Page 87 of My Hellion, My Heart
“If you know of me, then you also know what I am capable of,” Henry replied softly. Irina noticed the man lift his chin and then slowly nod in acknowledgment. “But in the interests of everyone here, I’ll double that amount, too.”
Durand was a smuggler of some sort, Irina also realized, and Henry was negotiating in the currency that men like him understood best. “Agreed, then,” Durand said, his eyes lighting at the offer. “Ten thousand.”
Irina gasped at the staggering sum, but Henry did not bat an eye. He removed the signet ring on his finger and handed it to Durand. “Done. Give this to the man I send in exchange for the sum. I will have it delivered within the week.”
“And what of him?” Durand asked, jerking his head to Remisov, who remained restrained in the rowboat.
Henry’s eyes flicked back to Irina’s for a brief moment. She knew her answer was clear in them, and Henry nodded. “Have him cool his heels until you receive the money, then he’s to be released as long as he agrees to remain here in France.” He wrapped one arm around Irina, pulling her close. “One more thing, I will require transport once we dock. And a shirt.”
Durand smiled. “Of course, my lord.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Night was falling by the time Henry had sorted everything out with the harbormaster and secured the carriage, as promised, from Durand. Henry didn’t trust the man, but money was the reigning monarch here, and ten thousand pounds was a paltry sum to pay for Irina’s safety. He’d also made sure to send a message to Lord Bradburne, conveying that both he and the princess were safe and would return to London on the following day. Though it was scandalous that Irina was without a proper chaperone, Hawk knew of his intentions. And soon Irina would, as well.
Henry glanced down at the woman tucked against him in the coach, her eyelids drooping sleepily. Watching her now as she curled trustingly against him was so at odds with the fierce virago who had fended off men double her size on board the cutter. It made him smile. Irina had been magnificent and fearless in the face of overwhelming odds. His heart had stuttered when he’d seen her standing there on the deck, pistol and sword in hand like some kind of avenging pirate warrior. No other woman could have done what she did.
With a soft exhalation, Henry’s fingers brushed the hair out of her face.
“Where are we going?” she asked softly, favoring him with a smile that made his chest feel tight.
“To a country house I own near here in Escalles.”
“Oh.”
His fingers threaded through her hair, and she turned her face into his hand, rubbing her cheek against his palm. “It’s not far, don’t worry. You must be exhausted.”
“I’m well now that I’m with you,” she said, staring up at him.
He kissed her brow, though he wanted to do far more than that at her words and the languid look in those violet eyes. “You’ll have a bath and a meal, and you will feel a hundred times better.”
Despite the late hour, Henry had sent a man from the public stables near the harbor ahead to alert the small resident staff to his imminent arrival. It had been years since he had stayed at the manor, but it had been his home for a long while during his time in France. Henry didn’t know why he hadn’t sold the estate after he’d escaped Paris. Perhaps it was sentimentality. It was here on the coast, tucked away in this tiny little sea village, that he had recovered and found the strength after his ordeal to return to England. He sucked in a sharp breath as the coach rounded the last hill and the rambling manor came into view. It was not fancy in the least, nor worth a fraction of the cost of some of his other estates, but the sight of it made heat rush to his eyes.
“My Lord Langlevit,” a woman with streaked gray-and-black hair greeted in a warm voice as he stepped out into the courtyard, reaching inside the carriage to assist Irina. “Bienvenue, my lord, welcome home. It has been such a long time.”
“Bonsoir, Madame Renaud,” he said, smiling at his longtime housekeeper and then drawing Irina forward. “This is Princess Irina Volkonsky. She will also be staying with us. Please escort her to a chamber in the guest wing and prepare her a bath.”
Madame Renaud’s eyes widened, and she curtsied. “Your Highness,” she said. “Of course, my lord. Monsieur Renaud will see to it, and Helene can assist Her Highness with her needs.”
She gestured to the tall young woman who had been standing silently beside her. Henry barely recognized Madame Renaud’s daughter, who he knew would now be sixteen. She’d grown at least six inches since he’d seen her last. The young girl bobbed a curtsy, smiling in shy awe at Irina. “I’m ’appy to ’elp you, mademoiselle,” Helene said in a thick French accent.
Smiling reassuringly, he squeezed Irina’s fingers, watching as Helene led her up the stairs. Irina hadn’t said much, but Henry was certain that weariness would undoubtedly be settling in. A hot bath and then a meal was what she needed before a full night’s rest.
By the time he had taken his own bath and changed into clean clothing, the manor was ablaze with light, and a hearty fire burned in the hearth. Monsieur Renaud had seen to the shallow wounds on his face, cleaning them and making sure there was no sign of infection. He was also the man who had tended to the larger ones on Henry’s back years before. The thought of his scars brought with it a curious feeling. Irina had seen them. She had seen the brutal evidence of his shame—that, in fact, hehadbeen whipped like a dog. Though she hadn’t reacted outwardly on the ship, he knew that she’d been affected by them. But Henry didn’t want her pity. He wanted something else from her.
“There, my lord,” Monsieur Renaud said, dabbing the last of his wounds with his own homemade healing salve of egg whites, aloe, balsam, and God knew what else. Henry trusted the old man like no other, and having him tend to him now after so much time made Henry’s insides twist into nostalgic knots. He owed this family so much…for their loyalty, their service, and their discretion. Perhaps that was why he’d kept the estate for so long. It had been the Renauds’ home for more than a decade, and it would continue to be, for as long as he drew breath.
Despite the short notice, Madame Renaud had a feast laid out upon the dining room table, including a selection of meats, bread, cheeses, and fruit. Irina had not yet come downstairs. Henry waited, pouring himself a healthy serving of whiskey while he sat in an armchair near the fire and stared at the flames.
“My lord,” a soft voice said. He rose, the tight feeling in his chest returning at the sight of her. Irina stood there, dressed in a simple cotton gown. Her hair was uncovered. Her feet were bare. “It’s Helene’s,” she said with a small laugh, seeing his stare. “And far too short.”
“I’ll send someone to the village in the morning,” he said, trying futilely not to notice the tantalizing display of a well-turned ankle as she walked toward him.
“Thank you,” she said and reached for his glass. “May I?”
“Of course.”
Henry watched as she turned the rim to where he’d sipped last and placed her mouth to it. Amusement twinkled in her eyes when she sipped, watching him with a knowing grin over the rim. “Do you remember when I did this the last time?” She ran her tongue along the edge.
