Page 74 of My Hellion, My Heart
Irina realized she was walking back toward the sea of conveyances and horses without so much as a good-bye to Lord and Lady Lyon. It was abysmally rude, but she could not see Henry again. Not yet. Not without flushing the deepest shade of puce and giving everything away. Gwen would pounce on such a delicious morsel of gossip in a second.
“It appears the death flower has had its most distinguished visitor yet.” Irina looked up at the sound of Max’s voice. She saw him walking toward her, having just arrived, she assumed. And on his arm was Lady La Valse.
He grimaced. “It also appears the stench is just as awful as has been reported. You’re running from the greenhouse in near tears.”
Tears? Irina blinked and realized her lashes were indeed wet. She’d been on the verge of crying, it seemed, and she had not even known it.
“It is,” she said.
Max and Lady La Valse stopped before her.
“Awful,” Irina went on clumsily. “The stench.”
Max peered down at her while Lady La Valse looked confused, as if Irina were speaking a foreign language. What the woman thought meant nothing to her, though. It bothered Irina just having to stand so close to this woman who had bedded Henry God knew how many times in the past.
“What is the matter?” Max asked, lifting her chin an inch so he could inspect her gaze. “Are you feeling ill?”
“I know I am going to be ill,” Lady La Valse said, sounding bored. “I cannot believe I allowed you to bring me along. I swear I can smell rotting meat from here.”
Her nose crinkled, and Irina wished it would stay that way permanently.
“No, I’m…I’m fine. I just need to leave,” she replied, purposefully ignoring Lady La Valse.
“We’ll walk you to your carriage,” Max said, whereupon his companion sighed heavily.
“I want to get this viewing over with, Remi. I’ll be inside,” she said, and having noticed Irina’s lack of greeting, returned it in kind. She sauntered away without a word to her.
“Come,” Max said, and Irina fell into step beside him. “And tell me what is wrong. I know you, Irina. Something has happened.”
She couldn’t speak of it. Not to anyone, and especially not Max. He didn’t like Henry, just as Henry didn’t like him.
She recalled his accusation earlier, that Max had stolen from his father, but pushed it aside. There were more important things to discuss at that moment.
“Yes, something has,” she said, taking a fortifying breath. It was time. She knew she had to break it to him and now before things got further out of control. “I’m calling it off. Our planned betrothal. It can’t happen. You must withdraw your name from the wager book at White’s.”
She’d known it for a long time, perhaps even from the start. Something about the way Henry had said she had his promise to make it right…if that meant a proposal, Irina would accept it without hesitation. No, he may never love her, but he longed for her. That had been more than evident in the alcove, and every other time they’d been alone. Henry wanted her, and she wanted him. They got along well…more than well. They could enjoy one another’s bodies, and company, and maybe one day Henry would come to realize he cared for her. It was a wishful thought, but Irina couldn’t marry Max and live a lie. She’d regret it forever.
Max walked her silently the rest of the way to her carriage. Only when her driver jumped as he saw her unexpected approach did he speak.
“There is nothing I can say to sway you?”
He didn’t sound angry or frustrated as he had before, but resigned.
“No,” she answered.
Max opened the door for her, revealing a napping Jane inside the carriage. “I thought this might be your decision.”
Good. So, it hadn’t come as a complete surprise, then. Irina let out a relieved breath and kissed Max’s cheek. “Thank you for understanding.”
He helped her into the carriage and smiled up at her. “Of course, my dove. All will be well, you’ll see.” He pursed his lips into his usual smirk, his eyebrow rising. “So is this remarkable death flower worth seeing or not?”
Irina smiled back at him, grateful for small mercies. “I suppose if you want the stench of putrefying fish singeing your nose hairs for the next week.”
“That sounds lovely.” Max grinned at her. “Though I can’t imagine it’s worse than the Boulevard de Rochechouart in the height of summer.”
“Well, prepare yourself, my lord. I do look forward to comparing notes.”
With a jaunty wink, Max shut the door, and the driver called to the horses. The carriage pulled away, and Irina’s maid startled awake.
