Page 77 of My Hellion, My Heart
“You disgrace her,” Henry said through clamped teeth.
Remi smiled. “I’ve never done anything Her Highness did not want done.”
“What do you mean by that?” Henry snapped, his self-control wavering as visions of Remi’s neck in his hands made him see red.
“Like I said, Lord Langlevit, you will never know her like I do.” His smirk widened. “Whose idea do you think all of this was?”
Henry faltered. Was Remi insinuating that Irina hadencouragedthe wagers? Advocated placement bets on his behalf? His brows slammed together. Never had Henry wanted to give in to his savage inclinations more than he did at that exact moment. His entire body shook as he willed himself under control, his fist clenching and unclenching at his side.
“Easy,” Hawk cautioned from beside him.
“I’m fine,” he ground out.
“I see you’ve taken my meaning,” Remi said, “and if you don’t believe me, ask her. I have nothing to hide, after all, and neither does she. I certainly did not intend to set my cap in a ring.” The young man eyed him with a singular smile. “You are aware of my tastes, after all. I have nothing to gain.”
“You have a fortune to gain.”
“I have more than enough coin at my disposal, my lord.”
“You were cut off from your family,” Henry hissed. “You have no income.”
“But I do have many,manyfriends.” Remi bowed in a mocking pose before turning on his heel and striding away to collect his winnings.
Ah.He had sponsors. Much like a mistress, Remi was kept by his guarantors in lavish style in return for the favors he performed, Henry realized. Which was why he never seemed to want for money. Or company.
“I must take my leave,” Henry bit out to Bradburne, and he called for his carriage in the same breath. He would not be responsible for his actions if he remained in the room any longer.
The ride to his house was quick, and Henry hoped to God that his horse was ready. The sooner he could put an end to the betting, the better. Even if Irina had been a part of it at the beginning, he knew that she would not have encouraged it now. She was impulsive, certainly, but she was not foolish.
“Stevens,” he barked with impatience as he strode through the entryway, noting the complete lack of noise. “Where the devil is everyone?”
Stevens rushed into the foyer, his normally stoic countenance ruffled. He held a folded piece of parchment on a silver tray. Henry’s eyes narrowed on the note, and his first thought was that it was from Irina. “What is it?”
“It’s from Dr. Hargrove, my lord,” Stevens said. “It arrived not long ago by express delivery.”
Henry snatched the letter. It was about his mother. She’d taken a turn for the worse, and Dr. Hargrove had instructed Henry to leave for Hartstone at once. The strength drained from his limbs, cold fingers taking hold of his heart. “Where’s my horse?”
“Ready and waiting in the mews, my lord.”
Henry did not want to waste a single minute changing into traveling clothes. He strode toward the back of the house and headed for the stables. The young stableboy had his mount saddled out in the front.
“Thank you,” Henry said, hauling himself astride and turning the horse about.
As much as he wanted to race out of London, he kept the pace sedate as he rode along Cranbourn Street leading out of the mews, careful not to trample anyone walking underfoot. Turning onto a far less crowded street toward Charing Cross Road, he came upon a carriage standing clear in the middle of the road. Its owner, a richly dressed lady, seemed to be in dire need of assistance. She was waving madly at him as he approached and placed herself directly into his path.
Henry wanted to lead his horse around. He did not have the time to stop. He did notwantto stop, but years of good breeding demanded he do so.
“Please, my lord,” the lady begged. “Can you please help? Our carriage wheel broke, and I fear my daughter’s leg is injured. She fell. She’s only three.”
Cursing beneath his breath, he alighted. “Where is she?”
“Inside, my lord. I am Lady Barnelby. Please, I beg you, help my poor Sadie.”
As he approached the carriage, his irritation mounting by the second, Henry blinked, taking in the woman’s tear-streaked face and her obvious distress. A thick strand of pearls lay at her throat, though her richly embroidered dress seemed threadbare upon closer scrutiny. His gaze dropped to her gloveless hands, noticing the brown sunspots discoloring her skin. They seemed odd and out of place. Other things like her pronunciation of “you” niggled at him.
The street suddenly seemed unnaturally quiet as they stopped at the entryway to the carriage, the door hanging open drunkenly on one hinge. There was no coachman in sight, either. Henry’s entire body tensed as his brain analyzed the details he’d seen, putting them together and coming up with a tableau that did not make sense. Now he understood why the sunspots had bothered him and why she had an accent. They weren’t out of place, but the gown and jewels were.
Because she was no lady.
