Page 36 of My Hellion, My Heart
Lady Bradburne laughed. “Come now, my lord, don’t ignore a damsel left in distress by my brother’s lack of skill on the ballroom floor.”
“Not lack of skill, dear sister,” North said, leaning weakly against the column. “Lack of breath. Scotch reels are my nemesis.” His eyes narrowed on her. “I’m amazed you are still standing, given your lungs.”
Lady Bradburne’s childhood breathing affliction did not make itself known as much as it had in the past, but Henry often saw both North and Hawk watching her closely, especially when she danced.
“It’s called pacing,” the duchess said dryly, glowering at him before smiling sweetly in her husband’s and Henry’s direction. “I see your Lady Carmichael already has a partner. Shall we, my lords?”
Irina’s chin jutted, something indescribable flashing across her transparent face. “I do not wish to put his lordship out, and I see Lord Remi over by—”
Henry took her by the elbow and steered her to the ballroom floor, clipping the words from her lips as the strains of the waltz began. “No, this dance is mine.”
He’d be damned if he was going to allow her to dance a fourth time with that man.
Irina’s eyes widened at his gravelly tone, but she allowed him to escort her without protest. Sliding one hand around the ruched emerald material at her slim waist, Henry drew her close. He felt Irina’s intake of breath through the layer of silk. His palm warmed to her skin, and as the faint waft of lavender drifted into his nostrils, all the other dancers around them fell away. Henry noted once more how tall she was and how perfectly they fit together for a dance like the waltz. She had fit into him equally well in Essex on his waterfall cliff. The recollection made the muscles low in his abdomen tense.
“How are you?” he said.
Her violet eyes met his with a searching look. “Well, my lord. Yourself?”
“Well, thank you.” He cleared his throat. “You look like you’ve been enjoying the dancing.”
Irina chuckled, drawing his attention to the slender column of her throat. He instantly pictured himself pressing his lips there. “I’ve worn through two pairs of slippers,” she replied.
“Are you not tired?”
“Dancing is my means of release,” she said simply.
She did not have to explain. Henry knew exactly what she meant. He flattened the palm of his hand, brushing his thumb against the smooth material and skimming the sides of her ribs as they took the first turns.
Dimly, he focused on the steps, surprised that for once his leg did not pain him. Dancing with Irina was much like everything else—an unexpected revelation, and for once, he found himself enjoying it. They moved as if they were one, in perfect accord, though she was not laughing or smiling as she had been with her other dance partners. His gaze dropped to her mouth and climbed to her eyes. They had not left his, and the limpid look in them nearly made him sink to his knees.
“Are your accommodations suitable at Bishop House?”
A blank look flicked across her eyes before she answered. “More than suitable.”
“Lady Langlevit misses you.” He’d missed her, too, he realized with a start. Devon Place had seemed brighter somehow, more alive while she was in it. Much like any other place graced with her presence.
“As I miss her,” Irina said. “Have you heard from her? How is she feeling?”
“Better lately, but still in need of rest.” Henry cracked a smile. “She never was too fond of listening to orders from doctors. I’ve hired a private nurse to remain with her for the time being.”
“I shall visit when I am next in Essex,” she murmured.
“She would like that very much.”
The rest of the dance drifted into silence. Odd that their conversation would be stilted and awkward, but not their silence. It was unlike anything Henry had ever encountered. He struggled to categorize it into words, but it was as if the space between their bodies began humming in tune, and while they danced, their pulses seemed to align. Henry could feel the strong beat of hers beneath his hand, pushing against his skin up into his veins.
Irina’s eyes widened as if she could feel the force of it, too. The connection that bloomed between them was more powerful than any words, and it was with regret that he released her as the last bars of music faded.
“Thank you for the dance, my lord.”
“It was my pleasure.”
Henry watched as Irina was whisked away for the next set and preceded to hold up his usual pillar once more. The others had not yet returned, and for the moment, he was content to relive the last quarter of an hour at his leisure. The following set began, and partners shifted once more. He nodded to Rose who was accompanying Lady Bradburne to the retiring room. He was glad that she was enjoying herself, despite her protests that she much preferred country living to the fast pace of London. It would be a good match, then, he thought as he noticed something out of the corner of his eye.
Irina. She had just darted behind a large potted plant and slipped from the ballroom, unaccompanied by her usual entourage. Henry frowned and followed. With the number of bets placed on her, she would not find herself alone for long. The balcony was set kitty-corner to the larger outdoor terrace, he noticed, and accessible only by the narrow doors she’d just exited. To his surprise she stood there, both hands on the stone railing and her head turned to the moonlit sky. Her face was pale and drawn. The vibrancy she’d shown in the ballroom had been replaced by a heavy expression. Tension weighted down her shoulders as she rolled them and pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to draw her into his arms and soothe whatever ache was plaguing her away.
Henry plucked two glasses of whiskey off a nearby footman’s tray and closed the paned French doors behind him. “Escaping?” he asked, making her jump and whirl around.
