Chapter Twenty-Four
Leaving Henry’s side early the next morning had been one of the most difficult tasks ever presented to Irina. She’d wanted to stay cocooned in those soft, white sheets, with the sea air blowing through the window in easy, random gusts all day. They’d slept on and off the night before, wrapped in one another’s arms, waking every few hours to make love or, when Irina became too sore, to kiss and touch.
Despite his fears of hurting her, nothing untoward had happened during the night. Henry had slept fitfully but without incident. She’d woken at one point when he’d called out in his sleep, but she’d only had to murmur softly to soothe him. Irina had marveled at her power over Henry…that she could calm those demons that had terrorized him for so long. She supposed it was the reverse, as well. She had never felt so safe as she did with Henry. Both fractured by their pasts, they had found strength and a haven in each other.
She hadn’t wanted the night to end, and as dawn had broken, lighting the room and the man lying beside her, a part of her had become anxious. Henry would be her husband. It was what she wanted, more than anything in the world, but even after last night, it felt too good to be true. Like something was going to lurch up out of nowhere and drive them apart.
Her fears were silly, though, she knew, so she’d kept them to herself and had gotten on with the day. There had been much to do to prepare their return to England, and as Irina had dressed in a simple gown that had likely been found overnight by Helene and Madame Renaud, Henry had seen to securing passage on a packet ship back to Dover. Travel being entirely dependent upon the tides, they’d had to rush to the docks in order to catch the first ship out, or be stuck waiting the whole of the day until the next tide came in. Not that Irina would have minded more time with Henry at his estate, with no prying eyes or judging stares. But the idea that Max could possibly still be close by, in Calais, weighed on her. She hoped he’d left for Paris. He had friends there. Benefactors. And now that she knew how and why they funded him, she felt sick. Heartbroken. If only he’d trusted her. But Escalles was gorgeous, and she didn’t want to think of Max anymore. They would go back there, she decided, after they were married, and stay for as long as they wished.
It was thoughts like these that swept away her anxiety as the packet ship cut across the Channel, toward Dover. She and Henry stood on deck, preferring the salty air and buffeting winds to the enclosed quarters belowdecks.
“Do we go to London, then,” he asked, stepping up behind her at the railing as the shores of Dover came into view, “to put all that betting nonsense to rest, or straight to Essex to see your family and my mother?”
The mention of the book at White’s didn’t bother her now. No gentleman would be winning another shilling, of that she was certain.
“To Essex,” she said as his hands settled on her hips, and they stared out into the water together. “You have a stipulation to fulfill, Lord Langlevit,” she added, leaning backward against him.
“Ah yes, duty first,” he said with mock pomposity. Then, brushing his lips to her ear, “I should tell you that part of King Charles’s requirement on the Langlevit title includes the earl getting his wife with an heir as soon as possible.”
Her body trembled as a wave of heat rose into her cheeks. “I shall look forward to fulfilling my duties, my lord,” she replied demurely, turning to look up at him.
Henry laughed and swiftly kissed her lips, holding her close until they neared the port. Loud voices from the harbor reached them, noises from other ships and from the pier filling the air. Suddenly, Irina had the strangest feeling of wanting to turn around and head back to Escalles. Returning to England seemed to bring with it a cold measure of reality, making it seem as if what had happened between her and Henry was part of some quickly fading dream. She clutched the arms that were wrapped around her waist, trying to calm her rapid breathing.
“Are you well?” Henry asked as if sensing her unease.
Irina nodded, turning in his arms to reassure him. “Yes, of course.” She lowered her voice, her lips brushing his ear. “Though I’d rather still be naked in bed with you.”
“Christ, Irina, don’t say such things to me in public,” he said with a laughing groan, holding her close to nuzzle her head before releasing her. “But soon, love, you have my promise.”
A short while later they descended toward the familiar carriage that awaited them. Henry’s message to Lord Bradburne had been delivered, and it seemed the duke had sent the earl’s carriage to meet them in Dover. Henry deposited Irina next to the coach while he went to finalize some business with the ship’s captain.
“Hello, Billings,” she said, recognizing Henry’s driver, who stood at stiff attention. A young footman stood near the horses.
“Your Highness,” Billings said with a short bow. “May I?” he asked, extending his arm to seat her in the conveyance.
Eying the inside of the dark box, Irina shook her head, preferring to stay outside until the very last moment. “I would rather wait for his lordship, thank you, Billings.”
Henry remained deep in conversation with the harbormaster and an official-looking man dressed in a dark tweed suit. The shorter, weasel-faced man looked agitated, his hands gesturing impatiently, but Henry didn’t seem too bothered by the discussion. Irina glanced into the carriage, at the box beneath the seat that held the bourdaloue. She had no maid or traveling companion for the return journey, and the thought of relieving herself in front of Henry, despite their recent intimacy, made her blush.
It seemed as though he would be a while, so she decided to make a quick stop in the nearby coaching inn prior to the long journey. “I’ll be back shortly,” she said to Billings. “I don’t wish to disturb Lord Langlevit.”
“Of course, Your Highness.” He signaled the footman. “Needham will accompany you.”
She felt Henry’s eyes turn toward her as she crossed the cobbled courtyard, and she smiled to reassure him. He frowned but nodded. Inside, the inn was noisy, though it didn’t seem to be crowded. Needham followed closely behind as she made her way to the ladies’ cloakroom, where she tended to her needs while he waited. Given the amount of human traffic the inn saw, it was not the most pleasant of spaces.
Hurrying back into the corridor, she blinked, realizing that Needham wasn’t where she’d left him. The narrow hallway was strangely empty. A short shriek left her lips as a hand clapped over her mouth and she was dragged backward and through a door, into a smaller side courtyard. Irina struggled wildly, though she was no match for her captor’s strength. She was bundled roughly into a waiting carriage.
As the door was shut behind her, she stared into the calm face of a well-dressed, well-groomed Max. He looked a far cry from the bedraggled man she’d seen last, in Calais. But despite his peaceful countenance, a hint of madness glinted in his eyes. He held a pistol pointed at her.
“What are you doing, Max? Henry will kill you.”
His lips flattened, but then he smiled. “No hellos? No ‘I’ve missed you, Max’? Sad to think you’ve forgotten me so quickly.”
The carriage started to move, and she lurched forward reaching for the door, but a quick flick of the pistol made her freeze. “I do love you, my darling,” Max said, “but I won’t hesitate to use this. Not that I want to harm one hair on your head.”
Irina exhaled and sat back. “Max, you must let go of this scheme. I won’t marry you. It’s over. Please don’t make it any worse than it is.” Her voice shook. “You know what Henry’s capable of. He won’t rest until he finds me.”
“By the time he realizes you are gone, we will be far from this place.” He leaned forward. “And when he does find you, if he does, it will be too late.”
Fear gripped her as she stared at the cold, implacable face of her friend. He was deadly serious, she realized. “Why are you doing this? For money? I will gladly give you whatever you need. But don’t do this, please.”
Something flashed across his face. Doubt maybe. But then his expression hardened. “It isn’t just about the money, Irina dear. It’s about respectability. You are the answer to my father’s prayers. You see, I wrote him a letter about our betrothal. And do you know what he responded with? He welcomed me back with open arms. I’ll no longer be the bastard black sheep, Max Remi, but Maxim Ivan Remisov, son and heir of Count Remisov.”
“You told him we were engaged?”
Max tapped the pistol thoughtfully in his palm. “Only that you had indicated an interest in a union. My father’s shallow response was nothing short of predictable. Wed her, bed her, get her with an heir, and you shall be reinstated in the family fold.”
Irina felt something cold and despairing slide through her.
“But you said you never wanted to go back to him. You hate him.”
“I do.” His jaw clenched. “And I will destroy him once my inheritance is mine. And you, my darling, are a critical piece of that process.”
“Max, please…” She reached out a hand to him. “I adore you. You’ve been like a brother to me, but I can’t. I can’t marry you. I’m already betrothed to Henry. I’ve already accepted him.” Her face flushed. “And we…we… I could already be with child.”
It was entirely the wrong thing to say, and she knew it as soon as the words left her mouth. Max’s expression blackened, fury making his nostrils flare. Rage glittered in his eyes before it was eclipsed by a knowing leer. “You surprising little tart. Well, at least now we won’t have to worry about awkward first times. And no matter, anything that comes out of that body will be a Remisov.”
Keeping the pistol trained on her, Max reached into his coat pocket for a square of linen and a small bottle. “What are you doing? What is that?” she asked, her eyes going wide.
“Ether. Delightfully fun at soirees, but even more useful for silencing uncooperative princesses.”
“No, Max, no!” She fought, but as the linen settled over her nose and mouth and she inhaled the sickly sweet aroma, she felt her strength fading. Soon Max, the carriage, and the world disappeared altogether.
…
Henry knew something was amiss the instant Needham appeared stumbling from the coaching inn and rubbing his head. Alone.
He didn’t stop to think, he just ran, shoved past Needham and burst into the inn, his eyes searching every corner, every nook, every cranny. Irina wasn’t there. Henry could feel it. A heavy, deadly purposeful calm settled over him.
He strode back outside to grab Needham by the shoulder. “What happened? Tell me every single detail,” he commanded through clenched teeth. “Leave nothing out.”
Needham nodded, his eyes going wide at the demented expression Henry knew must be upon his face. “I took her to the privy, my lord, and waited outside. There weren’t many people around. It was quiet, and then I saw a shadow of someone coming down the hallway.”
“Small or large?” Henry interrupted.
“L-large, like a hulking shape. And then something hit me in the back of my head.” Needham rubbed at the lump there. “And then I woke up in another room.”
“Did you see anything else? Hear anything else?”
“I heard a voice talking about a carriage, but it could have been anyone.” The young man stared at him, his eyes terrified, and Henry released him. “I’m so sorry, my lord.”
Henry nodded. “I know. Find Billings and get me a horse.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Every muscle in his body ached with powerful fury. It hadn’t been more than ten minutes since Irina had walked across the courtyard, smiling at him. And now she was gone. Taken. His fingers curled into fists. He could hazard a guess at exactly who had taken her.
Rage made him see red.
A crowd had gathered by that time, including the rigid head of Bow Street he’d been speaking to earlier. “Mr. Thomson,” he called to the smaller man, who had ridden from London the day before to investigate leads on Henry’s own apparent kidnapping. “Gather your men. I want everyone questioned. The barkeep, the barmaids, everyone inside that inn. Someone must have seen something, heard something. Pay them all off if you have to. I want a description of everyone staying here in the last two days, especially a tall blond man accompanied by a very large one with a wound in his neck. I want to know who he talked to, what he talked about, where he slept, what he ate, who he fucked. I want to know his every goddamned move.”
…
When Irina awoke, she was no longer in a coach. Or on the road. She was in a room, on some kind of cot. She stood, wooziness making her sit down again. Swallowing hard, she stood once more and tried to get her bearings. A narrow window looked out onto overgrown, rolling fields. She was in a tower. Thick dust coated the floor. A dirty, unused tower room in a crumbling old castle. Whatever estate they were on seemed to be in disrepair, or even abandoned.
Irina blinked as another dizzying rush made her sway. That bloody bastard had drugged her! When she found him, she was going to wring his neck and kick him in the place he loved the most. Then she would kill him. Slowly and with pleasure. Glorying in her murderous thoughts, she tried the wooden door and found it locked.
No doubt Crow or some other servant stood outside guarding it. She’d guessed somewhere deep down that it had to have been Crow who’d picked her up like a sack of potatoes and shoved her into the carriage at the coaching inn. She wished to God that she hadn’t missed and had succeeded in piercing his eye with that fruit knife on the ship to Calais.
A cup of water lay on a tray next to the cot, and Irina drank it greedily. She ate the crust of bread beside it, as well, though the hard chunks grated her throat on their way down. She knew she would need her strength and her wits about her if she planned to escape. Peering out the window, she drew back. It was a sheer drop to the bottom, with no moat to offer a softer landing. Irina growled her frustration. Her exit would have to be through that door…whenever it opened.
Resuming her seat on the edge of the bed, she waited. It wasn’t long before she heard footsteps. She stood, readying herself. The minute the door cracked open, she rushed the person, stopping short of crashing into a thin young girl who stood there with some kind of gown in hand. Crow, as expected, stood behind her, his enormous size blocking the staircase. It would take a miracle for her to get past him.
“Release me,” Irina snarled, but he ignored her.
A much older man entered behind the girl, carrying a pitcher of water and a length of cloth. He deposited the items without looking Irina in the eye and then hastened out. Crow stepped back onto the staircase landing and shut the door behind the old man as he left.
“His lordship said to bathe and dress you,” the girl said, bobbing.
“I will do no such thing.”
“Please, mum,” the girl begged. “The big man said he’ll hurt me if I don’t.”
Irina’s fingers clenched into fists at her sides, but she nodded grimly. If she got the chance, she would finish what she started on that ship. Allowing the girl to strip, bathe, and dress her, she eyed the satin ivory gown in distaste. It was a wedding gown.
The girl smiled shyly as she braided Irina’s hair. “His lordship seems kind.”
“His lordship is a right arse,” Irina muttered.
The door crashed open. “Get movin’, Yer Highness,” Crow said, a smile cracking his ugly face.
Obeying in silence with her head held high, Irina was acutely conscious of the young girl walking beside Crow. She would wait until an escape was possible without her being in harm’s way. They descended the crumbling staircase to a large room. Max waited there with a man dressed in robes. A vicar. Fear settled into her bones. Her eyes flicked to the nearest exits, and her fingers wound in her skirts, ready to hike them and run.
“Don’t even consider it, my radiant bride,” Max said. “I wouldn’t want to regret all the trouble I went through to get this special license.”
She seethed as Crow prodded her forward, and glared at the vicar. “You are a man of the cloth. How can you do this?”
The vicar didn’t answer, but Max did. “Mr. Bolden and I have a…special relationship.”
Irina’s heart sank. Of course, they did.
“Come, my dove, let us begin.”
…
It didn’t take long for Thomson to find the young chambermaid who confessed that she and a stableboy had both spent the night in the quarters of a Lord Ivan Maxim. Nor did it take long to determine that Lord Maxim had leased a carriage and a pair of horses, which were to be left in Canterbury. A two-hour ride by coach. Shorter by horse.
With Lady La Valse’s help days before, when Henry had discreetly inquired about Max’s benefactors, Thomson had been able to track down the estates of Remisov’s many lovers. Two of them were located in Canterbury.
Henry was glad he and Françoise had never spoken when they’d spent time in bed. Too many confidences seemed to be shared in pillow talk, but he was grateful that Remisov had been so loose with his own tongue, otherwise finding Irina would have been like searching for a single grain in a hayfield.
Straddling the beast Needham had procured, he and Billings took off at a grueling pace, with Thomson in close pursuit. Thomson and his men would take the southern estate, and he and Billings would take the northernmost one. It had made the most sense to divide and conquer, though Henry desperately wanted to be the one to find Remisov.
As they came upon the estate, at first glance, the rambling old castle seemed to be abandoned, but Henry noticed fresh ruts in the dirt leading up the drive. He wanted to rush inside, but too many years of war made him prudent. Instructing Billings to approach from the front, he slipped around the back and entered a door he guessed would lead to the kitchens. The room was deserted.
He crept along the corridor to the main room, where he heard muffled voices and peeked around the archway. The sight of Irina standing in a white dress with Remisov’s arm firmly on her elbow nearly made all of his years of training tumble away. It took every sliver of his self-control to remain where he was and properly assess the situation. Other than a girl of about twelve and a vicar, no one else was with them. The giant Crow was nowhere in sight.
The hairs on the back of his neck rose just as the butt of a pistol tucked into his ribs. Crow smelled just as bad as he had on the packet boat. With nothing but sheer instinct taking over, Henry made a split-second decision. He fell to the ground, raising his pistol and firing upward to catch the giant right in the chest. The noise echoed like a blast into the hall. The young girl screamed and ran away as Crow collapsed into a motionless heap. Remisov, however, grabbed Irina by the arm, a pistol appearing like magic in his hand.
Discarding his pistol and stepping over Crow’s dead body, Henry walked forward, scanning Irina’s face and body to make sure she wasn’t hurt. He raised both hands to show that he was unarmed.
“Lord Langlevit, I have to say you are as persistent as a dumb ox.” Remisov gestured to the vicar. “Can’t you see we’re in the middle of a wedding?”
“The bride is already betrothed to me,” Henry said. “Let her go and we can settle this like men.”
Remisov laughed, his fingers tightening on Irina’s arm. “Do you think me stupid? I am aware of your skill.” He waved the gun. “No, you will remain where you are, and Mr. Bolden will complete the ceremony.”
Henry nodded to Billings who had entered the far end of the hall. “Now!”
But upon entry into the hall, Billings slipped on a bit of loose gravel, losing his balance and giving Remisov the chance to point his loaded pistol right at Henry. The terrified vicar took off at a clip.
“Max, don’t!” Irina screamed, but the bullet discharged from the gun in a black cloud.
For a blinding instant, Henry felt a stinging pain in his shoulder, but it was of no consequence. He leaped forward and tackled Remisov to the ground. His fists flew, pounding into the man’s torso and face, and only the sound of Irina’s voice made the furious haze clear.
“Stop, Henry, you’ll kill him. Please.”
He wanted to kill him. But Henry stopped, breathing heavily and heaving backward as his beloved threw herself into his arms. “Did he hurt you?” he asked hoarsely.
“No.” Irina touched his arm. “You’re bleeding.”
Henry blinked at the hole in his jacket and the bullet wound beneath. His arm throbbed, but he smiled reassuringly at her. “It’s only a scratch.”
“Oh, Henry,” she cried. “I knew you’d find me.”
Remisov stirred, moaning, and Henry frowned, his intent to commit murder not truly gone. The younger man groaned as he lifted his hands to his face and watched them come away, wet with blood. “Bloody hell, Langlevit,” he wheezed. “Don’t you know that these looks are my currency?”
“Not where you are going,” Henry snarled. “If it were up to me, I’d send you to the devil, and trust me, he has little care for such vanity.”
He half-cocked his arm back, his murderous inclinations returning in force, but felt Irina’s gentle touch on his sleeve. “No, Henry. He’s not worth it.” Her voice lowered to a whisper so only he could hear. “Think of the demons you already fight. Don’t make him one more. Don’t let him destroy your soul.”
“After all I’ve done, my love, my soul is already lost.”
She shook her head. “Not to me, it isn’t.”
Beneath her gentle fingertips, Henry’s body trembled with barely leashed fury. He wanted to eviscerate this piece of filth who’d presumed he could put his foul, grasping hands on her. He wanted this man to suffer, and the darkness in him itched to employ every vile skill he’d acquired in service to the Crown to that end. Irina’s belief in him, however, made him pause. She’d always seen the best of him. For her sake, he would do as she wished. He lowered his fist. “I suppose I could hand him over to Bow Street.”
Remisov whimpered, his bloodshot gaze turning toward Irina. His hand lifted slightly toward her, and Henry shifted protectively. “I would never have hurt you, Irina.”
“You abducted me.” Her voice shook with rage as she faced the man who had been her friend. “And threatened me. I trusted you, and you broke that trust. Twice!”
“You gave me your promise.”
“A woman has the right to change her mind, and that doesn’t give you any right to do what you did. You tried to kill a peer of the realm. You intended to force me…force me to your bed…” She broke off, a cry catching in her throat.
Henry stroked her arm, drawing her closer to his side. Max had betrayed her in ways that could never be forgiven, and Irina had no doubt arrived at that same conclusion.
“You’re despicable,” she whispered.
“I’m all talk, you know that, Irina,” Max said, trying to crawl to his knees from where he’d been sprawled on the floor. Henry moved toward him, and Max threw his hands up in surrender. He stayed crouched where he was.
“I don’t,” she said softly, biting off her sob and straightening her shoulders. “I don’t know that. I don’t even know who you are. I doubt I ever knew the real you, Max, nor do I ever want to see you again.”
Her voice was an arctic blast, her words a regal declaration. She glanced up at Henry. “What will Bow Street do to him?”
Henry sighed. She had so much compassion inside of her…even for a louse of a man who had betrayed her and planned to use her, without a qualm, for his own ends.
“His crimes will either earn him a long sentence or a short rope,” he answered, and seeing the flicker of despair in her eyes, continued, “However, I can perhaps see to eliminating the possibility of the latter punishment.”
If it would put Irina at ease, he would do anything within his power to make it so.
“Irina—” Max started again, panic sharpening his tone. “You can’t let him do this to me. I’m your cousin. We’re family.”
“I don’t think you know what that word means.”
His tears came hard and fast. “Please, I’m begging you, I won’t survive prison.”
“Stop,” she said, closing her eyes as if to ward off the sight of him. “You should have thought of that when you paid a highwayman to abduct an innocent man. At least you’ll have your life.” A single tear leaked from the corner of her eye. “I wish you had trusted me. I wish you had told me the truth from the start. I wish…I suppose it doesn’t matter what I wish, not anymore. Not after what you’ve done. Good-bye, Max.”
Sighing, Henry rocked back to his haunches and took a deep breath. He nodded to Billings. “Get him up and into the carriage. Inspector Thomson will be here soon, Remisov, and you’ll answer to him.”
Billings held a pistol on Max as he dragged him weeping from the room. Irina tucked herself against Henry’s side, and he wrapped her trembling form in his arms. His shoulder ached from the bullet wound, but he refused to release her.
“You’ll make sure they don’t…hang him?” she whispered into his chest.
“If that is what you wish, I’ll make sure of it,” he answered and kissed her forehead.
Henry happened to believe in redemption, and that all men were deserving of a second chance. Or third chances, in some cases. Remisov deserved to pay for his crimes, but no, Henry also did not want to see the pathetic soul executed. Mostly for Irina’s sake. It would hang over her forever.
“I should join Billings. I don’t trust Remisov not to attempt an escape.” Henry peered down at her. “Come. Let me take you to the kitchen. That young servant girl is about still, I’m sure, and she can get you something to drink or eat.”
She quickly shook her head, clinging to him tighter. “I want to be wherever you are.”
“I would not be very far.” Having nearly lost her twice now, he understood her desire to stay close.
Irina only gripped him more fiercely. “Give up, my lord, I am coming with you.”
He chuckled. “You should know by now that I do not give up easily.”
The first glimmer of a smile on her lips faded quickly, and Irina’s gaze slid from his to Crow’s motionless body at the far side of the hall. “Neither did Max,” she said, the grief-stricken expression she’d worn earlier returning. “I feel so duped,” she confessed. “I should have seen it. I should have seen what he wanted all along, and that I was nothing but a pawn in a sick game to regain his father’s goodwill. He accused all those men of being fortune hunters when he was the worst of the lot.” Her voice broke on a strangled sob. “I should want him to pay for what he’s done, should be happy he’ll be punished, but God, I just feel so sorry for him…so sorry for what he’s become.”
“My sweet love,” Henry said, pulling her gently from the room where Crow lay and where Remisov had nearly forced her into marriage, and ushered her toward the front door. He only wanted to soothe her sadness away, make her happy again. “I will make no excuses for him, but it’s clear he is desperate. And desperation can turn a man into a shadow of what he truly is.”
Perhaps Remisov had once truly cared for Irina. He curled a few strands of the hair framing her face around his finger. “I am sure his friendship was not always a lie,” Henry said. “His past simply warped him into something unrecognizable.”
He drew a breath and thought of himself. Of his own past and his own twisted soul. He’d almost let who he’d become destroy him…until her. Until this woman, the beautiful and loving woman in his arms, had swept into his life and somehow started to mend all the broken edges within him. There was much more mending to be done, but at least she would be at his side to see it through.
“Do you think he would have…done it? Taken me?”
Henry stilled, considering his words with care for her feelings. “I’d like to think he would not have intended to, love, but I also want to be honest with you. Ultimatums can drive men to dangerous extremes.” Shutting the door behind them, he pulled her close. “I’m just glad it’s over and you’re in my arms where you belong. You never have to think of him again.”
“What if he comes back?”
“Don’t worry about Remisov,” Henry said, needing to put her at ease the same way she always put him at ease. “Once he has completed his sentence, I’ll see to it he is returned to St. Petersburg. You’ll be safe from him, Irina, I promise you.”
By then, Henry realized, Irina would be Countess Langlevit. She would take comfort in the security of his name and the power of his title. And as her husband, he’d never let any harm come to her. His wife. The notion had him folding Irina closer against him, a pulse of joy overtaking the chaos that had surrounded them only minutes before. She wrapped her arms tightly about his torso, as if she could sense the happiness spreading through him, and raised her beautiful eyes to his.
“I love you so much,” Irina whispered, lifting up onto her toes to kiss him.
“It cannot possibly be as much as I love you, my princess,” he teased, winking devilishly at her and arching a challenging eyebrow. She did not disappoint.
Finally, finally, the love of his life grinned against his lips, her tongue darting sweetly into his mouth. “Challenge accepted, my lord.”