Page 30 of My Hellion, My Heart
Clenching his teeth, Henry backed away from the magnetic lure of her. No matter how many times he told himself to stay away, he could never do it. No woman had ever affected him the way she had, driving him half delirious with lust. Even now, his body craved to return to hers, to feel its long warm length plied against his…her breasts crushed to his chest, her thighs wedged against him. One kiss and he was as hard as the rock beneath his feet. Henry stalked to the far side of the space, attempting to get his rampaging desire under control. He’d meant what he’d said about not being the right man for her.
He could never be a true husband.
Rose was different. She had consented to be married to him in name only, as a friend and nothing more. One of the conditions of her acceptance was the maintenance of separate residences, which suited him well. Per her letter, she neither wanted nor required his love or his fidelity. She already had a son, which boded well for begetting him an heir. And once that was complete, their entire marriage would be a matter of public record to satisfy the ludicrous Langlevit codicil. Rose no more wished to share his bed than he wished to share hers, and both of them would be all the more content for it.
Henry could not see Irina being so accepting of such a situation—separate homes, separate beds, separate lives. Nor would she deserve that. She deserved a real marriage with a devoted spouse…nights spent in her husband’s arms without the fear of being harmed in her sleep by a raging man possessed by unshakable demons. She deserved everything he was incapable of offering, and more.
He cleared his throat. “Irina, this cannot happen again.”
“Marry me.”
His heart stopped. “What?” he bit out.
She drew a controlled breath. “Your mother told me about the stipulation in the letters patent of your title during the carriage ride to Essex. You could marry me.”
“She should not have burdened you with that.”
Irina stepped closer, seemingly confident in herself and what she was saying. “It is no burden. Marry me, Henry, and save your title.”
“I cannot.”
“Why?”
Here it was. He could end it once and for all. Henry knew how she felt about him, the infatuation she’d borne for so many years. He cared for her, too, but they both knew he was no longer the man she’d known…the man she held in such high esteem. He’d made that more than clear. Henry steeled himself for the stroke he was about to deliver. It was for her own good. And his.
“Because what I feel for you is not as remarkable as what you are clearly imagining it to be.”
She laughed in disbelief, but not before he saw the flash of surprise in her eyes. “Not remarkable?” she repeated, her voice rising in octave as her gaze slid low. “Not to be vulgar, but I am not so naive as to believe that the way we’ve kissed isunremarkable.”
“Not to be vulgar,” he mocked her. “But youarenaive if you believe this isn’t a typical male response. Or perhaps you have not been kissed very much. Trust me, it could be any other female standing there and my reaction would be the same.”
Henry braced himself against the shocked hurt brimming in her eyes. Regardless of her bravado, he could not fall prey to her tender feelings. He had to end the cycle, and for that, he needed to be brutal.Ruthless.
He waved a careless arm. “You could just as easily be Lady La Valse, or a courtesan from a gaming hell. It’s all the same to me. I am a red-blooded man, and it only takes a beautiful, willing woman, after all, which is what you are, but nothing more than that. Do not deceive yourself otherwise.”
Irina sucked in a gasp and bit her lip, but Henry forged on even as his heart shriveled in his chest at his horrible, unforgivable words. “And as much as I appreciate your kind offer, Your Highness, I am already betrothed to someone else.”
“You are a bastard,” she whispered.
“I told you as much.”
“I wish I’d never met you.” Her eyes were bright with the sheen of tears. “The old Henry would despise you. He’d be ashamed of who you have become.”
With that, she turned and jumped from the cliff’s edge. Henry darted forward, what was left of his heart throbbing in panic at the splash below. But she surfaced without so much as a shout. He stood there, watching her as she swam the length of the pool to where her horse was waiting. Irina did not look back, not once, before saddling her horse and riding away, out of his life. He’d done it, pushed her away. He should be happy, and yet it felt like everything around him had turned to gray, as if the world had suddenly been deprived of all its color. That was his world—one that was gray and dark and angry. Just because an angel had appeared for a moment and driven the shadows away didn’t mean he deserved any of it.
Irina was right about one thing though—he’d never despised himself more than he did at that moment.
Chapter Nine
In the two weeks Irina had been away from London, the city had shaken off its winter shell and cloaked itself in a bright yellow-green shawl of tree buds and new grass. It had disappointed her, coming back to town and finding it all awash with spring. She’d looked forward to the dusty, crowded, and pale city as she’d left it. After suffering the last fortnight in the lush countryside, drowning in lovely breezes, fresh air, and birdsong, she’d only wanted to return to London and ensconce herself in surroundings that matched the state of her heart.
But London was all too bright and healthy, and as she’d ridden back into town the same way she’d left it, traveling alongside Lady Langlevit’s barouche, she’d seen far too many people out and about with smiles upon their faces.
Henry had not been with them on their ride south from Essex. He’d left Hartstone only a few days after Irina had made, quite possibly, the biggest mistake of her life by setting out on that damned course of his. Not one hour of one day had passed since that she did not spend torturing herself over what she’d done or what she’d said.
What she’d asked.
Good Lord, she’dproposed. She’d asked the Earl of Langlevit tomarryher.
