Page 50 of My Hellion, My Heart
“What do you find so humorous?” he asked, still holding tight to her bridle.
It was as if she’d found his revelation lacking in some way.
Her laughter calmed. “Nothing, nothing at all. I’m only curious…Maxhasn’t wagered anything…has he?”
Henry curled his fingers tighter around the leather bridle. “You don’t seem surprised in the least to hear that men have been betting on your favors.”
Because she isn’t, he realized. The hellion. She’dknown.
Irina shifted uneasily in her saddle, the mare trying to prance away from Henry. The animal likely sensed his simmering anger.
“Oh, stop. The wagers are innocent enough. A stroll in Hyde Park. The first dance at a ball. Why, I think the most scandalous wager I’ve heard of yet involved touching a palm to my lower back while guiding me to the dance floor.”
Again, she laughed. Henry released the bridle and instantly wished for the neck of that bet’s winner to strangle.
“Oh, trust me, Princess, there are wagers in that book that are far from innocent, and your dear friend Max is encouraging them. As are you.”
“He is only having a bit of fun—”
“Yes, at your expense and at your peril.”
“Peril!” she scoffed. “I’m hardly in danger!”
“Yes, peril. As the book is at White’s and women are not permitted, I am certain you have not seen the current list of wagers.Ihave, however.”
Irina’s mare, restless, trotted in a tight circle. “I do not believe it. Max would never play with my safety. What sort of peril?”
He wanted to drag her out of her saddle and shake sense into her.
“A kiss,” Henry replied. “And not a chaste peck upon the lips.”
Her brows pinched in confusion. At least she was not dismissing it with another lighthearted chuckle. She appeared to be mulling it over at first, but then, with a shrug, said, “It seems you’ve won that bet.”
“I don’t want to win any ridiculous bets,” he bit out, his frustration boiling over.
“Whatdoyou want then?” she shouted, her horse’s legs shifting forward and back in response to her agitation. “One moment you’re professing that you feel nothing for me and that you never will, and the next you…you’re touching me in ways no man ever has. You’re either lying to me about how you feel or you’re lying to yourself, and I don’t know which one makes me more furious!”
The mare whinnied and spun, nearly breaking free of his grip, but Irina managed to hold her in check. Henry had lied, yes. He’d lied to them both. And he was as tired of it as she.
“You desire the truth? The truth is uncomplicated. I want you. I want you in ways that would shock you, ways you cannot begin to imagine.” He stepped forward, the grass against his bare feet somehow urging him onward with the truth. “The things I want to do to you, Irina, they are…base. Far too sordid for even that damned book at White’s.”
Going still, she stared down at him with an unreadable expression, even the mare quieting beneath her. “So it is only lust? You wish to bed me.”
“Yes, it is lust. Yes, I want to bed you,” he answered without a moment’s hesitation. God,yes. But it was also more. He wanted to be in her presence. He wanted her to look at him and smile and laugh at the things he said. He wanted to hear her voice whenever one of his memories paralyzed him. He wanted to keep her far away from the arrogant pricks in London making wagers on her as if she were a racehorse. They knew nothing of her, or of the real prize she offered.
How in hell was he supposed to say these things without laying himself bare?
Or perhaps that is exactly what he needed to do.
“Irina—”
“You’ve made yourself clear,” she said, blinking rapidly. “I will not lie and say your…attentions have made me feel nothing.”
Good. It would have been an obvious lie. Her response had been more magnificent, more honest, than any woman he’d ever encountered before.
“However, you’ve made your promise to Lady Carmichael, and regardless of the nature of your agreement, I will not help you treat her with such disregard.” Irina spoke with a lofty air, as if she were addressing a royal assembly instead of the man whose naked body had just been pressed against her, whose hands had pleasured her, coaxing her to blissful release.
“Do not kiss me again,” she added. “It will only serve to further lower my opinion of you. And of myself. Good afternoon, Lord Langlevit.”
