My Hellion, My Heart

by Amalie Howard

  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.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “I believe we may be destined to do everything in an unorthodox manner,” Irina said as she stood before the mirror in her room at Stanton Park. Her maid crouched at her side, carefully pinning a piece of ivory lace at the hem of the wedding gown.

  Lana sat in a plush chair by the hearth, a hand resting contentedly on her burgeoning stomach. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “How many earls do you know who get married in the woods?” she asked her sister through the mirror’s reflection.

  Lana laughed. “How many princesses, at that?”

  Irina shook her head, smiling. She’d been wearing this same expression it seemed for the last several days, and oddly enough, her cheeks did not ache one bit. She supposed that only happened when a smile was forced and false. Irina had never in her life been happier than she had been over the last few weeks. And even the occasional passing thought of Max couldn’t dampen her joy. As Henry had promised, he had been spared the noose and had been sentenced to a lengthy stint in a gaol in Cambridgeshire. Irina hoped his time there would be well spent in reflection and reformation, and once he completed his sentence, he’d be shipped back to his father. That was all she permitted herself to think of him. Max was a part of the past.

  She and Henry had left the Canterbury estate and gone straight to Essex, though not before sending a messenger to Brighton. Lady Langlevit would still be taking the waters there, recovering from her bout of illness, and would want to know straightaway the news of her son’s new betrothal. Both Irina and Henry agreed the faster the countess returned to Essex, the sooner they could marry.

  “Fairy princesses,” Irina sighed, and with another long look at her gown, felt such warm serenity she wanted to twirl around. She didn’t, though, not with Jane still pinning some lace.

  “Well, you certainly look the part of a fairy princess,” Lana said.

  With no modistes in Breckenham to speak of, and with no desire to return to London to visit Madame Despain at her shop on Bond Street, Irina and Lana had been left to their own devices for the creation of Irina’s wedding gown.

  It had given them something to focus on for the week it took for Henry’s letter to reach Brighton, and for Lady Langlevit to make a surprisingly speedy return to Essex.

  They had taken Lana’s wedding gown, and with the help of several maids at Stanton Park and seamstresses in Breckenham, had transformed it into a completely new masterpiece. Still the same bone-ivory color, but with a high collar of sheer lace, small rose buttons from the nape of the neck to the start of the short train, and lace sleeves to the elbow. It was a simple gown, with hints of pink and rose in the new embroidery along the bodice.

  “Thank you for allowing me to wear your gown,” Irina said, relieved when Jane stood and moved away. Irina picked up the sides of the skirt and inspected the new lace.

  “It is our gown now,” Lana replied, lifting herself from the chair. Irina moved to help her, but Lana shook her head. “I am fine. Truly. I’m feeling much better and stronger. Oh, look at me!” she cried as she saw her figure in the mirror. “To think I once fit in that gown.”

  She touched the buttons along Irina’s spine with a sigh.

  “You are beautiful,” Irina told her, turning to take her sister’s hands in her own. She saw the flush of pleasure in Lana’s cheeks, the rosy glow of motherhood in her every motion. “I can only hope I am as lovely when I am with child,” Irina whispered, knowing that she could not have spoken of such things with anyone other than Lana. Or Henry.

  They had not had much opportunity over the course of the last two and a half weeks to make love again, though they had certainly made the most of one unchaperoned horseback ride, and then after a tea with Lady Langlevit the day she’d returned.

  The countess had been tired from her journey and had excused herself, leaving Henry and Irina alone in the day room at Hartstone. He had stared at her from his seat, a smile creeping over his lips, before he’d jumped to his feet, taken the teacup straight out of her hand, and dragged her to the carpet behind the sofa. It had been a quick union, though no less thrilling, especially with the threat of a servant walking in on them.

  However, even after only so few encounters, something was different. Irina could feel it, though nothing she could quite describe. Yesterday, she’d thought back to when she’d last had her monthly menses and had realized with a burst of elation that she should have started bleeding a week before. She was carrying Henry’s child. It was still much too early to be completely sure, but she hoped for it, and a part of her knew.

  “You will always be lovely,” Lana told her now, cupping her cheek and grinning. Tears trembled in her eyes. “And I am so very happy for you and Henry. I’m not sure I could have allowed you to marry anyone else, in fact. I trust him completely, and I know how deeply he cares for you. I saw it even when we were younger and he went to such extraordinary lengths to keep us both safe.” Lana kissed Irina’s cheek and stepped back, blinking away her tears. “You have chosen well, sister. And so has he.”

  Like Lana, Irina was quite certain she couldn’t have married anyone else, either. She’d been more than prepared to return to St. Petersburg alone, with no prospects and no hope. It seemed like a lifetime ago instead of only a month.

  There was a knock at the door. “Are my two favorite princesses quit
e ready? The carriage awaits, and the sun will not slow its descent, not even for royalty.”

  Irina laughed at Gray’s announcement. “Yet another unorthodox decision.”

  “Yes,” Lana agreed as Jane rushed forward with a small spencer made entirely of lace and sheer silk. “Getting married at sunset does mark you as an eccentric, I’m afraid.”

  She opened the door. “Normal people are boring,” Gray announced, extending his arm to Irina. He looked entirely handsome, even though he wasn’t in full evening dress. Black kits in the woods seemed a bit much, so everyone had been invited to wear something a little less formal. Even her own wedding gown was suitable for a ceremony in a chapel in the woods.

  The small stone structure sat in a clearing on a ridge, not too far from Henry’s obstacle course, Irina had noted when he’d first shown her the site. It had been built by his ancestors, and though it had been kept up over time, it was not used often. Ivy had begun to creep over the stone and the stained-glass windows, but Henry had always loved the solitude of it, and when Irina had seen it, she’d fallen in love, as well.

  The carriage took her, Lana, and Gray through town and onto Hartstone land, traveling as far as it could through a field to the base of a hill which was thickly covered with elms and yew trees. There, several footmen in livery waited with saddled horses and, to Irina and Lana’s surprise, two covered sedan chairs, each one set on two long poles.

  “These poor men have to carry me all the way up that hill?” Lana said, grimacing. Gray helped her into one of the wicker sedan chairs.

  “I will carry you myself if you complain. Now sit and relax and pretend you are Cleopatra.”

  He kissed her quickly and then turned to help Irina, but she had already climbed into the chair. Though she could have easily climbed the hill to the chapel, the last thing she wanted was to catch the lace Jane had so painstakingly sewn onto the hem on brambles.