Page 68 of My Hellion, My Heart
“I think you’re wrong about that.” She glared fiercely at him. “And if I see a betrothal announcement to Lady La Valse in theTimes, it will be closely followed by an obituary because I will personally murder you.”
Henry shook his head and bit back laughter. She was a good friend. Honest and blunt, and she was right: they would make a perfectly boring couple. Tepid at best.
“You’re not to worry,” he said, standing from the bench and extending his arm to her. “Lady La Valse has an aversion to marriage and monogamy—otherwise I would have asked her first off.”
“Are you saying I’m second fiddle?” Rose swatted his arm, pretending to storm away. He caught her elbow, and she turned back to him, smiling.
“No, Rose, you are my rock,” he said quietly. “And I am deeply grateful for your friendship.”
Rose’s eyes glinted with the sheen of tears. “As I am yours.”
“Thank you,” he said, all honesty now. “I’ll take care of everything, Rose. The announcement, the gossip—”
“Oh, I’m not certain people care enough about me to gossip for more than one or two days. I’ll return to Breckenham on the morrow, and all will be forgotten.”
Henry suspected she was right about that, as well, but made no reply as they walked up the terrace steps and back into the ballroom.
They stood along the periphery of the dance floor, Henry’s eyes in a frantic search for Irina. For a split second, his heart and stomach swapped places with the fear that she’d slipped out another exit and had returned to Remisov’s side. She was undoubtedly irate that he’d followed her and challenged her friend yet again.Friend.Maxim Remisov was no such thing, and once more, Henry felt the pressure to prove it to her, and fast.
Her whimsical dress swirled into view, and he relaxed at the sight of her dancing with Lord Thorndale. Her gown was far less revealing than any other dress he’d seen her wear, but something about the sight of her in it made him think of a spring goddess. The only things missing were flower wreaths in her hair and bare feet. He could almost picture her racing across a meadow filled with spring flowers atop a wild horse with blooms bursting in her wake.
Hell, he was in danger of turning into a poet.
Rose was wrong. He wasn’t in love with Irina, though he did feel something beyond friendship. It wasn’t simply lust, and it wasn’t love, but something indefinable caught in between. The problem was he didn’t know if it would be enough. Women wanted love, and Henry didn’t know if his damaged heart would ever be capable of that. Or his damaged mind. He still couldn’t trust himself…not with her. If he did take her to wife and she fell asleep in his arms, she would not be safe.
“I’m going to see myself home,” Rose said, beginning to pull away.
Henry did not allow her, however. “I will take you.”
“No, you should stay,” she said and lowered her voice. “At least until Lady Irina retires for the evening. I wouldn’t put it past Lord Remi to return to finish what he started.”
“Are you certain?”
“Of course.”
After he’d made sure that Rose was tucked safely into his carriage and on her way home, Henry headed back into the ballroom. Nursing a glass of fine whiskey, he scanned the space, searching for Remisov’s blond locks, but the man was nowhere to be seen. If he hadn’t already left, he was likely cooling his heels in the arms of one of Dinsmore’s servants.
Henry didn’t tend to judge other men and their appetites, but something about Remisov’s utter dissoluteness got under his skin. He was a man who used and discarded people as one would a soiled napkin. The thought of such a man kissing Irina,touchingher, made Henry feel physically ill. He frowned. On the surface, Remisov was a handsome and charming young lord, but there was something that did not feel right. He was too smooth, too slick. And Henry trusted his instinct, even though it had grown rusty with disuse.
“I see you are holding up your usual pillar, Lord Langlevit.”
The lilting voice made a jolt spark up his spine. He turned in slow motion to see Irina standing there, nursing a glass of champagne. She was unaccompanied by anyone, though he saw Lady Dinsmore hovering nearby. Henry almost rolled his eyes. North had once called her a marriage juggernaut, and it wasn’t far from the truth. Celebrated for pulling off two brilliant matches for her children, Irina was obviously her next protégée. The thought brought an instant rush of irritation that he quickly stifled.
“I fear the entire room may collapse if I shirk my responsibilities,” he said with a smile.
Irina’s eyes brightened with humor at his quip. “Like Atlas, then? Holding up the sky?”
“You flatter me.”
Irina hesitated for a moment before placing her full glass on a nearby stand and smiling dazzlingly at him. “Will you risk the fate of the ballroom for one dance, my lord?”
When put like that, Henry had little choice. He could for her. A hazy recollection of a doe-eyed young Irina arguing the merits of dancing decorum with her sister at Lord and Lady Bradburne’s wedding ball flicked through his brain:what if the gentleman I wish to dance with doesn’t ask? Laughingly, he’d replied then that it was a risk.
No more so than the one he was taking now.
Pushing off the pillar, he extended his arm. “It would be my pleasure.”
Most things never fit together exactly in life, but Henry was astounded once more at how perfect Irina felt in his arms. Her height and lithe slenderness complemented his. She was strong, but still feminine.
