Chapter Twenty-Three
Night was falling by the time Henry had sorted everything out with the harbormaster and secured the carriage, as promised, from Durand. Henry didn’t trust the man, but money was the reigning monarch here, and ten thousand pounds was a paltry sum to pay for Irina’s safety. He’d also made sure to send a message to Lord Bradburne, conveying that both he and the princess were safe and would return to London on the following day. Though it was scandalous that Irina was without a proper chaperone, Hawk knew of his intentions. And soon Irina would, as well.
Henry glanced down at the woman tucked against him in the coach, her eyelids drooping sleepily. Watching her now as she curled trustingly against him was so at odds with the fierce virago who had fended off men double her size on board the cutter. It made him smile. Irina had been magnificent and fearless in the face of overwhelming odds. His heart had stuttered when he’d seen her standing there on the deck, pistol and sword in hand like some kind of avenging pirate warrior. No other woman could have done what she did.
With a soft exhalation, Henry’s fingers brushed the hair out of her face.
“Where are we going?” she asked softly, favoring him with a smile that made his chest feel tight.
“To a country house I own near here in Escalles.”
“Oh.”
His fingers threaded through her hair, and she turned her face into his hand, rubbing her cheek against his palm. “It’s not far, don’t worry. You must be exhausted.”
“I’m well now that I’m with you,” she said, staring up at him.
He kissed her brow, though he wanted to do far more than that at her words and the languid look in those violet eyes. “You’ll have a bath and a meal, and you will feel a hundred times better.”
Despite the late hour, Henry had sent a man from the public stables near the harbor ahead to alert the small resident staff to his imminent arrival. It had been years since he had stayed at the manor, but it had been his home for a long while during his time in France. Henry didn’t know why he hadn’t sold the estate after he’d escaped Paris. Perhaps it was sentimentality. It was here on the coast, tucked away in this tiny little sea village, that he had recovered and found the strength after his ordeal to return to England. He sucked in a sharp breath as the coach rounded the last hill and the rambling manor came into view. It was not fancy in the least, nor worth a fraction of the cost of some of his other estates, but the sight of it made heat rush to his eyes.
“My Lord Langlevit,” a woman with streaked gray-and-black hair greeted in a warm voice as he stepped out into the courtyard, reaching inside the carriage to assist Irina. “Bienvenue, my lord, welcome home. It has been such a long time.”
“Bonsoir, Madame Renaud,” he said, smiling at his longtime housekeeper and then drawing Irina forward. “This is Princess Irina Volkonsky. She will also be staying with us. Please escort her to a chamber in the guest wing and prepare her a bath.”
Madame Renaud’s eyes widened, and she curtsied. “Your Highness,” she said. “Of course, my lord. Monsieur Renaud will see to it, and Helene can assist Her Highness with her needs.”
She gestured to the tall young woman who had been standing silently beside her. Henry barely recognized Madame Renaud’s daughter, who he knew would now be sixteen. She’d grown at least six inches since he’d seen her last. The young girl bobbed a curtsy, smiling in shy awe at Irina. “I’m ’appy to ’elp you, mademoiselle,” Helene said in a thick French accent.
Smiling reassuringly, he squeezed Irina’s fingers, watching as Helene led her up the stairs. Irina hadn’t said much, but Henry was certain that weariness would undoubtedly be settling in. A hot bath and then a meal was what she needed before a full night’s rest.
By the time he had taken his own bath and changed into clean clothing, the manor was ablaze with light, and a hearty fire burned in the hearth. Monsieur Renaud had seen to the shallow wounds on his face, cleaning them and making sure there was no sign of infection. He was also the man who had tended to the larger ones on Henry’s back years before. The thought of his scars brought with it a curious feeling. Irina had seen them. She had seen the brutal evidence of his shame—that, in fact, he had been whipped like a dog. Though she hadn’t reacted outwardly on the ship, he knew that she’d been affected by them. But Henry didn’t want her pity. He wanted something else from her.
“There, my lord,” Monsieur Renaud said, dabbing the last of his wounds with his own homemade healing salve of egg whites, aloe, balsam, and God knew what else. Henry trusted the old man like no other, and having him tend to him now after so much time made Henry’s insides twist into nostalgic knots. He owed this family so much…for their loyalty, their service, and their discretion. Perhaps that was why he’d kept the estate for so long. It had been the Renauds’ home for more than a decade, and it would continue to be, for as long as he drew breath.
Despite the short notice, Madame Renaud had a feast laid out upon the dining room table, including a selection of meats, bread, cheeses, and fruit. Irina had not yet come downstairs. Henry waited, pouring himself a healthy serving of whiskey while he sat in an armchair near the fire and stared at the flames.
“My lord,” a soft voice said. He rose, the tight feeling in his chest returning at the sight of her. Irina stood there, dressed in a simple cotton gown. Her hair was uncovered. Her feet were bare. “It’s Helene’s,” she said with a small laugh, seeing his stare. “And far too short.”
“I’ll send someone to the village in the morning,” he said, trying futilely not to notice the tantalizing display of a well-turned ankle as she walked toward him.
“Thank you,” she said and reached for his glass. “May I?”
“Of course.”
Henry watched as she turned the rim to where he’d sipped last and placed her mouth to it. Amusement twinkled in her eyes when she sipped, watching him with a knowing grin over the rim. “Do you remember when I did this the last time?” She ran her tongue along the edge.
“As if I could forget. You are a temptress,” he said in a choked voice, taking the glass from her hands and pulling her to him as if she were the banquet instead of the food waiting upon the table.
Henry kissed her, savoring the whiskey on her lips and tongue and wanting to devour her. He wanted to lick whiskey from her throat, from her breasts, lap it from her smooth, bare stomach. He wanted to bathe her in it and feast from her body. His hand fisted at her hip, winding into the material of her dress as he explored the interior of her mouth, the combination of her intoxicating taste and his lewd thoughts making him senseless.
With a reluctant sigh, Irina pushed him away and drew a breath. “Henry, wait. I need to tell you something. Before everything happened, I went to your residence. I wanted to tell you that I’d decided not to marry Max.”
He reached for her. “I know.”
“No, there’s more,” she said, stalling him. “I…don’t want there to be any more secrets between us. It’s about the wagers.” Flushing with shame, she turned away from him, and something slithered uneasily in his gut. Had she done something? Had Remisov done something? Had she done something with Remisov? Jealousy reared its ugly head inside of him while he waited in a numb state for her to continue. “I told Max to start the wagers. It was all my idea.”
Relief flooded him. “I know.”
“You know?”
“Remisov told me as much.”
Irina wrung her hands. “And the idea of getting married, that was mine. I didn’t think you…” she trailed off, swallowing, “that you wanted me.”
“Irina, I have wanted you from the first day you touched your lips to my whiskey glass,” Henry said, gathering her into his arms with a groan.
“I meant in marriage.”
“I didn’t think I was…suitable.”
Irina stared at him. “Is it because of what Max said…about your demons?” She faltered, nervous fingers twining into the linen of his shirt. “And not being able to stay the night with anyone?”
Henry nodded and swallowed, stung by shame. “Remisov was right about that. Being touched in my sleep seems to bring back awful memories, ones my body has yet to forget. At night, I’m consumed by dreams brought on by the devil himself, and I lash out. I nearly hurt someone once. A courtesan. And I vowed never to put anyone in such danger from me again.” His knuckles skimmed her cheek. “I would never want to hurt you.”
“You won’t hurt me, Henry,” she said.
He drew a measured breath and realized something. Weeks had passed since his last night terror. He could not recall the last time he’d woken in a demented panic, though he was positive it had been before Irina had returned to London.
She blinked up at him as if worried by his silence. “You can’t truly believe you will hurt me.”
“No.” Henry shook his head, a sense of wonder filling him. “You are right. I don’t believe I will. You calm me, Irina. I don’t know what it is about you, but my body, my mind…you speak to me, you lure me from the edge, even when you say nothing at all.”
He trailed his fingers down the elegant curve of her throat. “I’ve never thought about anyone as much as I’ve thought about you. You’re so ingrained in my thoughts that, lately at least, when I do manage to sleep, somehow the terrors remain at bay.” A wicked grin curved his lips. “Though I haven’t woken up with torn bedding, I do tend to find myself in a very uncomfortable state.”
“Uncomfortable?”
“Aroused, then.” His smile turned wolfish, and a becoming blush flooded her cheeks.
“Oh.”
“Though that is vastly preferable to the alternative, I assure you,” he said with a laugh as he took her lips in a sweet, swift kiss. She met him as she always had, with urgency and passion, and with complete honesty. No wilting wallflower, his Irina.
His Irina.
Drawing away, Henry sobered as his eyes drank in her features. Her dark, glossy hair fell in cascading waves around her face, and her eyes were a blue so deep, a man could happily float in them for eternity. Her cheeks remained flushed from his teasing and his kiss, and her lips were plump and rosy. It made him want to devour her again. Want to haul her up against him and never let go. To think of how close he’d come to losing her on that ship. The realization had loosened something buried deep…he wanted more time with her. He needed it. He wanted to make her laugh, to see her skill with a sword, to bask in her sparkling wit and curiosity. But most of all, he wanted to please her with a desperation that he’d never felt before. Not for anyone. And not since France, when the monsters inside had chased anything good in him away.
Irina’s courage was humbling, and her faith in him was staggering. It buoyed him and terrified him at the same time. He did not deserve her. He could never deserve someone so perfect.
“I still think I’m not the man for you.”
Irina’s hands reached up to cup his face, her eyes sparking with anger or passion, or some fiery combination of the two. “You are the only one for me,” she whispered fiercely. “That was what I was coming to tell you in London. That I didn’t care if you didn’t want to marry me, but I couldn’t marry anyone else knowing what I feel.”
“And why is that?” Henry rasped, an aching feeling taking hold of him.
“Because I love you, and I always will,” she said with a shy laugh. “You’ve ruined me for any other man.”
“Irina—”
She shook her head as if anticipating his response and smiled brightly at him. “No, don’t say it. I can’t bear any of your reasons why you think we won’t suit or why you are somehow not good enough for me. For now, for this moment, I just want to enjoy your company. Will you please allow me that? And then we can return to life as we know it, where you are a cantankerous, unlovable earl and I am a foolhardy, frigid ice princess.”
A tentative knock on the slightly ajar door drew their attention, and Madame Renaud entered. “May I serve the supper, my lord?”
Henry stared down at Irina at a complete loss for a response before nodding to the housekeeper. He had so much he wanted to say to Irina, but words failed him. Exhaling softly, he escorted her to her chair, and then took the one at the head of the table.
They ate in silence, though he could feel her glances settling upon him from time to time. It was a companionable silence, and one which Henry strangely seemed to enjoy. Just the feeling of having her near set him at ease. He delighted in watching her delicate hands rise to her mouth, seeing the look of decadence on her face as she tasted one of the cheeses, hearing her soft sigh of satisfaction as the meal ended. He could stare at her forever, he decided, watching her do any mundane thing. She brought so much grace and joy to the simplest of tasks.
After Madame Renaud had cleared the plates, Henry offered Irina a glass of sherry. “Whiskey, please,” she said, and he grinned. He should have known.
“Would you like to sit on the terrace?” he asked, handing her the glass.
“The terrace?”
With a smile, he opened the French doors and taking a crocheted lap blanket from the back of a chair, wrapped it around her shoulders. Irina gasped at the sight that greeted them. A clear expanse of rolling ocean lay below, spread beneath the pale white glow of the moon. Foamy, silvery-topped waves lapped at the shore, lending a magical air to the view.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, tucking the blanket around her.
“Yes,” Henry said, but he was not looking at the sea. He was looking at her. Holding her gaze, he closed the foot of space between them and reached down to grasp her hand in his, but the right words were still elusive. “You’re not a frigid ice princess.”
“I’m not?” she whispered.
“Not to the right man.”
Something like hope bloomed in her moonlit eyes. “And who is that?”
Henry stared at the woman who carried his heart in hers. Suddenly, he was not afraid anymore. He knew he would never be, not when she was at his side.
“I have something to say to you,” he said softly, “and I want you to listen.”
The expression in her eyes shifted to one of uncertainty. “Very well.”
“You told me once you wanted me to be happy, and this is when I am happy. When I am with you. Tonight, on that ship in the midst of it all, I felt more grounded than I have in years, and I realized it was because of you. You were my anchor in that storm. I am flawed in so many ways, Irina. Stubborn. Unyielding. Cantankerous, at best.” Her eyes were damp already. So were his, he suspected, but Henry smiled at her, taking their glasses and placing them upon a small stone table before resuming his hold on her fingers.
“Any cracking noise will bring back memories I never want to relive. I will run my course for hours, running from nightmares that will never end. I will no doubt be unable to love you as you deserve, but I find myself out of excuses, out of reasons not to take a chance.”
He pressed her knuckles to his mouth, drawing his lips back and forth over her lavender-scented skin. “God knows I’ve done this all wrong. I should have asked your sister and North properly for your hand in marriage. I haven’t even told my own mother, but I can’t wait anymore when the one I want is standing here right in front of me.”
“The one you want.”
“The one I love.” With an inarticulate sound, he dropped to one knee, still holding her cool, trembling palm in his. “I want to marry you. Will you take me as your husband, Irina?”
Wide-eyed, she stood there, staring down at him for an endless moment, a single tear trekking down her cheek. She lifted her fingers to touch the hair at his temple, as if to determine whether he was real. Henry turned his face into her hand, kissing the heart of her palm.
“You love me?” she whispered, and Henry nodded. “You want to marry me?”
“With all my heart. Will you give me your answer, my love?”
“Yes, oh yes,” she cried, dropping to her knees beside him and throwing her arms around his neck. Henry kissed her then, gently, his lips sealing the promise he had just made.
They broke apart to clapping and turned to see Madame and Monsieur Renaud standing behind the windowpanes, their cheeks wet with tears. Smiling as he rose, Henry drew his bride-to-be to his chest and held her there, staring out at the sea and feeling like he had finally come home. They stood in silence for what seemed like an eternity, holding each other, until Irina stirred in his arms, her eyes finding his.
“I’m wondering when I will wake and realize that this is all a dream.”
“It’s no dream, my love.”
Irina laughed. “I also don’t think I’ll ever get used to you saying that.”
“One day you might become bored with me,” he teased.
“Never,” she said, poking him in the ribs.
Smiling, Henry kissed the tip of her nose and then her lips, because they looked so soft and inviting. It was some time before he escorted her back inside and saw her to her chamber. The Renauds had already retired, but Madame Renaud had left a light burning near Irina’s bedside. At the sight of the bed, his fantasies took flight, but Henry sighed, steeling his desires. The hour was already late enough, and his bride-to-be needed to sleep.
He, however, needed an ice-cold bath or a dip in the frigid waters of the Channel.
“Rest well,” he told her at the entrance to her room.
“Wait.” Irina placed a hand on his chest, stalling his departure. His muscles leaped reflexively beneath it as his breath rolled to a pained stop in his lungs. Irina’s eyes met his, and the unconcealed desire he saw there nearly drove him to his knees. “I don’t want you to go.”
Henry huffed a laugh. Irina had never been shy about what she wanted.
He licked his lips. “Irina—”
“Stay.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking.”
Her palm slid down to his stomach. Henry sucked in a sharp breath as her finger slid in between his waistband and his shirt. “Yes, I do.”
“But…what if I do hurt you?” he asked, a beat of panic struggling to take shape within him.
“You won’t. We have already agreed upon it,” she said, then blushing wildly, “Besides, I don’t plan to fall asleep for quite some time. I know exactly what I’m asking, Henry. I want you to stay here. With me. Tonight.”
The whispered words were his undoing. With a strangled groan, Henry took her lips as her hands wound up around his neck. Her mouth opened eagerly to him, her tongue boldly stroking against his, and Henry was lost. He kicked the door shut behind him as his hands roamed over her back, plying her against his full length and leaving her in no doubt of the state of his arousal. A gasp escaped her lips, but she arched against him, erasing what little space remained between their bodies.
“Oh God, Irina,” Henry muttered as he swelled even more. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself in the heat of her, feel her body undulate around him, but he forced himself to slow. He would take his time, even if it killed him.
Henry drew small kisses along the column of her throat, his fingers inching down toward the simple neckline of the gown. His mouth followed their path, nudging and nibbling her skin and making her moan. Her head fell back, and he supported her with one hand as his mouth devoured the swelling rise of her breasts. He pulled her bodice low, exposing one crest to his greedy gaze, and then the other.
“You are perfect,” he said, kneading the rounded flesh gently and taking one peak into his mouth. Her fingers tangled in his hair as he suckled, his tongue curling over her taut nipple. Irina whimpered as he turned his attention to her other breast, his own blood turning to fire in his veins.
Lifting his mouth, Henry eased the dress down over her hips until it fell into a pool at her feet. He pulled back slightly to look his fill. A radiant flush suffused her body as she stood there in plain cotton drawers, her eyes never leaving his. Henry decided that she had never looked lovelier. She was breathtaking. And she was his.
“I do not know how I managed to resist the sight of you unclothed for so long,” he murmured. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
Irina blushed and laughed. “Surely not the most beautiful? You flatter me with poetic words, my lord. But I am far too lean, my breasts are too small, and I have muscle where most women should have softness.”
Henry shook his head. She was perfect from the top of her head to her pert breasts and narrow waist, to those long slender legs that he’d obsessed about for hours on end.
“Your breasts are perfect to me.” To prove his point, he bent forward, lingering over each of them, making her gasp as he scraped his teeth over each of her nipples. “I love every inch of your trim, firm body.”
Kneeling, he kissed a path down the center of her flat belly and dipped his tongue into her navel, making her fingers dig into his shoulders. Henry’s hands wandered down her rib cage, sliding over her hips and over the sides of her thighs. “And these legs were made to bring a man to heaven.” His hot breath fanned against the embroidered edge of her drawers as he drew his tongue along its length, tugging at its ties with his teeth.
Growling low in his throat, Henry stood and in one smooth motion, hooked an arm beneath her knees and lifted her, carrying her to the bed and pulling back the bedclothes. He moved to snuff out the light, but she stopped him. “Leave it. I want to see you, too.”
“Irina—” he began, his usual self-consciousness rising.
She sat up, clutching the edge of the sheet to her breasts. “You have nothing to hide from me, Henry. No more secrets, remember?”
After a moment, he nodded. She would be his wife, and he knew he could trust her. He pulled the shirt over his head. Though he was careful to keep his back away from her, he joined her on the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. She moved to touch him, her hands sliding along the bunched muscles of his torso, and Henry exhaled sharply. “You’re beautiful, too,” she murmured. “So strong. So powerful. When I see you like this, I think of a lion. Long and lean and dangerous.”
“Lie back,” he told her, pushing her hands gently above her head. She wouldn’t think he was so beautiful if she got a close-up eyeful of the ugly scar tissue on his back. In his experience, most women’s reactions ranged from pity to disgust to horror. And though he trusted her, and though Irina had already seen him on the ship, Henry did not want her scrutinizing him and ruining the moment.
Untying the threads of her drawers, he inched the serviceable material over her hips until she was fully exposed to him. His body flexed uncontrollably at the creamy expanse of satiny skin and the thatch of dark hair that hid the most secret part of her…the very part he was, at the moment, most interested in.
“What are you doing?” Irina asked, her eyes going wide as he settled himself between her thighs.
“Putting an end to this frigidity nonsense, and also doing what I’ve dreamed of doing since the Yardley.”
Her cheeks burned red as she bit her lips. Henry grinned, and kissed her stomach. “Relax.”
“It isn’t proper,” she whispered, her face flaming.
“Did it feel good?” Biting her lips harder, she nodded. Henry chuckled as he blew against her womanhood. “It felt good to me, too.”
Irina’s back arched like a bow as he put his lips to her core, effectively silencing any other protest. His tongue traced a hot path through her curls and the soft folds beneath them. Sighing at the honeyed taste of her, Henry nipped, licked, and swirled his tongue against her, delighting in the little moans she made, telling him what she liked and what she loved. Like when he scraped his teeth against her tiny nub, or when he flicked his tongue just so. Her fingers fisted into the sheets and then shifted to wind tightly into his hair as her breathing flattened and shortened, the muscles in her legs clamping about his shoulders.
“Henry, Henry…”
Acquiescing to her tortured pleas, Henry didn’t slow his pace, his mouth worshipping her as Irina’s entire body tensed. Her hands stilled for an infinitesimal moment before she whimpered his name and then cried out from the force of the pleasure rocking through her. She hadn’t stopped trembling when Henry eased himself up her frame, kissing his way along her stomach and breasts, to hold her quivering body in his arms.
“You are indecently wicked,” she said to him, burying her heated face against his chest. “My utterly cankerous, shamelessly wicked earl.”
“I fear that’s just the start of it, my love.”
With a wicked grin of her own, Irina’s hand wandered down the hard planes of his chest, skipping past his stomach to the rigid bulge in his trousers. He sucked in a sharp breath as she stroked him boldly through the material. “Surely there’s not more?”
Henry laughed as he nuzzled her throat, lifting her so that she was half draped over him. “As you have discovered, there is much, much more.”
…
Irina wasn’t afraid. Not truly. But that did not mean she wasn’t a little apprehensive, especially as she felt the length of him through his trousers. She squirmed against the tide of longing deep inside of her, in the very places Henry had just created a raging tempest. It had been a storm of pleasure, his mouth and tongue and teeth tossing her upward on ever-rising crests. From those few moments of shocked thrill at the Yardley, when he’d first set his mouth to her body, she had known it would feel exquisite to have him make love to her in such a way. But she had not anticipated the feeling of leaving the world behind and only existing right now, only for him, only for this.
She stroked Henry again and swelled with pride at the sound of his shuddering exhale. She loved knowing that her touch affected him as much as his affected her. It made her feel powerful. And emboldened. Watching him carefully, she closed her fingers around him through the material, marveling at the hard feel of him. But then again, Henry was hard everywhere—his chest, his shoulders, his stomach, and now here. Her fingers continued their soft exploration until he made a sound that was half growl, half laugh.
“Stop, my love,” he whispered, covering her hand with his and gently removing it from his erection. “Any more of that and I won’t last much longer.”
Though Irina wasn’t quite clear, she thought she knew what that meant. She simply had to touch him, though. Her fingers skipped up his side, counting each rib, circling his flat male nipple, and making him utter a small rumble of pleasure.
“I like touching you,” she said softly, leaning forward to press her lips to it. Irina could feel his pulse leaping beneath her touch, and she smiled. “Do you like it when I do this?”
His voice was a rasp, his fingers tightening on her arms. “Yes.”
She nibbled her way across his chest to the other side, her tongue flicking across its twin. “What about when I do this?”
He inhaled sharply. “Easy, my little seductress.”
“You don’t like it?” she asked, hiding her smile.
“You know I do.”
Henry groaned, rolling her over to her back and raising up onto his elbows to stare at her. Irina did the same, memorizing the angular planes of his face. Her fingers wandered over his jaw. He hadn’t shaved, and his chin and cheeks were covered in golden stubble. It gave him a raffish look that she found extraordinarily appealing.
Henry was so handsome, it made her heart hurt. Irina loved everything about him—his wide brow, his straight nose, his seductive and exceedingly talented mouth. She blushed at the thought of where that mouth had just been, and felt a new rush of heat settle between her thighs. Sweet Lord, she wanted him to touch her again…coax her to the edge and toss her over. But this time she wanted to take him with her.
As if he could read her wanton thoughts, Henry’s eyes turned the color of warmed honey and gleamed with a mixture of desire and amusement. Blushing furiously, she lowered her eyes, though her palms continued their slow expedition, skimming over his hips and up the small of his back, over hard muscle and smooth skin. A small purr of pleasure escaped his lips. But then, moving higher, she felt the sudden change in texture. A coarse stretch of scar tissue. Irina lifted her fingers, pulling away, though reluctantly.
Henry, his mouth nuzzling her neck, tensed above her. “I understand if you don’t want to touch me there.”
His voice was so soft, and though she knew he would hate it, vulnerable.
“It’s not that,” she said, feeling awful that she’d flinched. It hadn’t been for the reason he likely imagined. “I see the way you walk and sit sometimes…you’re stiff, like it pains you.” Irina kissed the lobe of his ear. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
With a laughing growl, Henry angled his head closer to kiss her mouth. His teeth gently nipped her bottom lip. “It only hurts when you don’t touch me.”
Irina settled her hands back upon his skin. “So this…feels good?”
“Your bare skin against my bare skin, anywhere, feels better than good, Irina.” He kissed her again, this time pushing into her mouth with his tongue, searching for hers and claiming it.
Irina flattened her hands against his back, feeling an openness between them that not only made her heart throb and swell, but also caused a flood of heat lower, in the most private part of her. She worked her fingers over his shoulders, feeling the intermittent patches of smooth skin and rough, places that had been terrorized that she now only wanted to pay reverence to. He had been through such darkness and pain, and even now the past haunted him. Tried to pull him back and finish what it had started.
Irina wouldn’t let it. She wouldn’t lose him.
Wriggling her body out from beneath his, she rolled upward, her eyes falling to where her hand rested against his side. The glimpse from a few feet away on the ship in flickering gaslight was nothing compared to the gruesome canvas of pain and torture that she saw now. Irina did not make a sound, studying the undulating, shiny swatches of pink and red scar tissue. Some scars were raised and others were deep gouges. Some were so dark, they still looked bruised, as if they’d been lacerated again and again. Irina’s heart ached with compassion for the agony he’d endured.
Henry shifted instinctively as if to conceal himself, but she stalled him.
“Please don’t,” she whispered, meeting his eyes and seeing the pain and shame there. Her voice broke on a stifled sob. “Don’t you know how beautiful you are, Henry? These scars are part of that beauty. And your strength. Every one of them is a sign of the remarkable man you are. Without them, you wouldn’t have survived and you wouldn’t be here, in my arms.”
Irina placed her lips to the center of a livid scar that ran from his right shoulder to his spine. He stiffened under her touch, but did not pull away. She moved her mouth to another and then another, accepting each of them, loving each of them. She wanted him to know that she loved every part of him. Even the parts that carried hurt and sorrow. She only sought to take it away…to erase…to heal.
“I love you so much,” she whispered, kissing her way to his shoulder. “And I’m so sorry for every second of pain you felt. If I could take it away, I would.”
“You already have,” he rasped.
Irina rained kisses over his cheek and rejoined her lips to his. The kiss started out gentle but then shifted into something more impassioned, more volatile. There were no barriers between them now. No secrets, no fear. Only love.
Henry moaned his pleasure into her mouth and she took it, making it a part of her own. This would not stop—they would not stop—until they had come together in the most human and intimate way. Irina knew this, and as she felt the heavy weight of his body against hers, she was ready.
Swiftly, Henry rose from the bed, standing to discard his trousers and smalls. Irina caught a healthy glimpse of the places she’d explored with her fingertips before he returned to her, and her breath fizzled deliciously in her throat. Every magnificent inch of him rippled with lean muscle and sinew. Bolts of heat shot through her limbs, making them tremble as Henry prowled toward her from the foot of the bed, kissing a burning trail up one leg and then the other.
“I love these long, gorgeous legs,” he told her in a hoarse whisper. “For weeks I’ve imagined them wrapped around me, holding me close when I’m deep inside you. When I’m part of you.”
His provocative words made everything inside her dissolve, and by the time Henry had climbed his way to her mouth, every nerve ending was on fire and Irina was a writhing mass of need.
“Henry,” she whispered as he hovered over her to lick a path down her throat. Again, he took one hardened nipple between his teeth. His tongue suckled and soothed while his teeth pinched with just enough pressure to make Irina arch her back and gasp.
“Now,” she managed to say. His hand dropped to the hot, aching crux of her.
“Are you ready, my heart?” he asked. His clever fingers moved skillfully against her, making her center feel liquid. She thrust her hips against his hand, wanting more of him, wanting all of him, and through her heavy lids she saw him grinning rakishly. “Yes, I believe you are.”
“And are you?” she returned, feeling bold.
Henry gripped the back of her thigh and hitched it up against his hip. He moved forward, nudging her legs apart and opening her to him.
“That is a question you need never ask again,” he said, the hard tip of his arousal pressing against her nub. A tingling shock branched out, lightning arcing through her.
“I will want you, in every possible way, until my last breath,” he said, his voice pulling lower as he angled himself at her entrance.
At his first true push, even as patient and hesitant as it was, Irina tensed. Of course, she knew the basic steps, knew that he would seat himself inside of her, but…then what?
“Stop thinking,” he said, bracing himself over her, one hand settling over the pulse at her throat. “Just feel.”
His thumb caressed her there, his fingers softly kneading the back of her nape. He looked directly into her eyes. He was so close, he could have kissed her, but he didn’t. Irina nodded and relaxed her muscles. She trusted Henry more than anyone, and though he wasn’t the paragon she’d once imagined him to be in her fantasies, she’d come to learn he was better. He wasn’t a fantasy. He was real. He was her truth. And he was hers.
Henry edged forward, never taking his eyes from hers as he pushed inside, thrust by gentle thrust, easing himself into her welcoming heat. His lids grew heavy with passion, the muscles along his jaw jumping as he held himself still within her.
“I…” Irina said, the pressure filling her and making it hard to breathe. She couldn’t fathom taking another inch of him inside. She thought of her earlier question and wanted to laugh at the incongruity. With a breathless giggle, she asked it again. “Surely there’s not more?”
Henry’s serious expression broke, and his mouth twitched into an arrogant grin. “A bit more, my sweet, but I want to be certain you’re ready.”
Laughing softly, she wrapped her hands around the back of his neck and pulled his lips to hers. As she kissed away that infuriating grin, Henry thrust forward again. Irina yelped into his mouth as bright pain lanced through her lower abdomen. Oh. That was what he meant by ready.
Henry held himself still again, and this time when he spoke, it wasn’t with playful arrogance. “Is it too much?” He was gritting his teeth against some anguish.
Irina winced against the discomfort, but hoped it wouldn’t last. Already she could feel the throb of something more insistent beginning to take over.
“No,” she whispered.
“God, Irina, you’re so small and tight. I don’t want to hurt you,” he breathed, starting to withdraw.
She clutched at his hips to halt him. “Don’t. It doesn’t hurt, not really. Please, Henry, don’t stop.”
But Henry continued to withdraw, and Irina nearly wept with fury at the loss of him—until he thrust back inside of her, sending a shockwave of relief, and a little pain, through her body. Much less pain, though, and as he withdrew once more, it extinguished completely. Again, he plunged back in, then withdrew, and returned again, each thrust reaching deeper, possessing her, marking her as his and only his. Their bodies glided together and apart, Henry’s mouth ravaging hers, his tongue diving and receding in the same erotic motion as his hips.
The bed, the room, the entire house, disappeared, and it was only she and Henry and the sensual friction of their bodies. She could barely breathe, but the only parts of her body that seemed to matter were the ones he was ravishing. Anything could have happened right then and it wouldn’t have concerned her. In that moment, Irina’s sole purpose in life was Henry and his love and the increasingly frantic motion of his body against hers.
He was bringing her up again, back onto that crest, and she felt it coming…that perfect moment of undiluted bliss, just out of reach. She grasped for it, rocking against Henry, joining him as each controlled thrust deteriorated into something more frenzied and wild. Clasping her to him, he growled her name, muttering insensible love words against her throat.
“Oh God, Henry,” she cried, knowing she was too loud and vulgar, and yet not caring at all.
“Hold on, love.”
But she couldn’t, not for another second. Pleasure spiraled and broke through her then, coursing against every nerve ending, loosening every muscle. Irina tightened her legs around his hips as she threw her head back and dragged in a deep breath, the cool sea air from one of the bedroom’s open windows rushing over her damp skin. Henry drove forward once, twice, three more times and then, with a long groan of satisfaction, went still.
They breathed into one another’s necks as the rest of the world slowly filtered back in around them. Outside the window, Irina could hear the crash of the waves upon the rocks below, the small, incessant chime of a bell somewhere. Henry kissed her temple and rolled onto his back, pulling her with him until she lay flat on his chest and stomach.
“My brazen, beautiful princess,” he said, breathless from exertion. Irina’s hair had come completely free and now hung in dark locks around her face. He pushed a few back, behind her ear, and smiled up at her.
“My handsome, wicked earl,” she replied, her own breathing just as choppy as the waters of the channel outside.
Something changed in his expression, a slight lift of his brow as a thought seemed to strike him. “I’ll be calling you my beautiful countess, soon,” he said, that roguish smile returning.
She matched it. She would be his wife. And they would make love like this whenever they pleased. Already feeling the stirrings of desire again, even as her body thrummed with loose, languid release, Irina imagined they would be spending great amounts of time wrapped together like this, limbs sweaty and tangled, and utterly satisfied.
“You will call me princess,” she commanded with as imperious a tone as possible. She kissed him, playfully nipping his bottom lip the same way he’d done to hers.
His tongue teased the inside of her lip, making her shiver. “I shall call you anything you like, as long as I call you mine.”
“I’ve always been yours, Henry.” Irina’s amusement shifted into something deeply profound as she stared down at the man she loved more than life itself. She sealed her lips to his. “I will love you forever.”