Page 98 of My Hellion, My Heart
He drew a breath and thought of himself. Of his own past and his own twisted soul. He’d almost let who he’d become destroy him…untilher. Until this woman, the beautiful and loving woman in his arms, had swept into his life and somehow started to mend all the broken edges within him. There was much more mending to be done, but at least she would be at his side to see it through.
“Do you think he would have…done it? Taken me?”
Henry stilled, considering his words with care for her feelings. “I’d like to think he would not have intended to, love, but I also want to be honest with you. Ultimatums can drive men to dangerous extremes.” Shutting the door behind them, he pulled her close. “I’m just glad it’s over and you’re in my arms where you belong. You never have to think of him again.”
“What if he comes back?”
“Don’t worry about Remisov,” Henry said, needing to put her at ease the same way she always put him at ease. “Once he has completed his sentence, I’ll see to it he is returned to St. Petersburg. You’ll be safe from him, Irina, I promise you.”
By then, Henry realized, Irina would be Countess Langlevit. She would take comfort in the security of his name and the power of his title. And as her husband, he’d never let any harm come to her. Hiswife. The notion had him folding Irina closer against him, a pulse of joy overtaking the chaos that had surrounded them only minutes before. She wrapped her arms tightly about his torso, as if she could sense the happiness spreading through him, and raised her beautiful eyes to his.
“I love you so much,” Irina whispered, lifting up onto her toes to kiss him.
“It cannot possibly be as much as I love you, my princess,” he teased, winking devilishly at her and arching a challenging eyebrow. She did not disappoint.
Finally,finally, the love of his life grinned against his lips, her tongue darting sweetly into his mouth. “Challenge accepted, my lord.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“I believe we may be destined to do everything in an unorthodox manner,” Irina said as she stood before the mirror in her room at Stanton Park. Her maid crouched at her side, carefully pinning a piece of ivory lace at the hem of the wedding gown.
Lana sat in a plush chair by the hearth, a hand resting contentedly on her burgeoning stomach. “Whatever do you mean?”
“How many earls do you know who get married in the woods?” she asked her sister through the mirror’s reflection.
Lana laughed. “How many princesses, at that?”
Irina shook her head, smiling. She’d been wearing this same expression it seemed for the last several days, and oddly enough, her cheeks did not ache one bit. She supposed that only happened when a smile was forced and false. Irina had never in her life been happier than she had been over the last few weeks. And even the occasional passing thought of Max couldn’t dampen her joy. As Henry had promised, he had been spared the noose and had been sentenced to a lengthy stint in a gaol in Cambridgeshire. Irina hoped his time there would be well spent in reflection and reformation, and once he completed his sentence, he’d be shipped back to his father. That was all she permitted herself to think of him. Max was a part of the past.
She and Henry had left the Canterbury estate and gone straight to Essex, though not before sending a messenger to Brighton. Lady Langlevit would still be taking the waters there, recovering from her bout of illness, and would want to know straightaway the news of her son’s new betrothal. Both Irina and Henry agreed the faster the countess returned to Essex, the sooner they could marry.
“Fairy princesses,” Irina sighed, and with another long look at her gown, felt such warm serenity she wanted to twirl around. She didn’t, though, not with Jane still pinning some lace.
“Well, you certainly look the part of a fairy princess,” Lana said.
With no modistes in Breckenham to speak of, and with no desire to return to London to visit Madame Despain at her shop on Bond Street, Irina and Lana had been left to their own devices for the creation of Irina’s wedding gown.
It had given them something to focus on for the week it took for Henry’s letter to reach Brighton, and for Lady Langlevit to make a surprisingly speedy return to Essex.
They had taken Lana’s wedding gown, and with the help of several maids at Stanton Park and seamstresses in Breckenham, had transformed it into a completely new masterpiece. Still the same bone-ivory color, but with a high collar of sheer lace, small rose buttons from the nape of the neck to the start of the short train, and lace sleeves to the elbow. It was a simple gown, with hints of pink and rose in the new embroidery along the bodice.
“Thank you for allowing me to wear your gown,” Irina said, relieved when Jane stood and moved away. Irina picked up the sides of the skirt and inspected the new lace.
“It is our gown now,” Lana replied, lifting herself from the chair. Irina moved to help her, but Lana shook her head. “I am fine. Truly. I’m feeling much better and stronger. Oh, look at me!” she cried as she saw her figure in the mirror. “To think I once fit in that gown.”
She touched the buttons along Irina’s spine with a sigh.
“You are beautiful,” Irina told her, turning to take her sister’s hands in her own. She saw the flush of pleasure in Lana’s cheeks, the rosy glow of motherhood in her every motion. “I can only hope I am as lovely when I am with child,” Irina whispered, knowing that she could not have spoken of such things with anyone other than Lana. Or Henry.
They had not had much opportunity over the course of the last two and a half weeks to make love again, though they had certainly made the most of one unchaperoned horseback ride, and then after a tea with Lady Langlevit the day she’d returned.
The countess had been tired from her journey and had excused herself, leaving Henry and Irina alone in the day room at Hartstone. He had stared at her from his seat, a smile creeping over his lips, before he’d jumped to his feet, taken the teacup straight out of her hand, and dragged her to the carpet behind the sofa. It had been a quick union, though no less thrilling, especially with the threat of a servant walking in on them.
However, even after only so few encounters, something was different. Irina could feel it, though nothing she could quite describe. Yesterday, she’d thought back to when she’d last had her monthly menses and had realized with a burst of elation that she should have started bleeding a week before. She was carrying Henry’s child. It was still much too early to be completely sure, but she hoped for it, and a part of herknew.
“You will always be lovely,” Lana told her now, cupping her cheek and grinning. Tears trembled in her eyes. “And I am so very happy for you and Henry. I’m not sure I could have allowed you to marry anyone else, in fact. I trust him completely, and I know how deeply he cares for you. I saw it even when we were younger and he went to such extraordinary lengths to keep us both safe.” Lana kissed Irina’s cheek and stepped back, blinking away her tears. “You have chosen well, sister. And so has he.”
Like Lana, Irina was quite certain she couldn’t have married anyone else, either. She’d been more than prepared to return to St. Petersburg alone, with no prospects and no hope. It seemed like a lifetime ago instead of only a month.
