Page 15 of My Hellion, My Heart
Henry’s eyes narrowed with distaste on the man. He’d been about to throw him over the balcony by the scruff of his neck when Irina had produced that knife of her father’s. Still, the sight of him made Henry wish to tenderize that pompous face with his bare fist. His jaw clenched as the men drew closer.
“What’s this commotion?” Sir Kelton, one of the men at Henry’s table, asked.
“Bainley has won the first bet of the season!”
Henry wasn’t interested in hearing about the latest wager written in White’s infamous betting book. Despite the frequent bets placed on horse races or prize fighting or who would outlive whom, gossip and scandal tended to fuel most of them, especially as the season wore on, with wagers being placed on which gentlemen would win a lady’s hand or steal a kiss. Henry’s mouth tightened as Bainley and the other men, chattering like a gaggle of hens, moved toward the hazard room.
“One hundred guineas…with the princess!”
Henry stiffened in his seat and turned. “Princess?” he repeated.
“Princess Irina Volkonsky, of course,” one of the young fobs answered over his shoulder.
Sir Kelton laughed loudly, his jowls shaking. “Nearly every wager of late has her name beside it. Races, kisses, dances, favors, proposals, who will bed her, who will wed her. If I were younger in years, I’d have half a mind to give these dandies a run for their money,” he said. “Egad, Langlevit, isn’t she the same chit staying with your mother?”
North speared him with a steely glance.
“Thatchitis my sister-in-law,” North said softly. “Guard your words carefully, Sir Kelton.”
The man cleared his throat and took a healthy interest in his hand of cards.
“What was the wager for?” Henry asked, his muscles tensing.
“A stroll on the balcony,” Bainley said, puffing his chest and sneering. “It would have been five hundred guineas more had the lady not been as arctic as a winter storm. The rumors about her are all true. I shudder to think who will win the wager to bed the Ice Queen. It would freeze a man’s co—”
“Enough.” Henry rose out of his chair, his fury barely contained. The rest of Bainley’s words stuck in his throat, and as he sidled away, his Adam’s apple bobbed nervously.
Henry signaled for a footman to bring him the book. He skimmed the list and sure enough, it was as Sir Kelton had said. Wager upon wager, all with Irina’s name. Gentlemen betting others for dances claimed, suitors turned down, rides in Hyde Park. And those smaller bets did not include the larger pot as to whom she would accept in marriage. The fortunes being wagered were already staggering. With the exception of his, almost every eligible bachelor’s name was in there.
“She’s causing quite a stir, is she not?” a man said beside him.
Henry looked up to see Lord Remi, a baron he’d been introduced to at the Duke of Bradburne’s opening ball. Lady Lyon had announced him as a distant cousin and childhood friend of the princesses.
“I’d say it is a little more than a stir, Lord Remi,” he said in greeting, his finger sliding down the list.
“There are even a few married names,” Remi said with a laugh. “Though it does not surprise me. She left Paris in a shambles last season and a trail of broken hearts behind her.”
“But not yours?”
“Good God, no!” Remi laughed. “I have no wish for a marriage noose around my neck, not even from one as enticing as she. Honestly, Lord Langlevit, have youmetPrincess Irina? Trust me, as much as I adore her, I’d rather take my chances jumping naked into St. Petersburg’s River Neva in the middle of winter.” He shook his head. “Being married to her would be like trying to bottle a thunderstorm.”
A glorious challenge, Henry thought. “I see your point.”
Henry’s eyes fell on a particularly lecherous wager that made him want to hurl the book across the room and squeeze the throat of the gentleman who had written it. Agitated, he made note of the man’s name and slammed the book shut, giving it back to the footman. Bets like these stirred up a frenzy, causing men to behave in appalling ways. He’d witnessed it firsthand with Bainley and Irina on the balcony. And from the looks of the betting book, it would only get worse. She would be besieged.
His fingers clenched to fists at his sides, nervous energy whittling through him at the thought of her in any kind of danger. If he remained in here, he knew things would worsen quickly. Signaling to the factotum for his coach, he eyed the young man beside him. Remi seemed like a good sort, if a bit high in the instep for his liking. “You are her friend,” Henry said in a gravelly tone. “She cannot know about these bets.”
She had a temper, Henry knew, and after that kiss on the balcony, he was now well acquainted with how impulsive she was. There was no true need to inform her of these bets, risk a scene, and insult her. Not when he, and perhaps Remi, could watch out for her.
“I’m sure you can see how things could get out of hand,” he said to Remi. “If you truly are on her side, I’d advise you to stay close to her to deter some of the more overzealous competitors.”
“Irina can handle herself,” the young baron replied with a circumspect look at him.
Henry nodded, remembering her boasting and her grim confidence on the balcony. “I’m sure she can. However”—his eyes flicked to Bainley, who was still in the throes of congratulating himself—“I would not wish her to be hurt if word gets out of the nature of these wagers.”
“Of course,” Remi agreed, lifting his glass to his lips, his eyes settling on Henry. “It’s good to know we both have her best interests at heart.”
Years of service to the War Office and the Prince Regent had taught Henry to express caution when it came to trusting acquaintances, let alone strangers. Though he could not yet trust Lord Remi—not without first thoroughly investigating his background—he also did not believe the man was lying. Remi did not want to marry Irina, of that Henry was certain.
