Page 12 of My Hellion, My Heart
“He is not elusive,” she whispered, uncertain why she was arguing with him. “I simply did not expect to see him here, that is all.”
The countess had mentioned that she’d told him about the ball, but that she didn’t think he would attend.He never does, Lady Langlevit had added with a sigh and a shake of her head.
“You want to dance with him,” Max said with a perceptive wink.
“Hush. No, I do not,” she replied, glancing around to make sure no one had heard him.
But it wasn’t true. Had Henry made eye contact with her and approached, asking for a dance, she would have said yes without a moment’s pause, even after his chilly reception last week. However, just as the waltz was ending and Max was escorting her from the dance floor, Irina saw a woman step up beside the earl. She was tall and lithe, beautiful the way hothouse flowers were…unnaturally pretty, but pretty all the same. She whispered something to Henry and his mouth quirked into a wicked smile.
“Your earl is keeping the right kind of company in my estimation,” Max said as they reached a server. He took a glass of punch for her.
“You know her?”
“Viscountess La Valse,” he said. “Widowed now, but she was married to a transplanted Frenchman who won a title for services rendered to the Crown. She has quite the reputation for…play, I suppose you could call it.”
Irina’s grip on her glass tightened. She was one of Henry’s mistresses, then. It shouldn’t have bothered her, especially knowing what Henry had become. This woman had shared Henry’s bed and knew him in ways Irina didn’t. In ways, for years now, Irina had contemplated, and yes, dreamed about.
“I think I need some air,” she said softly, but as Max released her arm, another young man materialized in front of her.
“Your Highness,” he said, bowing so quickly Irina did not even have the chance to see his face. When he straightened again, she thought he appeared slightly familiar, though she did not recall his name or when she had met him before.
“Forgive my rudeness, but we were introduced many years ago, at His Grace’s marriage ball. We danced a set.” After an awkward moment of silence, Max smiling on as if vastly amused, the young man continued. “Allow me to introduce myself again. Lord Bainley, at your service.”
He took another bow, this one briefer. He had dark, curly hair and a face that was not quite pudgy, but also not entirely healthy. His smile was a bit crooked, as if he had a secret to tell her. It was, she considered, a smile Max would often wear.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you again, my lord,” she said, hoping he would go away. But instead he gestured toward the dance floor.
“Might I accompany you for this next dance?”
Irina held her breath and listened to the musicians. Blast. They had started playing music for a cotillion.
“Of course,” she said, knowing there could be no other acceptable reply.
As she handed off her punch to Max, he whispered, “Lapping at your ankles…”
She glared at him before taking Lord Bainley’s arm and joining the other dancers on the floor. It was difficult to concentrate through the dance steps, though she did try. Her eyes kept wanting to drift toward the grand staircase and see if Henry was still standing with the viscountess. She was proud that she did not give in to the urge, though, and instead grinned at her dance partner whenever they were brought face-to-face during the dance. By the end of it her cheeks were aching.
“A breath of air?” Lord Bainley asked, glancing at her. “You look piqued.”
Just frustrated, she thought to herself, but nodded in answer after seeing no sign of Max. The balcony was by no means a private area. Guests stood in scattered groups and servers brought around trays of punch and champagne and wine. Irina accepted a glass of wine from a footman and took a long sip.
“I must say it was my greatest pleasure to see you here tonight,” Lord Bainley said, deftly steering her to a quieter area of the balcony, his body blocking the partial view of the other guests. “What brings you to London?”
“My sister,” she murmured, closing her eyes and letting the cool night air fan her flushed cheeks. She opened them again, though, as she felt Lord Bainley’s hand at the small of her back, once again shepherding her along the terrace. Something about the young man rankled, and the intense way he was staring at her made her uncomfortable. He had a face like a ferret, she thought, pinched and calculating. She realized the noise had lessened and that the thicket of people had filtered back into the ballroom for the next set. The balcony was far less crowded than it had been moments before, and suddenly, Irina found herself caged between a trellis and a determined Lord Bainley. She recognized that look.
Oh no.
Without warning, he plucked the wineglass from her fingers and placed it on a nearby ledge. “Your Highness,” he began, drawing her hand toward his mouth and closing the gap between them.
“How…how is it that you have not yet married, Lord Bainley?” she hedged, calculating her odds of escape without making a scene. Irina wanted to slap the grin off his face, but pushed a patient smile to her lips instead and took a small step to the left.
He mirrored the movement, a smile playing about his lips. “Perhaps I have not yet found the right woman.”
“I expect you have so many to choose from.”
“And what if I’ve narrowed my choice?” he asked.
Sidestepping to the right, she encountered the cold stone of the balcony pressed against her right hip. Bainley moved closer, and her odds of escape diminished further. Worse yet, they seemed to be completely alone in an odd sort of alcove. It was made for this, she supposed, clandestine embraces. Would that it were the earl instead of the odious young man now breathing heavily across her knuckles and making her skin crawl in the process.
