Page 84 of My Hellion, My Heart
“Oh yes, I can. And I will.” He smiled coldly at her. “You’ve already given your pledge. Yourwillingpledge. Marriage was your suggestion, remember?” Remisov chuckled. “Though it was pathetically easy to put the idea in your head. You were so desperate for someone to marry you, after all.” Irina’s face paled as Remisov continued. “Ever the virgin wallflower. So many offers, except from the one you craved.” His mocking eyes flicked to the earl. “Unfathomable that you would throw away your future for a man who will never love you.”
Henry started to lunge forward again but stopped at the cool and insistent press of a blade at his throat. Irina gasped when she saw it. Crow placed a restraining hand on Henry’s arm, just in case the blade he held to his jugular wasn’t incentive enough.
“We are on our way to France, where we will wed,” Remisov said. “Whether I deposit Lord Langlevit on the shores at Calais alive or dump his body into the Channel tonight depends entirely upon you.”
Even in the dim lamplight, Henry could see Irina’s color draining away. She stared at the man she’d trusted implicitly with an expression that was not quite fear and not quite disbelief. It was sadness, Henry thought, and disappointment.
“Even if I were to marry you, it would never last. I’ll have it annulled the instant I am able. And besides, my sister retains control over my inheritance until I turn twenty-one. Once she hears about this, she will alter it so that you receive nothing.”
“I don’t need your inheritance, darling, not with over fifty thousand pounds at my fingertips. And I’m almost positive no court would grant an annulment when the bride is found to be with child,” he said, and with a waggle of his brow, Remisov’s meaning drove home. Irina gaped at him, and Henry pushed forward, against the resistance of the blade. A prick of pain at his throat, and Crow’s fingers digging into his arm, slowed him.
Henry shouted through the gag, wanting only to launch into Remisov and rip him apart.
Irina shouted for Henry to stop. “Fine,” she said quickly. “You get what you want, Max—I’ll marry you. Just stop! Leave Henry alone!”
No. She would not. She would never marry that lowlife, scum-sucking leech. But Henry knew that if he kept struggling and fighting, driven only by hate and fear instead of reason and intelligence, he would get himself killed, and then she would be forced to marry him.
He stopped thrashing and shouting, and Crow tugged him to a corner where there was another chair. It was nailed to the floor, Henry saw, as he was thrown into it, his ankles tied to each front leg. Once they reached French soil, he would have to do something to put an end to this madness. There was time, though not much, to hatch a plan.
The clipper ship plunged toward Calais, ripping through the Channel at a speed that made Henry glad their chairs were nailed to the floor. Remisov had disappeared into another cabin belowdecks while Crow had been left to stand guard over Henry and Irina. The giant sat on the companionway steps, staring at the two of them in awkward silence. Though Irina’s gag had been removed, Henry’s had not, making any conversation impossible.
Soon after Remisov had left, Irina had mouthed “I’m so sorry” to Henry, who had quickly shaken his head. She could never have anticipated that he would take such extreme measures. He’d lied to her, leaving her completely in the dark about his financial straits. Henry wanted only to comfort her and let her know that he would take care of everything, but the gag stayed in his mouth, leaving him the next hour to peruse a possible course of action while watching Irina.
He took in every detail of her: her leather half-boot footwear was serviceable, and if she needed to run, the skirts of her riding habit were not so voluminous and cumbersome that they would hinder speed. A small drawstring pouch hung from one of her bound wrists, and it looked heavy enough to hold some coin, meaning she could support herself for a time if she got away alone.
Henry was surprised that Remisov’s accomplices had not stripped her of the wrist purse and taken whatever they could. Which meant he’d likely instructed them to keep their hands off Irina and promised them a good amount of compensation for them not to try and take the minor amount in the pouch.
He hoped there was enough in that reticule to get her back on another packet—
The reticule.An image flashed in his memory of Irina on the balcony at Hadley Gardens, pressing the wicked point of a pen and fruit knife into Marcus Bainley’s ribs. She’d claimed to keep the short, folded blade in her purse at all times.
God, he hoped she still had it.
Henry cleared his bone-dry throat and made some wretched sounds through his gag. His tongue was swollen and his head ached, so a sip of water was a necessary thing, but it wasn’t his only objective right then.
“Please,” Irina pleaded with Crow. “He’s trying to say something.”
“Nuffin’ I want to hear,” the man returned.
“He needs water,” she went on, and he marveled at how she knew this. Then again, she was astute and clearly worried about him.
“Dead men don’t need to drink,” Crow replied, this time with a smirk in Henry’s direction.
“Dead? Max said he wouldn’t be harmed. I only agreed to the marriage because of it! If he’s lying, I’llneveragree—”
Crow stood up and cut her off. “All right, all right, just keep quiet.”
He didn’t want Remisov coming in and seeing that he’d upset Irina, most likely. Henry wanted to believe Crow had only been joking, but he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he’d slipped up and given something away.
He came to Henry’s chair and took out the gag. His jaw ached, and he could barely move it to speak.
“Water,” he said, and with a groan of utter annoyance, Crow went to a bucket and ladled up a spoonful.
“And…what about fruit?” he said, his tongue feeling board stiff and desperate for liquid. Both Crow and Irina stared at him, confused. “Do you have any fruit?” he asked again, looking directly at Irina with what he hoped was a barely discernable widening of his eyes.
If she could reach into her pouch and take her fruit knife, she could try to slice through the hemp rope at her wrists.
“Fruit?” Crow echoed, his face scrunching up in confusion. “I knocked you too hard, I fink. Like hell I’m gonna give you fruit, if’n I had it.”
