Page 83 of My Hellion, My Heart
“What is it you people want?” Henry asked, the rag in his mouth smothering his words. His mouth was parched, and he realized he hadn’t had a sip of water for hours on end.
“Shut it,” Crow warned and with a violent nudge, pushed him toward the mouth of a companionway leading below.
Money. Revenge. Information. These were the only reasons people kidnapped in Henry’s experience. As he stumbled down the narrow flight of wooden steps to below deck, his mind accelerated through every available possibility. Someone knew he’d been a spy for the crown. Someone wanted revenge or information, yet again, on other officers still in the field.
Every single thought, however, came to a roaring standstill when he saw the people in the space below deck. His eyes landed first on Irina, seated in a wooden chair. Her mouth had been gagged, her ankles bound, her wrists tucked behind her back. Beside her stood Lord Remisov, free as a bird and wearing a cocky and rather put-out expression. Crow kicked the back of Henry’s knee, and he slammed onto the floor, his knees digging into the pitted boards. Irina’s scream was muffled by her gag, but it was familiar…and he understood then that the scream he’d been hearing whenever Crow would knock him unconscious in the carriage had been hers.
Henry sprang back up to his feet and paid the price as his vision swam.
“I’d truly hoped to avoid all of this,” Remisov said, though his voice was not its usual, easy cadence, light with sarcasm. It was heavy and acerbic, and it matched his disgruntled expression perfectly.
“Had you remained the beast you were, Langlevit, everything would have gone off without a hitch. Or if I had been able to keep the princess away from you,” he said, shaking his head as he stroked Irina’s tousled hair. She flinched, and Henry lunged forward. Crow’s big hand clapped down onto his shoulder and hauled him back with an easy pull.
“It is always the bad ones that are irresistible, though, isn’t that right, darling?” Remisov went on, his question directed at Irina. She glared at him, her eyes puffy from the tears she’d shed. What had the bastard done to her? Henry strained at the ropes at his wrists and gnashed his teeth against the sour-tasting rag in his mouth.
“You will come to see in time that I’m doing you a service, though of course, at this moment you cannot see it as such,” he went on, still stroking Irina’s hair, come loose from pins and combs here and there. “But he would only break your heart in the end, making all your time and care wasted on him pointless. I’m trying to save you, Irina. When we marry—”
Irina thrashed in her chair, the legs skittering over the floor, and she said something incomprehensible behind her gag.
“Yes, you will,” Remisov said, also gathering she’d shouted an instant refusal. “We’ve already made our pact, and you know as well as I that it is the best decision for both of us. A marriage free from the regular ties that bind it, and the winnings…well, if you decide to give your part to the Bradburne Trust, that is your initiative. I will take my half and leave you be until you can forgive me for what I’m sure you think is a betrayal,” he said with a gesture to their surroundings.
Henry marveled at how insane and delusional the man was. He had kidnapped an English peer and a Russian princess with plans to force Irina into marriage, and he didn’t believe it was actually betrayal? Try as he might to convince Irina—and perhaps even himself—that this was an act of compassion and caring, Henry knew Remisov cared for only one thing: money. The fifty thousand pounds the marriage pot was currently worth, and then Irina’s own inheritance, would set the conniving prick up for life.
Irina started to shout, all of her words muffled, but that didn’t deter her. Remisov glanced to Crow.
“Have the tides cooperated? Are we far enough from port now?”
Crow must have nodded, for Remisov started to remove the gag from Irina’s mouth.
“Say that again, darling. I might be able to understand you now. But I warn you—I have no patience for screaming outside of the bedchamber.”
Once free to speak, Irina instantly turned to Henry. “Are you hurt? Your head—”
He shook his head tightly, receiving a shock of pain, but he was determined not to show it to her. He would be fine and would remain strong. For her. He’d get her out of this situation somehow. He only needed to stay calm and not allow the memories clawing at him to snag hold.
Irina, apparently convinced, whipped her head back to Remisov. “How could you, Max? I trusted you. That was the only reason I even considered marrying you! Our friendship! Not the money.”
“Some of us don’t have the luxury of not caring about the money, my dear princess,” Remisov replied.
“You don’t have to, either, not right away. Your father is in good health still, and that cousin of yours won’t inherit for years and years. Your mother will continue to provide for you at least until—”
“There is no allowance, Irina!” Remisov shouted, and Henry saw Irina jump. “None. There hasn’t been, not ever.”
She blinked her surprise up at him. “But then, how have you…”
Irina stopped speaking as understanding dawned in her eyes. Henry knew she had pieced the answers together, just as he had. The expensive heirlooms Remisov had stolen before leaving St. Petersburg…they’d funded him for a time. Then favors to whomever paid for them. Men and women alike, it did not matter. Whoever would pay to “keep” him, be it for weeks or months.
“You should have told me,” she whispered.
“And had you pity me? Endured having you give me money, like I was some pauper?”
“How would it have been any different than this? Any different than how you’ve been living all these years?”
“I’ve earned what I’ve received!” Remisov shouted, his collected calm shattering without warning. It alarmed Henry, who’d seen men snap before. Hell, he was one of them. There was a breaking point, and once passed, it was impossible to retreat.
“I’ve been surviving on my own for years, Irina. You have no idea the things I’ve had to do, so don’t sit there and tell me you could have fixed it if only you’d known! It is my life, and you’ve made your promise to me to make it better. Now you wish to recant? Because you think yourself inlove?” He sneered at the word, though Henry’s chest throbbed with it. Love? Had Irina confided in Remisov that she loved Henry? Had she called the marriage scheme off? It must be. Why else would Remisov panic and stoop to this alternative?
“It was wrong of me to ever make that promise to you, I know that now,” she answered, carefully choosing her words, Henry noted. She could see Remisov breaking as well. “But I will not marry you, Max. You cannot force me—”
