Page 53 of My Hellion, My Heart
“Yes, my dear, I leave the knitting and mending to you,” the duchess replied, not at all perturbed by the duke’s teasing, and winked at Irina. “His Grace admittedly has far better needlework than I. It’s no secret that I much prefer fencing to crocheting, though I have found that knitting needles make excellent darts in a pinch. I keep a pair in my reticule for that very purpose.”
The duke lifted his glass with a laugh, eyeing his wife. “To the women who fence and do not knit, and to us unfortunate men who adore them.”
“Here, here,” everyone said, laughing.
Irina grinned and sipped her wine. No wonder her sister had become so close to the duchess over the last handful of years. She was lovely, and her rakish sense of humor was much like her brother, North’s. For the first time all evening, she found herself relaxing slightly.
Lana shook her head. “I, for one, do not agree. I do love a good cross-stitch. Though I also adore fencing. Arguments can be made for both.”
“A toast to my radiant wife,” North crowed. “Ever the diplomatic peacemaker.” He paused, reconsidering his toast for a moment, and frowned. “Unless she is cross. Especially while pregnant. Then everyone should run for their lives.”
Lana laughed and lifted her water goblet. “I make no apologies.”
“Nor should you,” he agreed and rolled his eyes at the last moment, making Lana throw her napkin at him.
Laughter broke out once more while the last course was cleared and the dessert course brought in. “It’s your favorite,” the duchess announced to Irina from down the table as the footman placed a selection of delicate French chocolate truffles in front of her. “Lana told me that you have a weakness for chocolate.”
“Ever since she was fourteen,” Lord Langlevit agreed. Irina’s eyes shot to his and fell away just as quickly. She needed to remain impervious. “I saw her eat an entire dozen once.”
“Irina,” Lana admonished though her eyes were twinkling. “Such habits are meant to be keptsecret.”
“I never was much good at those,” Irina said and took a delicate bite of one of the morsels. She nearly swooned in her seat at the decadent taste of the rich ganache melting on her tongue.
Max lounged back in his chair. “Oh, I beg to differ, my dear. You are truly wonderful at keeping secrets.” He smirked in a suggestive manner, drawing everyone’s notice, including Lord Langlevit’s. Irina didn’t understand if he was deliberately being perverse by baiting Henry or whether he simply wanted to torture her. “Especially ones of importance,” he added, ignoring her glare.
What was he playing at, the wretch? He downed his wine, and Irina watched as his glass was refilled by the hovering footman. Max had been in his cups when he’d visited her chamber, and he’d already had a few glasses of wine at dinner.
“Lord Remi.” She placed her fork down.
“Oh, please, my lady, I would never divulge anything that would impeach that perfect reputation of yours.”
“But have youdoneanything to threaten it, Remi?” The silky question came from Lord Langlevit, and immediately, the tension at the table thickened.
“Whatever do you mean?” Max tossed back airily.
Henry crossed his arms across his chest. “I heard you took her to a gentleman’s gaming club in Paris.”
North gave a bark of laughter that he quickly muffled, and Lana practically choked on her water. Dimly, Irina recalled Lana mentioning something about their stay at a bawdy gaming hall. Apparently, she and Lord Northridge had been caught at an infamous one themselves in London’s North End after their carriage had hit a log en route to town. Irina’s eyes narrowed as something jogged her memory. Come to think of it, said hall was the same one Langlevit had mentioned—the Cock and the something or other.
“The club was my idea,” Irina announced in a sudden fit of contrariness. “I wanted to go.”
“You invite scandal and ruin upon her,” Henry said in a low, controlled voice, ignoring the fact that she had spoken and keeping his eyes centered on Max.
“At least I’d be willing to propose marriage,” Max countered, eliciting gasps from Lady Bradburne and Lana. “If it did come to that. Ruin, I mean. But sadly, Princess Irina is far too straitlaced to be seduced by any gentleman.”
Except for the man directly opposite,Irina thought.
“I am in no danger of being ruined,” she muttered. It was hardly appropriate dinner conversation.
Feeling Henry’s eyes drift to her, Irina squirmed inwardly and kept her own gaze focused on her plate, for fear of how transparent she would become if she so much as looked at him.
“I beg to argue,” the earl said. “Take the recent wagers at White’s for example.”
“Wagers?” both Lady Bradburne and Lana asked in unison, their interest roused while Irina’s heart sank. Though the wager book at White’s was also not appropriate dinner conversation, no one in attendance here seemed to give two figs for propriety. Both North and Bradburne treated their wives with far more freedom than did most other gentlemen of their set. Not that either Lana or the duchess would have it any other way, Irina suspected.
“Explain yourself, Lord Langlevit,” Lana said tightly.
Irina’s eyes rose to clash with Henry’s amber ones. Would he expose the fact that she knew about them? Encouraged them, even? Would he be so cruel? Her sister would be mortified and utterly furious. Lana and North, as her guardians, had the power to confine her to Stanton Park. And though Irina would rebel against being kept prisoner, she also did not wish to compromise her sister’s health by any means. Her fate, as it were, rested in Lord Langlevit’s hands. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she waited with bated breath.
