My Hellion, My Heart

by Amalie Howard

  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.