Page 86 of My Hellion, My Heart
Irina rolled out of the way and sprang to her feet. Removing the second pistol from her pocket, she aimed once more, but their writhing bodies made it difficult for her to get a clear shot. Suddenly, the gun was knocked out of her grip, and she whirled around, fingers on the hilt of her rapier. Max stood there, his own sword raised, watching her with furious eyes.
“You stupid girl,” he seethed, limping toward her. “You nearly ruined everything.”
Irina held her ground, lifting the rapier between them. “No, Max, the burden of that is on you.”
A muscle flexed in his jaw. “You’re going to fight me?”
“I’ve beaten you before.”
Their blades clashed as they met in the air. Max had the advantage of strength and height, but his leg seemed to be injured, which made his gait slower. Within a few strikes and parries, Irina had him cornered. “Yield,” she said.
“You’ve had it so easy, haven’t you?” he spat at her, and she flinched at the look of hate on his face. “The privileged life of a princess with an endless fortune at her fingertips. Don’t you see that everything I’ve ever done has been for you?”
“You did it for yourself,” she said, swallowing the lump of misery forming in her throat.
“Enough,” he snarled. “Drop the sword, or I’ll have Crow snap the earl’s goddamned neck, and then I’ll drag you by your hair below, so help me God.”
Irina suppressed her shout as she turned to see Crow holding Henry like a ragdoll around the neck. She had Max at her mercy, but Henry was at Crow’s. Her arm lowered, the rapier clattering to the deck.
“Come now, Irina, it’s over,” Max said gently, his actions at odds with his words as he wound his hand cruelly in her loosened hair and forced her head forward. “You belong to me. Can’t you see that that man will only ruin you?”
Her gaze slid to where Crow stood. Blood seeped from a wound at Henry’s temple, running into his face, but his burning eyes met hers with fierce will, commanding her to remain strong. She hiked her chin. “No, he won’t.”
Releasing her, Max walked toward Crow and Henry, dragging his obviously injured right leg behind him. Irina felt the sudden urge to break it completely. He turned to sneer at her and ripped Henry’s shirt from his shoulders.
“Is this what you truly want?” he hissed. “A man who is nothing more than a dog? Look at him!”
A tortured cry locked in her throat as Crow turned Henry around, the ends of his torn shirt gaping open and falling to his waist. Helpless tears leaked from her eyes as she took in the raw, ragged mess of scars on Henry’s back. Oh sweet God, the evidence of the horror he’d endured made a surge of bile rise into her mouth. Every living part of her ached for the pain he’d suffered.
“Can’t you see?” Max whispered. “He let himself be whipped like a piece of filth, andthisis the man you choose?”
Fury replaced the sorrow as Irina straightened her spine. “Those are the scars of a man who fought. Of a man who withstood torture and survived. Can’tyousee, Max?”
“Your infatuation makes you blind,” he said. “The earl is a beast. Lady La Valse says he can’t spend a night with anyone for fear of strangling them. Would you want that to be you? Murdered in your sleep?” Max turned to Henry with a scathing sneer. “Your precious lover is so haunted by the demons of his past that he’s become them.”
“We all have those,” Irina replied softly. “Even you, Max. Otherwise, why would you have gone this far? Why would you have broken my trust if it weren’t foryourdemons?”
She wound her hands in the folds of her dress, and Max smiled, noticing the obvious tell of her frustrated state. “Enough of this,” he snarled to Crow. “Throw him overboard. Let the sea have him.”
“No!” Irina shouted as Crow moved to obey the order.
Delving frantically into her side pocket, she palmed the fruit knife she’d tucked there. The light was weak, and her hands were shaking, but in one swift move she flung the open knife at the giant’s head. And missed. She’d aimed for his eye, but the tip lodged low, beneath his ear—not enough to cause damage, but enough for him to release Henry and pitch backward. Henry didn’t hesitate and used the motion of the boat along with the man’s momentum to toss him over the side. Crow’s body entered the teeming water below with a loud splash.
Irina didn’t move a muscle, though all she wanted was to hurl herself into Henry’s arms. But Max still stood there between them, weapon in hand. With a shout of rage, he lunged at Henry, but Henry ducked, wheeling out of the way. The two men circled each other. Even with the blood coating Henry’s face and the horror of his back, it was clear that they were not evenly matched. Henry was like some sort of savage jungle animal, his muscles bunched and ready, while Max, by contrast, seemed out of his depth. The expression on Henry’s face left Irina in no doubt that he would tear Max to pieces, even though Max was the one who held the sword.
“Max, please. It’s over. It doesn’t have to end like this.”
“You’re right, it doesn’t.” Pausing, Max eyed her and swallowed, his throat bobbing wildly, before he threw himself over the side. Irina rushed to the edge, watching as his head appeared and he swam for the approaching rowboat. Despite his betrayal, she felt relief as he was rescued, pulled to safety by Durand and his men.
Henry wrapped his arms around her from behind. She slumped against him before twisting around to search his face for wounds. “Oh God, Henry, I thought I’d lost you.”
“You’ll never lose me.” His thumb stroked her cheek before his lips covered hers. She couldn’t get enough of him, scraping her fingers against the stubble of his cheeks as his mouth took hers with a driving intensity that left her limp. Irina kissed him back just as fiercely, their mouths grinding together as she dragged his face toward hers, losing herself in the taste and feel of him. She never wanted to let him go. But the sounds of men boarding the ship pushed them apart. She turned to see a man climbing on deck. Henry shoved Irina behind him, eyeing the pistols the man held.
“Whatever Remisov has agreed to pay you, I’ll double it,” Henry growled. He hooked a thumb toward the other rowboats heading toward the ship, likely drawn by the sound of the earlier gunfire. “You don’t have much time to decide. I’m the Earl of Lang—”
The man nodded. “I know who you are. There are people here who will pay a hefty sum of livres for your head.”
This man must have been the one Max had called Durand.
