My Hellion, My Heart

by Amalie Howard

  “You think you know what he intends?” Henry asked. He continued to push her backward, toward another box-shaped hedge. An alcove had been cut into it, and as Irina staggered into its bracket shape, she realized the danger it posed.

  “You think you know what any man intends?” he went on, stalking her backward some more until she’d hit the meticulously pruned wall of the thick hedge.

  “I know Max will honor his promise,” Irina said, the pulse in her throat jumping the closer he became. She’d seen him angry before. She’d seen him caught in the throes of a memory that would not loose him from its clutches. But she had never seen him look like this. Like a prowling beast who wanted satisfaction and would stop at nothing until he had it.

  “He won’t. He will take what he wants and be done with it.” Henry cornered her then, blocking her view of the alcove entrance, of the boxed trees beyond the hedge hideaway. Irina swallowed a spike of dread. Worry shot through her chest, but another paralyzing sensation struck lower, too, as heat throbbed in her abdomen. Good Lord, the way he was looking at her made her feel feverish. Every inch of her hummed in his presence.

  “Is that the sort of man you want?” he asked, lifting his hand and touching her side. He formed his palm to the shape of her hip and squeezed. Irina felt the immediate answering tug between her thighs.

  “No,” she said, but he only responded by raking his hand up the side of her dress, pressing into her ribs.

  “Do you want a man who takes what he wants?” His thumb dragged boldly across the underside of her breast.

  “Henry, please,” she gasped. “This is—”

  “This is a prize I want,” he said hoarsely, and as his fingers curved up her breast, toward the bodice top, Irina knew he was already lost. So was she.

  “How much do you think it is worth?” he asked, the question both crude and thrilling. And when he pulled the top of her bodice down, exposing her breast, Irina whimpered.

  Henry pinched her nipple gently, and she arched her back, wanting to thrust her breast deeper into his hand. Henry lowered his head and took the hard peak into his mouth, suckling her, scraping his teeth against the sensitive tip until it hurt. She almost didn’t feel the bunching up of her dress until Henry’s palm was sliding up her thigh, rustling over the silk of her stockings and brushing the lace edges of her drawers.

  “How much to touch you here?” he asked, his fingers instantly finding the slit in her drawers. Irina knew he was being purposefully lewd, but she didn’t want him to stop. That was always the problem…once Henry was touching her, she did feel like a prize had been won. Him. His touch, his attention, the pleasure he was more than willing to give her.

  His fingers skimmed her wet heat, but instead of pushing inside to touch her deeply as he had before, he paused.

  “Ah, but that has already been won,” he said. “A new wager, then. To up the stakes.”

  Henry gave her nipple one last nip and then lowered himself to one knee. He picked Irina’s foot up from the grass and placed it on his thigh before tossing her skirt and petticoats up, exposing her stockinged legs and garters.

  “Henry!” she gasped, her fevered eyes looking up to the alcove entrance. “What are you doing?”

  His fingers kept the slit in her drawers open and cool air rushed against the most private part of her. His eyes took her in, and for the first time since this mad display in the hedge alcove had started, she saw him falter.

  “I told you I wanted you in ways you could not fathom,” he said, his breath gusting against her center.

  “But if we are seen—”

  “I know,” he said, and then with a groan, he put his mouth to her core. Irina tensed and moaned her surprise as his tongue pushed inside. Henry licked her, scraping his teeth against the small nub at her entrance. Blood pounded through Irina’s ears, her head spinning, her breath all but lost as he made love to her with his mouth. It was wrong. It was so wrong, but it was the most glorious sin she’d ever known.

  “I thought I saw the princess come this way.” A voice knifed through Irina’s delirium.

  Lady Lyon.

  Henry released her and pushed her skirts back down before standing to full height again.

  “Stay here. I’ll lead them away,” he whispered, and started to leave. She clutched at his arm, uncertain what she wanted to say, only knowing she didn’t want him to leave.

  “I will make it right,” he said softly. His glittering amber eyes, still glazed with unsatisfied desire, searched hers. “You have my promise.”

  And then, before she could make any sort of reply, Henry turned and left.

  Her body was buzzing from his touch, from her own unsatisfied desire, when she heard his voice speaking to Gwen. Something about not being able to catch up with the princess. A maze farther ahead, near the bowling green. Perhaps they should all try there.

  Irina realized her breast was still exposed and she quickly covered herself, straightening her dress and bodice, and touching the simple knot of hair at the base of her neck Jane had fixed earlier.

  As soon as her knees would hold, Irina peeked around the corner of the hedge. There were a few ladies strolling in the distance, but neither of them were Gwen. Irina started back toward the greenhouse, trying not to rush and draw attention to herself, but also desperate to leave. Oh, good heavens, what had she just done? What had she allowed Henry to do?

  She never would have imagined he’d drop to his knees, right there in the hedges, and kiss her…there, the very heart of her. Somehow, it seemed even more intimate than she imagined the act of lovemaking would be. Her chest felt hot, and the space between her thighs was still thrumming as she avoided entering the greenhouse and walked the periphery of it instead. There was a brick path leading to the front entrance, with topiary along the way, but the shrubs clipped into the shapes of horses, goats, elk, and fish could not distract her mind from reeling with questions.

  What would happen now? He’d said he’d make it right…but what did that mean? I will make it right. You have my promise. His promise? He couldn’t mean a promise to do right by her…could he? Because that would entail a proposal. A wedding. And he didn’t wish to marry her or anyone.

  Or had something changed?

  Irina realized she was walking back toward the sea of conveyances and horses without so much as a good-bye to Lord and Lady Lyon. It was abysmally rude, but she could not see Henry again. Not yet. Not without flushing the deepest shade of puce and giving everything away. Gwen would pounce on such a delicious morsel of gossip in a second.

  “It appears the death flower has had its most distinguished visitor yet.” Irina looked up at the sound of Max’s voice. She saw him walking toward her, having just arrived, she assumed. And on his arm was Lady La Valse.

  He grimaced. “It also appears the stench is just as awful as has been reported. You’re running from the greenhouse in near tears.”

  Tears? Irina blinked and realized her lashes were indeed wet. She’d been on the verge of crying, it seemed, and she had not even known it.

  “It is,” she said.

  Max and Lady La Valse stopped before her.

  “Awful,” Irina went on clumsily. “The stench.”

  Max peered down at her while Lady La Valse looked confused, as if Irina were speaking a foreign language. What the woman thought meant nothing to her, though. It bothered Irina just having to stand so close to this woman who had bedded Henry God knew how many times in the past.

  “What is the matter?” Max asked, lifting her chin an inch so he could inspect her gaze. “Are you feeling ill?”

  “I know I am going to be ill,” Lady La Valse said, sounding bored. “I cannot believe I allowed you to bring me along. I swear I can smell rotting meat from here.”

  Her nose crinkled, and Irina wished it would stay that way permanently.

  “No, I’m
…I’m fine. I just need to leave,” she replied, purposefully ignoring Lady La Valse.

  “We’ll walk you to your carriage,” Max said, whereupon his companion sighed heavily.

  “I want to get this viewing over with, Remi. I’ll be inside,” she said, and having noticed Irina’s lack of greeting, returned it in kind. She sauntered away without a word to her.

  “Come,” Max said, and Irina fell into step beside him. “And tell me what is wrong. I know you, Irina. Something has happened.”

  She couldn’t speak of it. Not to anyone, and especially not Max. He didn’t like Henry, just as Henry didn’t like him.

  She recalled his accusation earlier, that Max had stolen from his father, but pushed it aside. There were more important things to discuss at that moment.

  “Yes, something has,” she said, taking a fortifying breath. It was time. She knew she had to break it to him and now before things got further out of control. “I’m calling it off. Our planned betrothal. It can’t happen. You must withdraw your name from the wager book at White’s.”

  She’d known it for a long time, perhaps even from the start. Something about the way Henry had said she had his promise to make it right…if that meant a proposal, Irina would accept it without hesitation. No, he may never love her, but he longed for her. That had been more than evident in the alcove, and every other time they’d been alone. Henry wanted her, and she wanted him. They got along well…more than well. They could enjoy one another’s bodies, and company, and maybe one day Henry would come to realize he cared for her. It was a wishful thought, but Irina couldn’t marry Max and live a lie. She’d regret it forever.

  Max walked her silently the rest of the way to her carriage. Only when her driver jumped as he saw her unexpected approach did he speak.

  “There is nothing I can say to sway you?”

  He didn’t sound angry or frustrated as he had before, but resigned.

  “No,” she answered.

  Max opened the door for her, revealing a napping Jane inside the carriage. “I thought this might be your decision.”

  Good. So, it hadn’t come as a complete surprise, then. Irina let out a relieved breath and kissed Max’s cheek. “Thank you for understanding.”

  He helped her into the carriage and smiled up at her. “Of course, my dove. All will be well, you’ll see.” He pursed his lips into his usual smirk, his eyebrow rising. “So is this remarkable death flower worth seeing or not?”

  Irina smiled back at him, grateful for small mercies. “I suppose if you want the stench of putrefying fish singeing your nose hairs for the next week.”

  “That sounds lovely.” Max grinned at her. “Though I can’t imagine it’s worse than the Boulevard de Rochechouart in the height of summer.”

  “Well, prepare yourself, my lord. I do look forward to comparing notes.”

  With a jaunty wink, Max shut the door, and the driver called to the horses. The carriage pulled away, and Irina’s maid startled awake.

  “Did you see it?” she asked groggily.

  Irina nodded, but didn’t feel like conversing. She leaned back against the squabs and looked out the window, the narrow streets of London filtering past. Irina drew a deep breath, chasing the last of the death flower’s stink away.

  Max was right—all would be well on the morrow.

  Chapter Twenty

  White’s was teeming with activity, but Henry turned a deaf ear to it. He expected it had everything to do with that damned wager book, which had become the bane of his existence.

  Now that he had admitted his feelings to himself where a certain princess was concerned, the copious lists of bets chafed more. The only way he could stop it would be to make an offer of marriage himself, and that he would not do without first speaking with Irina’s guardians or his mother. He’d almost ridden straight to Essex after their brief interlude at the Botanical Gardens, and if it weren’t for the fact that he’d had business to tend to with his solicitor regarding Rose, he would have.

  Sipping his whiskey, he exhaled sharply at the memory of Irina and the bemused look of astonishment on her face when he’d hiked her skirts and settled himself between her thighs. Christ, he’d have given anything to lay her down on the grass and finish what he’d started. The taste of her had been scintillating, the sight of her lissome, slim legs even more so. He wanted to behold her in all her natural beauty without a stitch of clothing on…feast his eyes on her with no fear of interruption. Henry could have cheerfully murdered Lady Lyon right then, although her unknowing intrusion had likely been a blessing in disguise. If he and Irina had been discovered in such a scandalous position with his head buried between her thighs in a public garden, the gossip would have been unstoppable.

  But good God, the risk had been worth it.

  Henry shuffled his cards in restless agitation, his body twitching with immediate lust at the erotic recollection. If the mere thought of her brought him to such a state of readiness and a dream could make him expend himself, he couldn’t begin to imagine what the actual act would bring. Henry smiled to himself as he enumerated all the ways in which he would give her pleasure. Irina would be an eager student. Though she’d been stunned at the intimacy at the waterfall and at Yardley, Henry knew that she would revel in learning everything he had to teach her about her body. And his. Irina took pleasure as he did, without shame or artifice—she luxuriated in it with abandon and enthusiasm.

  Henry was looking forward to the task already.

  “Smiling because you’re fleecing them all, Langlevit?” the Duke of Bradburne asked as he sat across from him in one of the empty chairs with a knowing grin. “Or because you have other more pleasing affairs on your mind?”

  “A bit of both,” Henry replied lazily, glad for the table’s low overhang as he placed his latest bet, carefully watching the faces of his two opponents—two young peacocks he barely knew. He’d chosen the outlying table for that very reason. Henry did not want to converse with anyone, he simply wanted for a quiet diversion.

  Playing cards was only a means of passing the time until another of his horses was re-shod for the journey to Essex. His favorite and fastest horse had turned up a stone in his hoof, and Henry did not want to put him through the grueling pace of a trip to the country. And when he’d finished his business with his solicitor, he’d decided to take luncheon at the club and enjoy a few quiet hands of vingt-et-un.

  He did not mind the duke joining him now, however. Too much of his own thoughts left him in an engorged state unfit for polite society. “How long are you back in town, Hawk?”

  “For the week,” he said.

  “And Her Grace, is she with you?”

  “No,” Hawk said. “She is still in Essex with the children. Lady Northridge has been committed to bed rest for the remainder of her confinement, and my wife has taken it upon herself to see to her comfort.”

  Henry frowned. He’d received no such information as to Lana’s worsening condition, and Irina would have said something or insisted on returning if she’d known.

  “It is only a precaution,” Hawk added, as if he could read the worry on his face. “Lady Northridge did not want to needlessly worry her sister.”

  After a few minutes of intense play, Henry decided to fold, awarding the winning hand to the duke, who grinned with satisfaction. The two other young gentlemen who had been sitting at the table groaned their disappointment and rose, deciding to try their luck elsewhere. Henry nodded to the dealer to continue, despite it being only Hawk and him remaining.

  He glanced up at the duke who seemed intently focused on the new hand he’d been dealt. “Hawk, may I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.”

  Henry cleared his throat, lowering his voice. He knew the dealer would be discreet, but he could not account for other more curious ears around them. “How did you know…that Lady Bradburne was the o
ne? That it was a love match.”

  Hawk’s stare met his, a slight crease puckering his brow. “That’s a rather loaded question.”

  “Yes, I know.” Henry shrugged in apology. “It is fine if you do not wish to answer.”

  “No, you just took me by surprise,” Hawk said, taking a draught from the glass of whiskey at his side. “I suppose I always knew somewhere deep down that she was the one for me. She made me want to change, and no woman had ever done that before. I was quite set in my ways, as you know.” A fond smile settled on his face. “Briannon was…is…a force of nature. She saved me from myself.”

  “So it was always love?”

  “Not at the start,” Hawk said grinning. “She nearly drove me to madness first. Still does, but I would not have it any other way. Briannon is strong of heart and mind, and she challenges me every single day to be a better man.”

  Henry smiled into his own drink. “So, what you’re saying is that finding the right one makes you feel like ripping your hair out at the roots and inspires a deep desire to improve yourself?”

  “Exactly.” Hawk arched an eyebrow at his dry tone. “Although I don’t recall Lady Carmichael being of a particularly vexing temperament. She seems rather even-keeled.”

  “I’m not referring to Rose,” Henry confessed after a beat. “She decided we didn’t suit, after all.”

  “I am sorry to hear it.”

  Henry shook his head. “Don’t be. It was a farfetched scheme to solve a ridiculously inconvenient matter of a stipulation on my title.”

  “So of whom do you speak?” Hawk asked, humor alight in his eyes. “Or is the young lady’s identity of a delicate nature?”

  “Clearly not, especially if it has a wager against it,” Henry muttered, his eyes darting a vicious glower to where even more young men had congregated since his last look around that bloody book.

  “Ah, of course.” Hawk nodded, following his stare. “Her Grace did remark that she thought there was something between the two of you at the dinner at Worthington Abbey. Women have a certain intuition with that sort of thing. Might I assume that an announcement is in the works?”