Page 8 of My Hellion, My Heart
“I’m sorry to hear it,” Langlevit murmured.
“The loss of a child is tragic, indeed.” Lady Langlevit patted his hand where it lay on the arm of his chair. “My Henry was the fourth in a long line of similar tragedy. I would wish such torture on no one.” The countess took a long sip of her tea and addressed her son. “As a result, I’ve offered to host Irina while I am in London. I’m in need of the company, and she is in need of a suitable chaperone.”
The earl’s entire body stilled. “Here?”
“Why not? I have more than enough room in this drafty old residence,” Lady Langlevit replied. She sent a warm, reassuring smile in Irina’s direction. The countess’s elegantly appointed house was far fromdrafty. “It will do us both good.” She eyed her son. “It would do you good to show your face in polite society, as well. Perhaps you can endeavor to act as Irina’s escort to a few functions.”
“I’m certain Her Highness will have more than enough suitors breaking down the door, as she did in Paris,” he said, his snifter paused at his lips. “I wouldn’t want to besmirch her reputation with attention such as mine.”
Irina stiffened, and Lady Langlevit stared at her son with an expression of mild disgust. “Really, Henry, what has come over you?”
“I certainly would not wish to inconvenience anyone,” Irina said, “much less take the esteemed Lord Langlevit away from his importantaffairs.”
She met his stare, arching an eyebrow to make sure her emphasis on the last word hadn’t been lost. She and everyone in London knew exactly what, and whom, he did with his time. His eyes remained fathomless for an eternal moment before an impassive look descended on the rest of that austere face. It rankled her to no end that he could dismiss her so easily, but two could play at this game. She hiked her chin and fought the slow bloom of embarrassment rising in her cheeks.
With a deepening frown that swung uneasily between the two of them, the countess signaled to Andrews to bring in the small velvet box she’d sent him for, which the butler placed on the small table between them. “In any case, before your mood sours further and ruins our lovely afternoon, this was your father’s, handed down to each heir on their thirtieth birthday. I wish he could have been here to present it to you himself. He would have been proud of you, I think.”
Irina’s ears caught on that last “I think,” and from the answering tightening of the earl’s jaw, so had he. It appeared his renown of late as an unrepentant rake was even known to the countess herself. What had happened in the past five years to change him so? He’d been nothing but a dutiful son and an esteemed peer of the realm with an unimpeachable reputation. Over the past few years, the whisperings of his declining morals had grown loud enough to be heard on different continents.
The countess’s voice softened as she reached forward to stroke his sleeve. “Happy birthday, my darling.”
Irina took in a clipped breath as Langlevit opened the box to reveal a magnificent ruby ring with his family’s crest. If she had remembered, she could have brought a gift, but then again, she no longer had any idea what his likes and dislikes were.
“And now that we have dispensed with that,” Lady Langlevit continued, reaching for the pile of papers at her left. “It’s high time you married.”
Irina choked on her next breath of air.Married?
The earl’s cold gaze flicked to her for a moment. “We do not need to discuss this here.”
“I’m afraid we must,” the countess said, causing the muscle in her son’s cheek to make an appearance once more. “Each time I have sent word to your residence, you have been busy. You know the stipulation, Henry. You must marry, or the title and estates will revert to the Crown. As of today, the clock is ticking.”
“The clock has been ticking for many years,” he muttered.
Lady Langlevit ignored him. “And you have left things to the last minute. Now, these are the settlement documents your father was required to present to the House of Lords when we married, proving he had indeed met the stipulation King Charles—”
Irina stood while the earl’s mouth thinned to a slash. She cleared her throat, drawing his harsh glance. “Lord Langlevit is right. This is a private matter,” she said standing. “I will excuse myself.”
“Please, that is not necessary,” Lady Langlevit began as her son also abruptly stood. His knee caught the end of the tea tray and disrupted a teacup from its saucer. Black tea spilled across the tabletop, dripping onto the priceless carpet as the servants rushed forward to mop up the mess.
“No, please, do stay. I insist. This is now your home, after all,” he growled, his teeth gritted as he stared at the mess and tried to right the teacup. A footman intervened to take over the task, and the two of them wound up fumbling the teacup straight onto the carpet.
Langlevit growled again, and Irina heard him swear beneath his breath. He closed his eyes, nostrils flaring. “I should leave,” he said and, with his face still a mask of fury, strode from the room.
…
Henry paced in his study, forcing himself to pore over the account ledgers of his various estates. Numbers always helped to clear his head. Usually, they did. But not today. Not after what had happened hours ago at Devon Place.
He’d half wished upon his return that Mary and Camilla had still been there, but Billings had already seen them back. He’d briefly considered saddling his horse and finding them again at The Cock and the Crown to rid himself of the nervous energy that had built up like an angry squall within him, but for the first time in weeks, he’d resigned himself to his study for an evening of numbers and solitude.
A useless prospect, it seemed. Even the numbers weren’t helping.
Nor was the copious amount of whiskey he’d consumed.
Henry could only think ofher.
Irina Volkonsky had become even more beautiful than when he’d seen her last in St. Petersburg, as if the promise of womanhood had been fulfilled several times over. Her curves were fuller, her features less sharp. Her eyes now carried secrets, as did that seductive mouth. When she’d deliberately turned the snifter and pressed her lips to the place he’d drunk from last, tantalizing him with that whiskey-dampened mouth, it had taken all of his control not to toss that bloody tea tray aside and settle her into his lap.
If his mother hadn’t entered at that moment, he likely would have. He’d given free rein to his baser instincts for so long that he had no inclination to curb them. If a woman offered a sampling of her charms, he would take it. It was that simple. He did not refuse pleasure in any form, and he had not been mistaken in what Princess Irina was offering.
