Page 89 of My Hellion, My Heart
“Irina—”
She shook her head as if anticipating his response and smiled brightly at him. “No, don’t say it. I can’t bear any of your reasons why you think we won’t suit or why you are somehow not good enough for me. For now, forthismoment, I just want to enjoy your company. Will you please allow me that? And then we can return to life as we know it, where you are a cantankerous, unlovable earl and I am a foolhardy, frigid ice princess.”
A tentative knock on the slightly ajar door drew their attention, and Madame Renaud entered. “May I serve the supper, my lord?”
Henry stared down at Irina at a complete loss for a response before nodding to the housekeeper. He had so much he wanted to say to Irina, but words failed him. Exhaling softly, he escorted her to her chair, and then took the one at the head of the table.
They ate in silence, though he could feel her glances settling upon him from time to time. It was a companionable silence, and one which Henry strangely seemed to enjoy. Just the feeling of having her near set him at ease. He delighted in watching her delicate hands rise to her mouth, seeing the look of decadence on her face as she tasted one of the cheeses, hearing her soft sigh of satisfaction as the meal ended. He could stare at her forever, he decided, watching her do any mundane thing. She brought so much grace and joy to the simplest of tasks.
After Madame Renaud had cleared the plates, Henry offered Irina a glass of sherry. “Whiskey, please,” she said, and he grinned. He should have known.
“Would you like to sit on the terrace?” he asked, handing her the glass.
“The terrace?”
With a smile, he opened the French doors and taking a crocheted lap blanket from the back of a chair, wrapped it around her shoulders. Irina gasped at the sight that greeted them. A clear expanse of rolling ocean lay below, spread beneath the pale white glow of the moon. Foamy, silvery-topped waves lapped at the shore, lending a magical air to the view.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, tucking the blanket around her.
“Yes,” Henry said, but he was not looking at the sea. He was looking at her. Holding her gaze, he closed the foot of space between them and reached down to grasp her hand in his, but the right words were still elusive. “You’re not a frigid ice princess.”
“I’m not?” she whispered.
“Not to the right man.”
Something like hope bloomed in her moonlit eyes. “And who is that?”
Henry stared at the woman who carried his heart in hers. Suddenly, he was not afraid anymore. He knew he would never be, not when she was at his side.
“I have something to say to you,” he said softly, “and I want you to listen.”
The expression in her eyes shifted to one of uncertainty. “Very well.”
“You told me once you wanted me to be happy, and this is when I am happy. When I am with you. Tonight, on that ship in the midst of it all, I felt more grounded than I have in years, and I realized it was because of you.Youwere my anchor in that storm. I am flawed in so many ways, Irina. Stubborn. Unyielding. Cantankerous, at best.” Her eyes were damp already. So were his, he suspected, but Henry smiled at her, taking their glasses and placing them upon a small stone table before resuming his hold on her fingers.
“Any cracking noise will bring back memories I never want to relive. I will run my course for hours, running from nightmares that will never end. I will no doubt be unable to love you as you deserve, but I find myself out of excuses, out of reasons not to take a chance.”
He pressed her knuckles to his mouth, drawing his lips back and forth over her lavender-scented skin. “God knows I’ve done this all wrong. I should have asked your sister and North properly for your hand in marriage. I haven’t even told my own mother, but I can’t wait anymore when the one I want is standing here right in front of me.”
“The one you want.”
“The one I love.” With an inarticulate sound, he dropped to one knee, still holding her cool, trembling palm in his. “I want to marry you. Will you take me as your husband, Irina?”
Wide-eyed, she stood there, staring down at him for an endless moment, a single tear trekking down her cheek. She lifted her fingers to touch the hair at his temple, as if to determine whether he was real. Henry turned his face into her hand, kissing the heart of her palm.
“You love me?” she whispered, and Henry nodded. “You want to marryme?”
“With all my heart. Will you give me your answer, my love?”
“Yes, ohyes,” she cried, dropping to her knees beside him and throwing her arms around his neck. Henry kissed her then, gently, his lips sealing the promise he had just made.
They broke apart to clapping and turned to see Madame and Monsieur Renaud standing behind the windowpanes, their cheeks wet with tears. Smiling as he rose, Henry drew his bride-to-be to his chest and held her there, staring out at the sea and feeling like he had finally come home. They stood in silence for what seemed like an eternity, holding each other, until Irina stirred in his arms, her eyes finding his.
“I’m wondering when I will wake and realize that this is all a dream.”
“It’s no dream, my love.”
Irina laughed. “I also don’t think I’ll ever get used to you saying that.”
