Page 10 of My Hellion, My Heart
Henry shook his head, an immediate reflex that would have come across as insulting to any other woman offering her company. Thankfully, Lady La Valse did not suffer a sensitive ego. Henry might take women to his bed at all hours of the day, but at night, he slept alone. Always alone. The probability of a visiting night terror, the ones that so often stalked him as he slept, was too high. They gripped him in his sleep more forcibly than when he was awake, it seemed, and Henry would rise from the terrifying stupors drenched in sweat, his sheets a tangled mass, the air around him snowing feathers from the pillows he’d torn to shreds with his own possessed hands.
Once, following his return from the Continent, he’d allowed a passing fancy to sleep beside him after their encounter was finished. Her terrified screams had snapped Henry from his hellish nightmare, only to find that he’d shoved her from the bed. Though she was more frightened than hurt, Henry knew it could have been far worse had she tried to awaken him. She would have suffered the same fate as countless pillows.
He had not made the same mistake again, nor would he ever.
Françoise eyed him skeptically now, but before she could say anything, Henry continued, “I’m only bothered by this marriage business, that is all.”
She rose to the tips of her lady’s boots and kissed his cheek. “I understand. I don’t care for the institution myself and can’t tell you how lucky I am to be done with it. I’d feel guilty saying such, but I do believe my husband, God rest his soul, was relieved to be done with it, as well.”
Henry huffed a laugh. Françoise’s husband, the late Viscount La Valse, had been a stunted old knave. The marriage had solely been a profitable one for both him and Françoise, the latter of whom had reportedly thrown an intimate party at her home the day after the viscount’s death.
“I’ll see myself out. Good night, my favorite earl,” she said as she made her way toward the study door.
He watched her go, slightly relieved to be alone again. At least now some of the well of restlessness inside of him had been drained. He would miss Françoise’s easy humor. When he married and broke things off with her, she would not be sad. She had other earls and marquesses and dukes at her beck and call, and probably a whole brigade of the demimonde and gentry.
Henry left the desk and the scattering of papers upon the floor and walked toward the windows overlooking the gardens. It was late, the moon full and bright. He was not tired in the least and knew he would remain awake a few more hours, or even well past the first light of dawn, his lust unslaked, his mind prowling the undignified response he’d felt for Irina that morning in his mother’s day room.
The numbers. He would have to attempt the ledgers again. Perhaps more whiskey.
He turned around and got to work.
Chapter Four
Hadley Gardens had changed drastically since the last time Irina had set foot inside its splendid walls. No longer the gilded interior it had once been for the previous duke, Her Grace, the Duchess of Bradburne, had completely redesigned the interior into shades of mint green, robin’s-egg blue, and buttercup yellow. Only the ballroom remained as sumptuous and ornate as Irina remembered it, though for some reason it did appear a bit smaller and far more crowded than she’d last seen it, during one of the balls she and Lana had attended together just before her marriage to Lord Northridge.
At fourteen, Irina should not have been able to attend any society functions at all, but Lana had not possessed the heart to say no, and Her Grace had explicitly requested Irina’s presence. In truth, Irina thought Lana had allowed her to tag along in society simply because she did not want to be parted from her, even for a few hours. After spending nearly eight months apart in England as they hid from their duplicitous uncle and his vicious cohort, Baron Zakorov, both Lana and Irina had clung to one another for weeks once they had reunited.
Irina, however, had soon returned to St. Petersburg and their limited family there, while Lana had remained in England, traveling only time and again to Volkonsky Palace. Lana had offered to let Irina live with them, but even at that young age, she had known married couples needed their space. And Irina had wanted to return home and be among familiar people and sights and sounds.
Besides, the Earl of Langlevit was often in St. Petersburg. He had been their father’s friend and confidant, and had been in the city when she and Lana needed him most, for their quick, midnight escape. It was not as if she wouldn’t see him again.
Or so she had thought.
“There you are!” A vibrant voice rising above the din inside Hadley Gardens’ ballroom broke Irina from her reverie. She spun around to find a familiar face grinning widely, lips parted in astonishment. Lady Lyon, the countess she had met in Paris last year, embraced Irina openly, rather than bow and smile as most ladies would have done.
“Gwen,” Irina said, breathless from the firm squeeze of her hug. “I did not realize you’d be here. How wonderful to see you again. As you can see, I followed your strict order and came straight to London.”
The countess laughed loudly enough to draw glances of concern from those nearby.
“It is the opening ball of the season, my darling, I would not miss it! The sheer number of hopeful debutantes and randy bachelors promises fine entertainment for one evening,” she said then leaning closer, whispered, “Look there. Next to Lady Rochester. Lady Eugenia Fairbanks. It’s herthirdseason, you know.”
Irina eyed the pretty young woman, who was standing next to a potted shrub decorated with what appeared to be elegantly folded paper birds. Lady Eugenia stood primly to the side of the dance floor, a cup of punch in hand, watching the merriment with slightly desperate interest.
“It is my third season as well,” Irina replied, expecting Gwen to gasp and apologize. But she did not.
“Yes, I know. And just like Lady Eugenia, it is an absolute travesty. You are much too beautiful to have not stolen the heart of a deserving beau.” Gwen did not lower her voice as she went on. “I understand high standards, of course, but I really do think you should endeavor to settle on a husband this season. A fourth season would simply be pathetic.”
Irina’s lips parted with surprise, a smile of amusement tugging at the corner of her mouth. “My goodness, you say what you mean, don’t you?”
“And not a beat of hesitation!” Gwen replied merrily. “That is why I like you, Princess. You can handle the truth.”
“Indeed, she can,” came a lazy male voice from behind them.
“This is Lord Remi,” Irina said without having to turn and see him. “I brought him with me from Paris.”
He slid in between her and Gwen, the countess eyeing him appreciatively. Irina didn’t know the particulars of her marriage to Lord Lyon, but she didn’t peg Gwen as the monogamous sort.
“Yes, rather like a cherished pet,” he said, sipping his champagne.
