Page 60 of My Hellion, My Heart
The bidding got underway after the men had had a chance to inspect the stock on display, as well as two pregnant mares due to foal with sires from an excellent pedigree. While North was busy, Henry ran his hands along the glossy reddish brown flanks of a young gelding as the horse nuzzled into his shoulder. He’d always loved the graceful, magnificent animals.
“You’re a beauty, aren’t you?” he whispered, stroking its nose. The thought that Irina would love the horse flicked into his brain. It would be a nice gesture.
In friendship.
Without thinking twice, he nodded to the nearby stableman. “Tell your master to have this one delivered to Hartstone.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Easy!” The shouted command caught his attention. A large stallion was rearing upward in a nearby riding paddock. A gentleman with a crop held on to the reins as he brought the horse roughly under control. Henry flinched as the crop whistled across the beast’s side. He had no love for the crop or for striking defenseless animals. The man struck the horse again, and Henry had the distinct desire to split the offending crop in two. As the horse made the turn, he recognized the rider with a sour start—the very object of his ill humor.
“I’ll take both Arabians,” Lord Remi announced loudly. “This one only needs some discipline.”
Henry remained out of sight, unwilling to enter into any conversation with the young lord. He’d had enough of it the night before, and already, his first impulse was to put the odious man right on his arse. Henry’s eyes narrowed at the two gorgeous steeds he had purchased. They would not be cheap, which confirmed what Irina had said: Remi did not seem to suffer from a lack of funds.
So, he was not a fortune hunter.
Shaking his head, Henry walked back to where North was concluding his dealings. Max Remi might be a pompous prick, but that did not mean he was deserving of mistrust. Henry was uncomfortably aware that what he was feeling might also be jealousy, and jealousy had a way of twisting even the most innocent of things.
…
Irina strolled beside Lady Langlevit’s Bath chair as it was pushed along the brick path in Hartstone’s lavish gardens. The countess was wrapped in a woolen blanket against the light evening chill of the air. Irina could not believe how quickly she’d gone from standing on her own to being pushed around in a chair meant for the invalid. She’d insisted on walking at the start of their excursion, with her maid and a footman following discreetly behind with the chair, and after a short time, she became out of breath.
“Sadly, I am not as young as I once was, my dear,” she said apologetically to Irina as the maid settled her into the wheeled conveyance.
“You only need rest, my lady,” Irina replied.
“How is Lady Northridge faring?” the countess asked.
“Well. She and the babe are both fine. Like you, she tries to do too much and ends up overexerting herself.”
“The curse of the strong woman,” Lady Langlevit said. “We refuse to accept help until it is thrust upon us.” She slid Irina an assessing glance. “I suspect you are still much the same. That hasn’t changed from when you were a girl.”
Irina smiled. “I do like to do things on my own, but sometimes help is necessary.”
“Yes, it is.”
Irina had the sneaking suspicion she was no longer speaking of herself, but the moment passed as the countess stopped to smell some of the brilliant tea roses blooming in the rose garden. They were at the entrance to a massive hedged maze where a beautiful fountain with carved nymphs stood. A nostalgic smile graced Lady Langlevit’s lips.
“When Henry was a boy he would hide for hours in there, calling out for me to find him.” She paused. “Have you been to the center?” Irina shook her head. Like riding in a carriage, enclosed spaces made her nervous.
She’d been walking along a garden path alone that day so many years ago when her uncle and Victor Zakorov’s hired thug had grabbed her, clapping a hand over her mouth and running through the paths, forcing her into a nearby waiting carriage. Irina could not abide the twists and turns of garden paths or labyrinth-like mazes now. She preferred the open gardens where she could see her surroundings.
“There is a lovely greenhouse at its heart,” Lady Langlevit was saying. “My Edward built it for me before Henry was born. It is sad to say that seeing it now pains me considerably.”
“I am sorry.”
“Do not be,” the countess said, patting her arm. “It is a happy kind of sad. The memories will always be tucked away in my heart. He was the only man I ever loved, my Edward. Henry is very much like him.”
“What was he like?” Irina asked.
“Edward?”
Irina flushed. “Henry. As a boy.”
The countess motioned for Irina to sit on a nearby stone bench beside a fountain. “He was a mischievous lad. Clever, too. Always thinking up pranks. He and John would get into the most ridiculous scrapes, with poor little Rose looking on and trying her best to defend them from Edward’s wrath.” She laughed at a memory and pointed at a nearby towering tree. “They used to torture her dreadfully, sending her up into that oak once to save an invisible kitten while they made mewing noises from behind the fountain.”
“Telling stories again?” a deep voice asked. It sent a throb through Irina’s bones. Henry strode toward them, looking incredibly handsome. His bronzed cheeks were flushed with healthy color, and his sandy blond hair was windblown. “Your Highness,” he said with a short bow. “I hope you have been having a pleasant visit. I am sure my mother is glad for your company.”
