Chapter Eight
Stanton Park, Lord and Lady Northridge’s Essex home, was somehow more stunning than the last time Irina had visited years before. Though Lord Northridge’s family estate, Ferndale, had its considerable charm, there was something about the lushly tended gardens here that reminded Irina of the ones at Volkonsky Palace. Irina eyed the carpet of vibrant blooms that graced the massive courtyard from the window of Lana’s upstairs nursery. Most of the similarities, she knew, were due to her sister’s specifications.
Watching the delicate swatches of flowers, Irina felt a pang of nostalgia for her home. As much as she loved seeing Lana and playing with her nieces and nephew, there was something about London that didn’t sit right. It carried a thread of ugliness that lingered beneath all the brightness, like a tiny piece of lint caught in her eye. Some days, she felt like she never should have come back. There was nothing truly of interest to her here.
Except for Henry.
And the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t looking…as if she were something he could never dream of having. Irina knew she’d been infatuated with a phantom from the past, but now, the more she got to know him, the more she craved him. Something in his spirit called to hers, an instinctive feeling that he needed her as much as she needed him. Irina wanted to peel back all his layers, break down all the walls he’d surrounded himself with, and unveil the real Henry hidden behind it all. Hell would freeze over before that happened, she thought with a sigh.
“Is there something in the courtyard that deserves such a scowl?” Lana asked, sipping her chamomile tea.
Irina looked away from the windowpane and pushed a smile to her face. “I’m not scowling, merely thinking.”
Lana motioned for the nursemaid to collect Oliver and Kate from the nursery floor where they were nearly falling asleep. “It’s long past the time for their nap. You’ve quite worn them out from your games earlier.”
“Where is Sofia?” Irina asked as the nursemaid shuttled the two from the room. She hadn’t seen her eldest, seven-year-old niece all morning. “Still with her tutors?”
“Still terrorizing her tutors, you mean,” her sister said with a laugh. “She’s exactly like her father. Same devilish charm and love of pranks. We’ve been through two governesses already. She simply refuses to do as she’s told, arguing her position with logic better suited to a thirteen-year-old.”
Irina lifted an eyebrow. “That she gets from you. She only mimics what she sees.” She bent to press a kiss on Lana’s head before resuming her seat in the sofa opposite. “And you shouldn’t worry too much about that, anyway. She’ll be a strong woman, like her mother.” Her eyes narrowed on Lana’s drawn face. Motherhood had been kind to her, but her normally glowing complexion was pale. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“Mostly tired. The nausea is unbearable. I don’t recall it ever being this bad with Oliver or Kate. Dr. Hargrove has prescribed lots of rest and chamomile tea to settle my stomach.”
“It will pass soon,” Irina said. “Especially now that I am here to distract you.”
“Speaking of distraction, what’s this I hear of your antics in London with Max? I know you care for him, but he’s a terrible influence on you,” Lana said, making Irina frown. “And I also heard that you’ve already turned down suitor after suitor. Are you intending for this to be a scandalous repeat of last season in Paris?”
The last thing Irina wished to discuss was her friendship with Max and her prospects in London, or worse, have her sister find out about the dratted bets. Lana would not be accepting or forgiving if she knew what Irina had been up to. She gritted her teeth. “It’s only been two offers, and I barely recall the gentlemen’s names. Anyhow, I don’t wish to marry. And, well, Max is Max.”
“Max is a scoundrel. If he weren’t our relative, you would require multiple chaperones to be in his company. Don’t think I’m not aware of the scrapes you’ve gotten into because of him. And I’m certain I don’t have to remind you that this is your third season, Irina. You need to settle down.”
“But why?” She glared at her sister and then gentled her expression. “I’m not like you. I’m not perfect and beautiful and poised with lords falling at my feet and spouting sonnets.”
“I’ll have you know I did not fall,” a laughing voice said from the entryway.
“North!” Irina exclaimed, standing to embrace her brother-in-law. Her ill humor dissolved within seconds. She was more than grateful for his timely interruption.
Lord Northridge moved toward where his wife sat, his eyes glinting with mischief. “If I recall correctly, she fell at my feet, begging for me to marry—” A swat from Lana cut off his teasing as he bent to kiss her. “Hello, my love.”
Something in Irina’s heart tugged at the obvious connection between them. She would never have what they did, no matter how many offers she received. Love like theirs was rare, and she envied them that. She was just about to tell them so when a tempest swirled into the nursery and flung itself into Irina’s lap.
“Aunt Irina! You must save me from the dragon!” Sofia screamed theatrically, her blond curls a rumpled mess.
Irina stifled a grin and hugged her favorite niece. “Dragon?”
“The governess dragon of deathly horror.”
“Come now, she can’t be that bad,” Irina said. “The governesses your mama and I had were the real monsters. They would threaten to cook our bones and boil our flesh if we did not do our lessons.”
Sofia giggled loudly. “Fibber!”
“Your Aunt Irina is right,” Lana said. “There’s actually a part of her left ear missing from such a punishment.”
“Mama,” Sofia said with an eye roll and launched herself toward her mother. Lord Northridge stopped her just in time, tossing his daughter over his shoulder.
“Careful, sweetheart, we have to be gentle with your mother,” he said before turning to Lana to stroke her cheek. “You should get some rest, darling, and we should be going,” he continued, tickling Sofia and striding from the room. “Or you will be late for your riding lesson.”
“You should come see my new pony, Aunt Irina,” Sofia said upside down.
“I will. Have a good lesson. Perhaps we shall have a race later this afternoon, what do you say to that?” The girl’s eyes lit up as she nodded emphatically, and Irina couldn’t help smiling.
“You’re good with children,” her sister commented as they left. “You should think about having some of your own.”
“I am content with yours, thank you.”
“Irina—”
She stood, raising a hand and strode back to the window. “I don’t want to fight with you about this, Lana. The truth is I have no interest in marrying anyone. And, yes, I do intend for London to be a repeat of Paris: diverting and fun. I won’t be anyone’s trophy.”
“Is it because of Lord Langlevit?”
Irina’s breath halted painfully in her lungs. She turned to face her sister, composing her face into a mask of indifference. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve carried a tendre for him for five years,” Lana said quietly. “Ever since you were fourteen. I suspect you still carry it, which is why no one else can measure up.”
A hundred reasons, excuses, words popped into Irina’s brain. Her sister had always been able to see right through her. She settled for four hard ones. “You mean my infatuation.”
“That doesn’t mean your feelings weren’t real.” Her sister rose unsteadily and met her at the window as Irina’s fingers wound into the folds of her skirts. “Certain events draw people close, tying them together in inexplicable ways. It’s not surprising that you…cared for Henry.”
“Hopelessly unrequited, as it were.”
“Be that as it may,” Lana said. “Henry is not the same man you knew, and I know you can see that for yourself. He has changed.”
“Because of France,” Irina whispered.
Lana nodded. “He’s never confided in me, but yes, Lady Langlevit has suggested that what happened to him is beyond understanding. I fear much of him was lost there.” She pulled Irina close. “I don’t want you to lose your heart to him and have it broken. You cannot save him, no matter how much you may wish to.” Her voice wavered. “Trust me, Henry does not want to be saved.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he told me so.” In the same breath, Lana’s body swayed slightly against hers and Irina wrapped her arms around her.
“What’s wrong? Are you well?”
“Yes, I am.” Lana gave a reassuring, albeit wan, smile. “Can you ring for my maid? I may need to lie down after all.”
Once her sister was ensconced in her room and Irina was convinced it was only fatigue, she made her way downstairs. She did not wish to remain indoors. The walls of the manor felt like they were closing in upon her. Her body felt restless and on edge. She needed a ride. Or a run.
Despite Lana’s cautionary statements, Irina wanted to see Henry.
Decide for herself that he was a lost cause.
Save her heart, if she could.
With a firm nod, Irina strode to the foyer and instructed Morley, the butler, that she was in need of a horse. Returning to her chamber, she dressed in one of the special riding habits she’d had designed in Paris, ones that allowed her to ride astride. She loathed riding sidesaddle. The earl hadn’t seemed too shocked by her unexpected attire the day before, and she was now in the country with everyone of importance still in London.
As a lady, she had no business riding unchaperoned and uninvited to the earl’s residence, but perhaps, if necessary, she could simply say she’d come to visit Lady Langlevit, who still resided in a collection of rooms at Hartstone.
Hartstone was not far, and she made the trip in under thirty minutes. Her heart racing, she knocked at the door, which was opened by Henry and the countess’s ancient butler, who’d been with them in Cumbria, as well. Carlton’s face cracked a doting smile as he ushered her into the foyer and bowed low. “Princess Volkonsky.”
“You look well, Carlton,” she said with a smile. “Is Lady Langlevit at home?”
“She is not, Your Highness.”
“And his lordship?”
“You have just missed him. He’s taking a tour of the north end of the estate.” He peered at her. “Shall I leave any message?”
“No, thank you, Carlton. It was impulsive of me to arrive unannounced. Actually, please do convey my thanks to Lady Langlevit for allowing me to accompany her yesterday. I shall see myself out. Good day.”
“And to you, Your Highness.”
Outside, she saddled the horse and made to return to Stanton Park. She paused at the end of the long drive and studied the north end of the estate over her shoulder. If Henry had only just left, she would be able to catch up to him. You are behaving scandalously, her inner voice warned, but Irina paid it no notice.
Her inner voice sounded too much like Lana.
Turning her mount about and consulting the rising sun’s position, she headed north. She had no idea where she was going, but she followed what looked like a well-used bridle path.
“This was a silly idea,” she said to herself after a quarter of an hour had passed with no sign of anyone, much less the elusive Earl of Langlevit. The manicured grass of the landscaped gardens had turned into something wilder, and the surrounding wood had thickened considerably. Defeated, she was about to turn around when she heard a soft nicker. Following the sound, Irina found herself in a small clearing with a stable. She recognized Henry’s favorite horse. Dismounting and latching hers to the fence post alongside it, she stroked its velvet nose. The horse’s flanks were still warm, as if Henry had only just left.
“And where is that wandering master of yours?” she asked in a whisper.
Leaving the horse, Irina walked to the far side of the stable barn and her jaw dropped open in wonder. Henry hadn’t been joking when he’d said that his course was fashioned after a military training area. Her eyes fairly goggled at the start of the path, which included some kind of woven rope ladder and a massive wooden wall pierced with studs.
She knew she should turn around and go back the way she’d come. But seeing the course was like a gauntlet being thrown. Irina grinned. There was no chance she was going home.
Adrenaline thumped in her chest as she bent to tighten her boots and then discarded the swallowtail coat. It would only get in the way. With a running leap, she threw herself onto the roped grid, hauling arm over arm as she grappled her way across some kind of mud pit. The studded wall was trickier. It was built for the span of a man, but with some creative maneuvering, she was able to get herself to the top. She rappelled deftly down the other side, feeling pleased with herself.
“That wasn’t so bad,” she said aloud, making for the next set.
Thirty minutes later, she was cursing, instead. Her lungs ached as if they were on fire. It had felt like she’d been climbing up for hours. She’d wrenched her ankle jumping from rock to rock, and was currently attempting to slide down a gravelly hill on her bottom. It was not pleasant. Or fun. Or fast.
If the earl had come this way, he was miles ahead of her by now. Dusting herself off, she navigated another rock wall and hopped across a series of carefully placed beams. Every muscle in her body burned, but even though it was difficult, Irina couldn’t help feeling a fierce burst of pleasure beneath the ache. The exertion was exactly what she’d needed.
A flimsy slatted bridge hung across a narrow gorge and swung in the breeze. It was dizzying to look down, so she hastened across as quickly as she could. Every step made it sway precariously. Gulping, she flung herself the last four feet to the other side and collapsed onto the ground. She lay there, staring up at the bright blue sky. Lord help her, she wanted to laugh with pure exhilaration.
Pushing to her feet, she followed the rest of the winding path. It seemed easy, until it opened up to a precipice. She had indeed climbed upward, she realized. The winding path through the wood had led her up to where a narrow waterfall tumbled to a pool below. Looking over the edge, she could see the stable down in the distance. It felt like she was on top of the world.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Her breath trickled to honey in her throat as she turned. The earl stood there, a bronzed god with wide sculpted shoulders and a magnificently bare chest that tapered to a trim waist. Good Lord, he was mesmerizing, like the nude statues she’d seen in sculpture gardens in France. She wanted to stare at him, devour his shirtless nudity to her fill, memorize every single stunning line of hard, muscled flesh so that she could analyze it later at her leisure.
Beads of sweat dampened the front of him, turning the waistband of his fitted tan breeches to the color of dark wet leather. Irina couldn’t speak, much less catch a breath at the sight of the hard, defined ridges of his stomach. She dared not look lower. Dragging her burning gaze upward, her attention caught on several raised scars reaching from beneath his arms to the sides of his torso. Irina noticed other details, too, and what looked like bunched tissue at the tops of his shoulders. They did not detract from his beauty or strength, but something in her heart twinged all the same.
Seeing her stare, Henry backed away, keeping his front to her, and reached for his discarded shirt. Once reclothed, Henry strode back toward her. Swallowing hard, Irina’s gaze lifted to his, and she nearly retreated right off the edge of the cliff. He was furious, his anger fairly snapping off him as his eyes roved her from head to toe.
He clenched his jaw. “Why are you here?”
She blinked, her mouth opening and closing. “I…had to give you a message from your mother.”
“My mother?” he said, staring at her blankly. “You followed me here?”
“Yes.” Her excuse rang emptily in her own ears as she floundered in the lie, and then gave up. “I needed to find you,” she admitted.
“You fool,” he growled. “Don’t you know you could have been killed?”
“Killed? It is hardly a deadly course,” she replied, lifting her chin in the face of his fury. “How do you get down?”
“You jump.”
“Oh.” She looked down and grinned. “Scary. I can see—”
Her words cut from her lips as a piece of the cliff crumbled from beneath her sole and she lost her balance. Strong fingers curled round her wrist, hauling her body back to safety and slamming her into the solid, immovable column of his body. Every tingling inch of her was plastered to every inch of him. Henry’s eyes glittered into hers, their breaths coming in short pants as she clutched at his arms, one hand lifting to thread into the hair at her nape. With an animalistic growl, he bent his head.
Irina met him in the middle.
Henry claimed her mouth as if he owned it with hot, savage fervor. She welcomed it, savoring the arousing taste of sweat and whiskey. Heat shot through her in lightning bursts, pulsating in the area between her hips—hips that were currently glued to his, like every other shamelessly willing part of her. Henry nibbled across her lips, tearing away to nudge wet bites and scrapes along her throat, only to return to ravage her mouth, his tongue teasing hers with silky nudges and velvet licks that made her insides dissolve to water.
Sweet Lord, the man knew how to kiss.
Running her hands up and down his arms, Irina dragged his head closer, luring his tongue back into her mouth and circling hers around it with a purr of pure feminine satisfaction. The mix of lust and adrenaline shooting through her veins was like nothing she’d ever felt. The tips of her breasts ached, pressed against him as they were, and she had the indecent desire to drag them across the sprinkling of bronze hair on his chest that she’d glimpsed during her earlier inspection.
Slipping her fingers beneath his untucked shirt, she reached upward to find puckered skin.
Henry froze.
He dragged his lips away with a strangled groan. “Enough.”
…
Struggling to catch his breath and his sanity, Henry wanted to wring her lovely neck as much as he wanted to continue plundering her sultry, decadent mouth. Christ. What had he been thinking? That was just it. He hadn’t thought. All of his discipline, his willpower, had disappeared. He’d only reacted…as he always seemed to do when it came to Irina. More so here in these woods, where he always gave in to his intuition and base instinct. If she hadn’t touched his back and jolted him out of the moment, he might still have been lost to the fog of lust blanketing them.
Henry couldn’t believe she had followed him, but he had to admit it wasn’t surprising. Irina was fearless.
And bold.
And too bloody tempting.
Standing before him, she was a mess and covered in dirt, but the sight of her made his blood heat. That glorious hair of hers tumbled in silken waves down her back, making him want to sink his fingers into it once more. Henry wanted to rip the sodden, muddy waistcoat from her body, run his palms over her bare torso and around her trim bottom, still clad in those indecent breeches. He wanted to peel them from her, to kiss every inch of velvety skin, tease her with his hands and lips and tongue. Right here on the ground. She would let him, he knew, because she wanted it, too. No woman had ever met his need the way she had, the force of her desire matching his, beat for beat.
But defiling Princess Irina was not an option.
It hadn’t been before, and now that Rose had replied to his proposal, just that morning, with her conditional acceptance, it most assuredly was not.
Clenching his teeth, Henry backed away from the magnetic lure of her. No matter how many times he told himself to stay away, he could never do it. No woman had ever affected him the way she had, driving him half delirious with lust. Even now, his body craved to return to hers, to feel its long warm length plied against his…her breasts crushed to his chest, her thighs wedged against him. One kiss and he was as hard as the rock beneath his feet. Henry stalked to the far side of the space, attempting to get his rampaging desire under control. He’d meant what he’d said about not being the right man for her.
He could never be a true husband.
Rose was different. She had consented to be married to him in name only, as a friend and nothing more. One of the conditions of her acceptance was the maintenance of separate residences, which suited him well. Per her letter, she neither wanted nor required his love or his fidelity. She already had a son, which boded well for begetting him an heir. And once that was complete, their entire marriage would be a matter of public record to satisfy the ludicrous Langlevit codicil. Rose no more wished to share his bed than he wished to share hers, and both of them would be all the more content for it.
Henry could not see Irina being so accepting of such a situation—separate homes, separate beds, separate lives. Nor would she deserve that. She deserved a real marriage with a devoted spouse…nights spent in her husband’s arms without the fear of being harmed in her sleep by a raging man possessed by unshakable demons. She deserved everything he was incapable of offering, and more.
He cleared his throat. “Irina, this cannot happen again.”
“Marry me.”
His heart stopped. “What?” he bit out.
She drew a controlled breath. “Your mother told me about the stipulation in the letters patent of your title during the carriage ride to Essex. You could marry me.”
“She should not have burdened you with that.”
Irina stepped closer, seemingly confident in herself and what she was saying. “It is no burden. Marry me, Henry, and save your title.”
“I cannot.”
“Why?”
Here it was. He could end it once and for all. Henry knew how she felt about him, the infatuation she’d borne for so many years. He cared for her, too, but they both knew he was no longer the man she’d known…the man she held in such high esteem. He’d made that more than clear. Henry steeled himself for the stroke he was about to deliver. It was for her own good. And his.
“Because what I feel for you is not as remarkable as what you are clearly imagining it to be.”
She laughed in disbelief, but not before he saw the flash of surprise in her eyes. “Not remarkable?” she repeated, her voice rising in octave as her gaze slid low. “Not to be vulgar, but I am not so naive as to believe that the way we’ve kissed is unremarkable.”
“Not to be vulgar,” he mocked her. “But you are naive if you believe this isn’t a typical male response. Or perhaps you have not been kissed very much. Trust me, it could be any other female standing there and my reaction would be the same.”
Henry braced himself against the shocked hurt brimming in her eyes. Regardless of her bravado, he could not fall prey to her tender feelings. He had to end the cycle, and for that, he needed to be brutal. Ruthless.
He waved a careless arm. “You could just as easily be Lady La Valse, or a courtesan from a gaming hell. It’s all the same to me. I am a red-blooded man, and it only takes a beautiful, willing woman, after all, which is what you are, but nothing more than that. Do not deceive yourself otherwise.”
Irina sucked in a gasp and bit her lip, but Henry forged on even as his heart shriveled in his chest at his horrible, unforgivable words. “And as much as I appreciate your kind offer, Your Highness, I am already betrothed to someone else.”
“You are a bastard,” she whispered.
“I told you as much.”
“I wish I’d never met you.” Her eyes were bright with the sheen of tears. “The old Henry would despise you. He’d be ashamed of who you have become.”
With that, she turned and jumped from the cliff’s edge. Henry darted forward, what was left of his heart throbbing in panic at the splash below. But she surfaced without so much as a shout. He stood there, watching her as she swam the length of the pool to where her horse was waiting. Irina did not look back, not once, before saddling her horse and riding away, out of his life. He’d done it, pushed her away. He should be happy, and yet it felt like everything around him had turned to gray, as if the world had suddenly been deprived of all its color. That was his world—one that was gray and dark and angry. Just because an angel had appeared for a moment and driven the shadows away didn’t mean he deserved any of it.
Irina was right about one thing though—he’d never despised himself more than he did at that moment.