She then started to saw, the steady movements restricted and awkward, and by the expression on her face, tedious. They both watched Crow, anticipating his eyes to open on every violent plunge of the ship. She only got in a good five minutes of sawing the rope before the door into another cabin, the one Remisov had gone into, opened.
Irina went still, and Crow snapped to attention.
“We are pulling to port,” Remisov said, passing Irina. Henry prayed she didn’t still have the knife in her hand. He prayed even more that she did not try to stab Remisov with it as he passed by. The opportunity was not ideal, not yet.
“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 fierce 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.”