“Oh, please, my lady, I would never divulge anything that would impeach that perfect reputation of yours.”
“But have you done anything to threaten it, Remi?” The silky question came from Lord Langlevit, and immediately, the tension at the table thickened.
“Whatever do you mean?” Max tossed back airily.
Henry crossed his arms across his chest. “I heard you took her to a gentleman’s gaming club in Paris.”
North gave a bark of laughter that he quickly muffled, and Lana practically choked on her water. Dimly, Irina recalled Lana mentioning something about their stay at a bawdy gaming hall. Apparently, she and Lord Northridge had been caught at an infamous one themselves in London’s North End after their carriage had hit a log en route to town. Irina’s eyes narrowed as something jogged her memory. Come to think of it, said hall was the same one Langlevit had mentioned—the Cock and the something or other.
“The club was my idea,” Irina announced in a sudden fit of contrariness. “I wanted to go.”
“You invite scandal and ruin upon her,” Henry said in a low, controlled voice, ignoring the fact that she had spoken and keeping his eyes centered on Max.
“At least I’d be willing to propose marriage,” Max countered, eliciting gasps from Lady Bradburne and Lana. “If it did come to that. Ruin, I mean. But sadly, Princess Irina is far too straitlaced to be seduced by any gentleman.”
Except for the man directly opposite, Irina thought.
“I am in no danger of being ruined,” she muttered. It was hardly appropriate dinner conversation.
Feeling Henry’s eyes drift to her, Irina squirmed inwardly and kept her own gaze focused on her plate, for fear of how transparent she would become if she so much as looked at him.
“I beg to argue,” the earl said. “Take the recent wagers at White’s for example.”
“Wagers?” both Lady Bradburne and Lana asked in unison, their interest roused while Irina’s heart sank. Though the wager book at White’s was also not appropriate dinner conversation, no one in attendance here seemed to give two figs for propriety. Both North and Bradburne treated their wives with far more freedom than did most other gentlemen of their set. Not that either Lana or the duchess would have it any other way, Irina suspected.
“Explain yourself, Lord Langlevit,” Lana said tightly.
Irina’s eyes rose to clash with Henry’s amber ones. Would he expose the fact that she knew about them? Encouraged them, even? Would he be so cruel? Her sister would be mortified and utterly furious. Lana and North, as her guardians, had the power to confine her to Stanton Park. And though Irina would rebel against being kept prisoner, she also did not wish to compromise her sister’s health by any means. Her fate, as it were, rested in Lord Langlevit’s hands. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she waited with bated breath.
“For Lady Irina’s favors,” Henry said. “A dance, a stroll, a kiss, a ride…” He trailed off and paused, those glittering eyes delving into hers, and Irina jutted her chin. She couldn’t control her violent flush at the silent confrontation. The innuendo on the word ride was subtle but clear. Everyone else at the table missed the inflection, though, except Max. He had gone rigid in the seat beside her.
“Well, this conversation has quickly gone to hell,” Lord Northridge commented in the widening silence and drained his wineglass. This time, though, no one laughed.
“This is atrocious, an absolute travesty,” Lana said with an affronted expression, her gaze sliding to Irina. “She is not some ridiculous prize.”
“The Prize of London, to be exact,” Max drawled in a tone that made Irina again want to kick him.
“Unacceptable.” Lady Bradburne scowled and nodded her agreement with her sister-in-law. “And it is truly disgusting the way you gentlemen wager every little thing.”
“Not all gentlemen, dear,” the duke said gently.
“It’s harmless, I expect,” Irina said with a laugh, keeping her voice light to dissipate the burgeoning tension and the look of murderous disgust on Lana’s face. “I don’t mind if the gentlemen at the club have a bit of fun. Being known as the Prize of London is far better than being known as an Ice Princess, I suppose. It will pass in time once some other fascination takes their interest.”
“You must put a stop to this, Archer,” Lady Bradburne said to her husband.
“I wish I could, my love, but the wager books are untouchable.”
Irina cleared her throat. “It truly does not bother me, Your Grace,” she said to the duchess, smiling brightly, and patting Max’s arm beside her. “And I have Lord Remi to protect me from any overeager suitors.”
Henry snorted, his eyes like ice chips. “It is not some unknown and overeager suitor that worries me.”
“Do you have something to say, Langlevit?” Max asked with an indolent grin.
His response was deadly low. “Should I?”
Irina’s entire body went taut. She was sure Max was not aware how much danger of bodily harm he was in. Even she could sense the precarious shift in the air as Henry tensed across the table, his large body flexing like a jungle cat about to pounce on its prey. But Max only waved an idle arm, as if intent on provoking the beast. “It may come as a surprise to you, but Princess Irina does not do anything she doesn’t want to do,” he replied, unfazed, his expression cool. “And do not forget, Langlevit, you are no longer her guardian.”
“Max,” Irina hissed in warning, even as Henry’s back went straight in his chair. The younger man was veering into dangerous territory by suggesting her honor had been compromised in any way, especially with her sister, her husband, and the powerful Duke and Duchess of Bradburne looking on with unsmiling interest. “Please, that is enough.”
Max took her hand from her lap, and raising it to his lips, kissed her knuckles. “Apologies, Your Highness,” he murmured. “I truly did not mean to cause offense or discomfort.”
Irina did not fall for the act one bit. He did not mean his apology at all if the unrepentant look in his eyes was any signal, and he was only kissing her bloody hand to inflame the earl. Max never apologized, not even when he was in the wrong. Irina spared Henry a glance and hurriedly retracted her arm. A lethal glint shone in his eyes, as if Henry also suspected the apology was false. Irina was certain he was on the verge of leaping across the table to throttle her unsuspecting friend with his bare hands. She had to do something, and quickly.
Swallowing hard, she stood, a nearby footman rushing forward to hold her chair back. Four more chairs shifted backward as the men stood to their feet, and she smiled despite her grimly throbbing heart. “Gentlemen, please, let’s not ruin what has thus far been a lovely evening. I’m sure a game of billiards would be in order, and a glass of sherry for us ladies.”
Her sister also rose, her wan face catching Irina’s eye. “I’m afraid I must make my regrets,” Lana said, quick to shoot a reassuring smile to those around her. “I do admit to feeling a bit overwhelmed.” She glanced at Irina. “Lord Northridge will see me home if you wish to stay. And Godfrey can return for you once he has seen us back to Stanton Park.”
“No,” Irina said. “I should accompany you.”
“It’s not necessary. I assure you that I’m only tired. I am a dreadful bore, I know. You should stay and enjoy the rest of your evening.”
Irina said nothing, but if things continued on the path they’d been on with Max and the earl, the evening was sure to keep heading south. But she nodded and made certain Lana was safely ensconced in the carriage before going back inside. Irina had a sinking feeling that Lana would not forget about the wagers, which meant for a lecture or worse on the morrow. North hadn’t been far off when he’d said that the better choice was to run when Lana was angry. Her temper could be formidable when provoked.
To Irina’s surprise, when she returned, the drawing room and the salon were both empty. “Where has everyone gon
e?” she asked Heed, the Duke of Bradburne’s longtime butler.
“Her Grace offers her sincerest apologies, but she has been summoned to the nursery,” he said.
“Oh, is everything well?”
“Yes, Your Highness. Master Brandon is recovering from a cough,” Heed explained. Irina recalled hearing of Lady Bradburne’s lung ailments when she was a child, and she hoped it was nothing of the same. “Lord Langlevit and Lord Remi are in the billiards room,” Heed said.
The two of them alone in a room? That was not wise.
“I suppose I should find Max and take our leave, as well,” Irina murmured half to herself. She did not want to impose upon their hosts if they had a sick child on hand, and it wouldn’t be long before Godfrey returned. “Where is the billiards room?”
“This way, Your Highness.”
Irina followed Heed in silence, her feet making no sound on the thick carpets. The doors to the billiards room were open, but she heard no voices. Thanking Heed, she wandered in. The room was empty, thankfully not occupied by two men engaged in fisticuffs. She almost sighed with relief.
Irina ran her hands across the gorgeous red felt of the billiards table and rolled one of the white balls sitting in a felted box along its length. Max had taught her the game when they were in Paris, and she found that she’d enjoyed the play and its structured mathematical nature. Irina looked around. Where was that scoundrel anyway? She intended to give him a good piece of her mind on the way back to Stanton Park.
She placed the valuable pure ivory ball back into its box and nearly leaped a foot into the air as a lean shadow uncurled itself from a darkened corner of the room. “Are you going to play or just roll the balls around?” Henry asked, approaching with a drink in hand.
Irina’s breath caught as she scanned the room for any other hidden bodies. They were alone. Well, not truly alone. A footman stood just beyond the door, which remained open. Henry prowled closer, and she had the sudden urge to back away. Not because she was afraid of him…Irina was more afraid of herself. She always seemed to lose every shred of sense and dignity wherever he was concerned, and she’d meant what she’d said earlier. Ignoring her scattered pulse, she straightened her spine. “I was looking for Max.”
“He disappeared. Perhaps he decided to take some air.”
Irina frowned at him, her reply sour. “You both needed some air.”
Henry didn’t respond, only stood staring at her with that unfathomable look of his. He sipped his whiskey.
“Would you like to play?” she asked, gesturing to the table after a few moments of awkward silence.
“No.”
Of course not. And why would he? She’d given him the direct cut, asking him to keep his distance and not to kiss her again. He was simply playing by her rules, it seemed.
“All right, then,” she replied, tapping another ball before starting away from the table. “I’ll leave you be.”
She’d barely turned her back when he said, “The cracking noise. It’s not ideal.”
Irina stopped and turned back to him, her heart tripping as a rush of pity filled her. He would not appreciate the sentiment, however, so she only smiled and nodded.
“However,” he went on, placing his drink upon the mantel with a smirk. “If you were to crack the balls softly…”
Irina couldn’t stop the answering grin that surged to her lips. “I am certain I could be gentle with them.”
She was rewarded with a short bark of laughter. “Gentle? I fear that any man who allows his…balls near you will find themselves in the gravest of danger.”
“My lord!” Her jaw went loose, and she stared at him, her laughter bubbling up. Henry’s light humor reminded her of easier times…of happier times. Though she didn’t quite trust herself with him, it was worth the few seconds of actually hearing him laugh. It was something he no longer did often, she knew. “Though you’re probably right.”
Henry vaulted an eyebrow in challenge. “Come now then, Princess,” he said, grabbing hold of a nearby playing stick. “Let’s see this skill of yours.”
…
Henry braced himself for the first scattering of the three billiard balls over the felt. He’d allowed Irina the first move, and to his relief, she was indeed gentle as she sent the ivory cue ball marked with a black dot forward. The muted crack still held enough power to send the red ball landing straight into a side pocket.
“Well done,” he murmured as he lined his cue up. “Two points.”
“I’d like to claim that it was intentional, but alas, it was mere luck,” she replied.
“Never divulge your strategy,” he said, standing tall again and eyeing her from across the table. She was gorgeous in that gown, the back dipping so low Henry could see the soft, delicate skin of the small of her back; the curve of her spine and the play of slim muscles as she walked.
“In billiards or in general?” she asked.
Henry watched her eyes settle on the table. He took his shot with his plain white ball, striking hers before sinking the red ball into a corner pocket in a clever combination shot. “A cannon. Well played,” she complimented.
“Thank you. In general,” he replied. “And when luck strikes, never claim it as such.”
Her lips pressed into a concentrated grin, and she took her turn. The cue ball knocked into his white ball, which rolled into a pocket and disappeared from view.
“That was not luck,” she said, making a small and playful curtsy.
Henry felt the tension that had built between them at dinner beginning to dissolve. She’d commanded him earlier to keep his distance, and he had absolutely no intention of doing otherwise. He’d said his piece—or almost all of it—about what it was he wanted, but she hadn’t given him the opportunity to explain all. That he wanted to take more than just carnal pleasure in her. That it was her company he sought and enjoyed. Moments like the one unfolding right now.
“Are you going to take your turn?” she asked, and Henry realized he was standing still, staring at her.
He was slow to move, something inside of him molten and heavy. Irina started forward, concern lancing through what had been a cheerful expression.
“Was it the noise? Did I crack the balls too loudly?”
Henry tried to stifle his laugh, but it threatened to become a snort, and he let it loose. “No, no. Though, I must say, Princess, I don’t believe I could ever grow tired of hearing that word on your lips.”
Immediately, a lewd image of Irina sprang to his mind, and he decided perhaps mentions of lips and balls should not be made so close together. She must have connected the words as well for her cheeks went a lovely shade of pink.
“Take your turn, my lord, and tell me—how did you know I visited a gaming hell in Paris?”
He walked around the table, closer to where Irina stood, to align his cue stick. He concentrated on the shot and took it before answering her question, earning himself another two points.
“I have contacts in Paris still. People who owe me favors.” Henry leaned against the table. “I asked them to deliver information on Lord Remi.”
“You’re spying on him?” He noticed there was more curiosity in her expression than anger.
“I am simply gathering information,” he replied. That it had reinvigorated him, he did not mention. “In case he does decide to offer for you, I need to be certain he’s not after your dowry. I made a promise to your father, after all, to see you and your sister safe, and that includes pursuit from fortune hunters.”
“Max has enough money of his own.” Her cheeks tinting, Irina hiked her chin. “You behaved abominably with him tonight.”
“I wanted to behave worse,” Henry said, smiling to try and erase the pinch of a frown between her eyebrows.
It worked. Irina sighed. “He is only goading you on.”
“He is pushi
ng too far.”
She fixed him with a withering stare. “And you never have?”
Henry held her challenging gaze. “I don’t push where I am not wanted.”
She had no response to that, though he could see in the trip of emotion on her face that she was searching for one. Something witty or clever, perhaps.
Henry took a step closer, keeping her command not to kiss her again in the very forefront of his mind. “Lord Remi was right regarding one thing, however,” he said softly. “I am no longer your guardian.”
No more than a foot of space separated them, he realized, as the warmed scent of her wafted toward him. He’d gotten drunk on the smell of her skin in the woods. Henry couldn’t help but think of her as she’d been against that tree, only this time, he wanted her facing him…her dress hitched around her waist, those silken hips of hers on luscious, decadent display.
Unable to help himself, he reached out, the tips of his fingers brushed hers, resting on the raised bank of the billiards table. Irina held her mace stick in her other hand as tightly as she would a weapon and closed her eyes as if to brace against his light touch. Her chest rose and fell in a sharp, erratic motion, but she did not move away.
“You can do as you want,” he went on, his fingers traveling over hers, skimming over her satin-encased knuckles and up her wrist.
The feel of her skin was addictive—one forbidden touch was not enough. But Henry held himself well in check, staying firm to her request not to kiss her. Those lips. Knowing how soft and malleable and yielding they were did not make his task of holding back any easier. He knew all too well where a kiss between them would lead…to the fruition of his lewd fantasies.
A glimpse of her bare shoulders and back caught his eye in the gilded floor-length mirror, and an urge to trace his lips along the long, elegant rise of her spine overcame him. The near constant ache in his groin throbbed. Henry spared a glance to the open doorway, the arm of the footman just visible.
“Tell me, what is it that you want, Irina?” he asked softly, edging so close he could feel the heat rising from her body.
My Hellion, My Heart Page 19
