Chapter Seven
The next morning Payton entered the stables with eager steps. It was very early, but she’d wanted to escape the after breakfast call to play croquet. Her damnable need to see Mikhail had made her restless. Last night had been thrilling. Nothing had happened except a long walk along a darkened corridor, but she’d had more enjoyment than at the dinner and the dance earlier. She liked him, and she could not deny the need to be in his presence despite the caution that flared in her heart. The last thing she wanted was to endure hurt and disappointment again.
A cursory glance showed the stables to be empty, and disappointment stabbed through her. It was a bit ridiculous and improper of her, but she had wanted to see Mikhail without the prying eyes of the other guests upon them. What she would say when she actually saw the man, she had not thought of as yet.
She directed her thoughts to the stallion she’d ridden yesterday, moving with rapidity to his stall.
Payton faltered. Mikhail. He wore a gentleman’s white shirt tucked into perfectly fitted black trousers; his black hair was mussed and in need of a trim. Though he groomed the horse, he had an imperious bearing about him, and it filled her with curiosity.
“Hello,” she greeted.
He stiffened imperceptibly and then shifted in her direction. His gaze ran over her in a quick perusal, and Payton realized she had carefully dressed in the event they had a chance encounter. Clad in her finest green riding habit, with matching gloves and hat, she warmed at the appreciation glowing in his eyes.
“Good day, Payton.” His accent was so appealing.
“Did you return safely to the west wing without mishap?”
“I did.”
She moved closer to the stall. “I am glad to see Sage returned safely.”
“He did.”
She waited for him to say something more, anything really to prolong their conversing. A blush climbed her neck when he only stared in that piercing way of his.
“It is a glorious day for riding.”
He glanced through the open windows into the sky. “It is.”
“The duchess’s sister, Lady Victoria, has organized a game of croquet to be played on the front lawn,” Payton said, strolling closer. “Then later a game of charades in the parlor. I am stealing away to ride across the countryside.”
He arched a brow.
“Will you be joining the games?” she asked. However, when she thought of it, she realized he might not have been invited.
“No.”
God, she hoped she didn’t make him feel inferior with her question. It could not be pleasant to realize all other guests had been encouraged to play. Payton had felt the sting of rejection many times since the Viscountess of Kenilworth organized social events and made it her duty to not invite Payton, taking pleasure in reminding her of her inferior rank. “I am sorry you did not receive an invitation.”
“I was invited.”
“Oh! I feel foolish for making such an assumption.” She laughed lightly, more from the discomfort curling through her than anything else.
He grunted.
That is it?
She waited for him to say more, but he remained maddeningly silent. She glanced around the stables, admiring the elegant lines and beauty of the other horses. She walked away from him, toward a horse with the blackest coat she had ever beheld. Another stallion. “Oh, you beauty,” she crooned gently, reaching out to glide her fingertip over his muscles. “Will you allow me to ride you today?”
He nickered, and she laughed softly, moving close until she could press against his side, running her hand along his neck. Her heart quickened. She could feel Mikhail’s eyes upon her. The intensity of his gaze kissed over her in a heated caress, an invitation to shift and admire him in a similar manner. But that would be too bold, too blatantly outrageous, even for her. Payton swallowed and battled the urge. Seconds passed in silence while she allowed the horse to become familiar with her touch. She swore the blasted man stared at her the entire time. Unable to resist, she turned to Mikhail.
His regard was…provocative. His eyes lowered to her lips and stayed there. Was it that she had something on her mouth? Good Lord, what if crumbles from the sweet cake she had stolen on her way out were still on her lips. A quick dart of her tongue along her lips did not result in anything. He frowned darkly, and awareness simmered through Payton.
“You are not much of a conversationalist today,” she said in desperation, wanting to break the intensity of the moment.
“I was uncommonly talkative in the cottage.”
She frowned. “You were?” He had been reserved last night as well. She’d done most of the talking.
Silence.
“You are staring, Mikhail.”
“I already informed you why I stare.”
“It is ungentlemanly and outrageous.”
“You enjoy the knowledge that I find you irresistibly beautiful. Do not pretend otherwise.”
Irresistibly beautiful? She ignored the rush of pleasure and glared at him. “Are you trying to provoke me?”
Finally a gorgeous smile curved his lips. “No, but it was worth your pique to see your face flushed with passion. You are becoming.”
Her aunt would encourage her to upbraid his boldness, but Payton could not bring herself to act so pompously. She would simply refuse to acknowledge his audacious compliment and his ridiculous assertions, which, if she were honest, held a miniscule amount of truth. It was indeed thrilling he found her becoming.
She turned to the horse she’d been admiring. “This is a beautiful horse.”
“He is.”
She allowed an exaggerated sigh to escape her. “I can see you are not fit for company today.”
He grunted and then asked, “Would you like to ride him?”
A smile split her face. “Indeed I would.”
He walked over and with quick movements fitted the stallion with saddle and harness. “This is Aeton. He is well trained and responds without the urging of a riding crop.”
“I would never use a crop!”
Mikhail flashed a smile of approval. “Good. He can be a bit temperamental, but once you let him know you are in charge, he will respond to your guidance.”
“And you trust me with him?”
“From what I saw yesterday your skill is beyond reproach.”
Warmth filled her chest. “Thank you,” she said softly. Not many men would offer such a compliment, and she knew none who would encourage a young lady to mount a stallion. Even Calydon encouraged his unconventional duchess to ride mares, never a powerful beast like Aeton. “Did you train him?”
“I did.”
“You are a horse breeder and a man of affairs. A very curious combination.”
He stiffened, then relaxed his shoulders. “I breed horses as a hobby. At rare times I gift them to friends.”
“And Aeton is a gift to Calydon?”
“He is.”
“And what other hobbies do you pursue?”
He stepped from the horse and directed his undivided attention to her. “You are curious about me.” More of an observation than a question.
Though his face was shuttered, pleasure darkened his tone. She hesitated. Never be obvious in your tendre for a gentleman. With an inner snort, she dismissed her aunt’s instructions. “I am,” she said truthfully. His silent regard became unsettling as a disconcerting awareness of him rippled over her skin. “If you are uncomfortable speaking—”
“Would you allow me to accompany you on your ride?”
He was bolder than any other suitor she had ever encountered. She barely contained a wince at her thoughts; a simple ride was not an invitation to courting. Or was it? She tried to remember all the infernal rules to courtship her aunt repeated so often. Payton was not sure if her curiosity should extend to being alone with him again. Not that a ride in the open should be a breach in propriety.
“We did not indulge in our picnic yesterday,” he offered by way of explanation.
He strolled to Sage and started fitting his saddle, seemingly unconcerned with her answer, but Payton swore she could feel the tension rolling off Mikhail as he awaited her reply.
“I would love your company.” Her heart thudded at his slow pleased smile. “I would also like to race against you with Sage.”
Mikhail stared at her for so long, she almost fidgeted. Was she being too impertinent?
“I accept.”
The breath she had not realized she held whooshed from her audibly. “You do?” Never had she really expected him to acquiesce. The one time she had been so daring with Lord Jensen in Hyde Park, he had been incensed that as a “lady” she would suggest racing against a gentleman.
“I do…though I must warn you, you will not win.”
She narrowed her eyes, and he chuckled.
“So if you are so certain, why accept? I clearly present no challenge.”
Something wicked flared in the depth of his eyes. “Oh, you challenge me,” he drawled softly. “I will savor the thrill of my conquest.”
Conquest? “Are we still talking about racing?”
He gave her an almost baffled look before responding. “Of course.”
“I see.” But she did not see, and she was almost certain he referred to something else. It was as if she should have understood a hidden meaning in his words, and he had an expectation of her to be more elegant and possibly adept at flirtation. Or maybe she was being silly. “I am an expert horsewoman even riding sidesaddle, so prepare to be trounced.”
A boot crunched behind her and she spun to see a large and very handsome man walking toward them.
“Miss Peppiwell, may I introduce you to my assistant, Vladimir.”
The man’s probing gaze was unsettling. His expression was guarded…cold even, and a shiver of discomfort coursed through her.
She quickly greeted him. “It is delightful to make your acquaintance, Vladimir.”
The man grunted.
“By chance are you related to Mr. Konstantinovich?”
Vladimir’s mien became even more distant.
“I…I only asked because Mr. Konstantinovich also has a penchant to grunt and provide one syllable answers. Please ignore my uncalled-for impertinence,” she ended sweetly, not knowing what she did to elicit such an immediate dislike.
Laughter bubbled inside when the man only softly grunted. She suppressed it and moved to the mounting block to seat herself. Mikhail conferred in the corner with Vladimir. Imperious anger flashed across Mikhail’s face, and his assistant bowed, handed him a basket and, with a stiff nod in her direction, departed.
The exchange had curiosity filling Payton. Mikhail watched Vladimir leave, his face not betraying any of his thoughts. Then he strode to Sage. Payton’s breath hitched at the grace in which Mikhail seated his horse.
They cantered out of the stables. The gentle breeze lifted the tendrils of hair from her forehead. Payton lifted her face to the sun as it crested over the horizon and broke through the darkened clouds, breathing in the fresh crisp scent of the morning. “I do wish I was riding astride.”
His eyes flicked to her. “I will wait if it is your wish to dress accordingly.”
“My mother and aunt would never forgive me if I traipsed around in such garments when amongst such lofty guests,” she admitted on a light laugh, nodding to the few people on the lawn playing croquet.
He nudged his horse closer. “I have seen the duchess riding in breeches.”
“She is a duchess. I daresay she can do whatever she wishes without exciting malicious comments. It is not the same for a mere ‘miss’.”
“And you speak from experience?”
She shrugged, unable to answer because of the sudden tightness in her throat. She did not want to delve into the disappointment and hurt she had endured. Payton would much prefer learning about him. She was no longer naive enough to trust easily but, for the first time in months, she wanted to ride and indulge in laughter and the dance of courtship with a gentleman. Her mother and Aunt Florence would be thrilled to know Payton was moving away from the pain of being jilted, but would be livid to know it was because of a mere mister. “I will admit I have stepped close to society’s flame, and I felt the heat of their displeasure.” More like she had been engulfed in the most painful of fires.
“I am familiar with how unforgiving society can be.”
She gave him a curious smile. “I had not expected a man of affairs to be intimately acquainted with the haute monde.”
Guilt flashed in his eyes, and he looked away from her toward the rolling countryside. “I have been deeply enmeshed in their circles for years now.”
“You have?”
Piercing blue eyes swung back to her. “Yes. I thought you mentioned a race?”
“Then let us ride,” she said, surging her horse ahead.
Without hesitation he tore after her.
Payton laughed in exhilaration at the magnificent speed and grace of the stallion beneath her, delighted that Mikhail was not holding back in his challenge. He was treating her as an equal and not some fragile lady to be cosseted or scolded for her boldness. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, and her heartbeat quickened as they sped past the rolling countryside, a blur of greens and the bright splash of flowers and roses. The steady sounds of hoof beats thumping the ground in a thrilling rhythm urged her to encourage her horse to move faster.
They cut the corner at breakneck speed, and delight pulsed through her veins. She rode the wind, and joy uncurled in her. The power of his stallion outdistanced hers, but she did not care. The very fact he afforded her such freedom, to be wild and daring, thrilled her to her toes.
They swept behind a cusp of trees, slowing their pace. They trotted in companionable silence before halting in a clearing behind a copse of willow trees. A faint sound of gurgling water reached her ears, along with the sweet trilling of birds. Payton could not resist the laugh that pelted from her. It was loud, boisterous, and utterly unladylike, and she did not care. “That was glorious, Mikhail. We must indulge in another race. Next time I will be properly attired, and I am certain I will trounce you.”
“Your laugh…it’s beautiful.”
A sweet ache pulsed in her chest. A memory of chortling too loudly at an intimate garden party Lord Jensen’s mother had hosted blared in Payton’s mind. The viscountess had sniffed, aiming her pointy nose in the air with a caustic comment that Payton laughed like an American. Many of the other ladies had twittered and giggled behind their fans, while her cheeks had burned in mortification. Lord Jensen had not even defended her, only whispering discreetly that she should ignore them, that she was lovely, and they were simply envious.
But this man…he thought her very loud laugh was beautiful. She didn’t want to be captivated, but he was just so intriguing. Payton wasn’t sure if she should trust the feelings of interest curling through her, for it was surely the path to heartache. “When you stare at me so, what are your thoughts?” Oh God, she was being too bold.
He leaned forward, resting his muscular forearms on his thighs. “I think of what it would be like to dance with you, to feel your passion in movement and sounds, to taste you.”
She snapped her gaze to his. “You think of kissing me?” She pushed the words out, determined to sound worldly and unaffected.
“The image has dominated my thoughts since we met.” He sounded disgruntled.
Desire brushed against her senses. I have imagined kissing you as well. Never would she confess such a scandalous thought, but from the smile curving his lips, it was as if he knew her most intimate musings.
“Come, let us eat.”
“Eat?” she parroted inanely. It was then she saw the small basket tied securely behind him. “I do not think, after our vigorous race, the food will be edible. You had intended to picnic alone?”
His mouth twitched. “No.”
“So sure of me were you?”
“More like desperately hopeful.”
She laughed lightly, loving his utterance. Desperately hopeful. “I see, and what is our fare?”
“I coaxed Calydon’s cook to make us something special.”
“You have a unique relationship with the duke. You have an entire wing of Sherring Cross at your disposal and now his cook,” she teased.
“I have known him for years.” He dismounted and assisted her to the ground, careful to leave space between their bodies.
“He seems a generous employer if he allows you to coax his cook. Though I can imagine with just a smile you would have Mrs. Beaton willing to make anything for you.”
“Ah…is this your way of telling me that with a smile I can have you at my whim?”
“Absolutely not, it would take more beguilement than a mere smile to charm me. I am made of sterner stuff.”
His soft laugh brushed against her skin like temptation itself, and he was so darkly seductive he took Payton’s breath.
In silence they walked farther into the clearing, approaching a small brook. Gray clouds hovered above the sky, and a distant thunder rumbled. The day was so beautiful she prayed rain did not interrupt. In the center there was a stone table and chair. Mikhail unpacked the food on the table. A wine and some sort of confectionary.
“What is that?”
“It’s halva, made with almond. Try it,” he invited as they sat.
She took a delicate bite. Her eyes widened at the delicious flavors exploding along her taste buds. “This is wonderful.”
He had a bottle and two small glasses which he filled with a golden liquid. “This is Medovukha. I am fortunate to have an assistant who knows how to make it.”
She accepted the proffered glass and took a tentative sip. It was impossible to hold back the moan of pleasure. “That really is wonderful.”
“Now you’ll understand why Vladimir, though grouchy, is invaluable to me.”
They drank and ate in companionable silence, and Payton wondered when she had ever felt such peace. Endless days of attending balls and picnics had only ever filled her with anxiety, as she’d constantly fretted if she was doing the right thing. Had she walked gracefully enough? Giggled like a lady enough, wielded her fan the proper way? Had she waited until someone was introduced before speaking? Those days had been painful…yet there had also been the thrill of just being there amongst such nobility.
“Do you live in England?” Mikhail asked. “Or are you only visiting?”
Payton swallowed her last piece of halva. “I may eventually return to Boston, but for now I am firmly rooted here.”
“You do not sound too happy.”
She considered her words carefully. “There are wonderful things in England. I have been much exposed to arts and books, which I adore, more so than when I lived in America. I simply do not feel like I fit, and there are times I despise attending society functions.”
“Then why do you attend?”
“It is very difficult to refuse my mother or aunt or even my father. Not that I think I will be banished as my mother threatens, but I am subjected to their whims by law until I reach my majority.”
With a sigh she rose to her feet and walked along the edge of the small brook. “I do understand they wish for me to make an advantageous match and to be comfortably situated. But I believe there is more to life than being the wife of a lord.”
He stood and moved to stand beside her. He was close, the warmth of him reaching out and gliding against her skin. But she did not move away, in fact, she subtly swayed closer. “What about you, Mikhail? Will you return to Russia?”
“I will visit my family yearly, but my home is now in England.”
She heard the wistfulness in his tone, and she understood. A day had not passed that she did not reminisce on Boston, the life and friends she had left there. “And will you settle here in Norfolk?”
“For now.”
She waited for him to expound, but he remained silent. Payton hesitated to pry further, though the need to learn more about him was becoming a persistent desire. “Do you have a wife?”
Startled eyes met hers. “I would not dream of tasting you if I were attached.”
She flushed. “Of course. I did not think you without honor, I…I…merely wondered if you had any attachment, and I asked the question poorly.”
“I had an understanding once, but we agreed we would not suit.”
There was a dark undertone in his voice that had her assessing him carefully. “May I ask why?”
He grimaced. “The fault lies with me. She understandably needed more from me, and I was unable to provide it.”
She touched his arms lightly, and he froze. She quickly withdrew her fingers, a blush heating her cheeks. “Such a separation must have caused you pain. I am sorry.”
“It was years ago; if it caused pain, I have forgotten,” he said in a voice that was chillingly distant.
Awareness of how secluded they were reared its head. She strolled toward the grazing horses, and he kept pace with her, each of his steps exuding masculine grace and vitality. “Thank you for riding with me. I must return to the estate. I am to be fitted for a ball gown for Lady Blythe’s midnight soiree this weekend. My mother would lambast me if I missed the modiste the duchess has been kind enough to ask to attend our needs.”
He nodded. “Reserve a spot for me on your dance card.”
Liquid warmth slid through her veins. “You will attend?”
“Yes.”
An event she had previously dreaded now had anticipation curling through her. “I am surprised.” He arched a brow, and she winced. “Please do not think me unkind. I only know the bigotry of society and had not thought Lady Blythe would have invited you to her ball.”
“Think nothing of causing me offense; I much prefer if you speak freely. My connection with Calydon allows me much within society.”
Of course. It was the same connection her family shamelessly importuned upon. Was it that he yearned to be a part of the haute monde? A sinking sensation entered her stomach. “I see.”
“The disappointment in your tone compels me to know what it is you believe you have perceived.”
“I had the thought you might wish to be a part of the coveted inner circles of the haute monde. The idea disappointed me, when it should not have. I have no right to judge you based on my desires.”
His gaze settled on her face. “And your desire is not to be associated with high society?”
Payton hesitated. “Yes.”
The twig between his fingers snapped. “May I enquire as to what happened?”
She hesitated. “I don’t belong. Months after being introduced to society I waited for someone to look at me and see the dirt beneath my fingernails.”
She held up her hands, and he lightly encircled her wrists.
“These hands have milked a cow and dug deep into the soil. They have even scrubbed a pot and lifted a chamber pot.”
Amusement gleamed in his eyes. He pulled her fingers toward his lips and brushed the lightest of a kiss across the tips. Payton wasn’t sure if she should pull from his caress or lean farther in to him. She glanced through the trees, unable to make out the indistinct forms of the players on the lawn. But if she could see them, surely they could see a man and a woman standing much too close.
“Industrious hands are not dirty, they are to be much admired,” he murmured.
“Sentiments only few would agree with.”
“What else has contributed to your distaste of high society?”
“Many young ladies I had thought close acquaintances took pleasure in reminding me I did not belong to their social circles. I ignored my discomfort, my sister’s warnings of the hypocritical nature of society, and enjoyed each lavish ball I attended. The heir to a viscountcy pursued me most ardently and I…believed I loved him.”
Mikhail’s expression became guarded, but Payton knew he held on to her every word. There was a piercing stillness about him that unsettled her, and his grip had tightened reflexively on her fingers.
“Do you still love him?”
“I do not think so.”
His expression became even more closed, and her heart thudded.
“What happened with this man?”
She pulled her fingers from his clasp, a bit thrown by his intensity. “He proposed to me, and our engagement was announced. A rumor started circulating concerning someone close to my family, and society was very cruel in their reactions. I was tarnished by association, and Lord Jensen withdrew his affections.”
And society blamed me, hated me, and cut me for it, because it was further proof of my inferiority. The unspoken words were still too painful for her to admit.
“He was a damn fool. A mere rumor would not dissuade me from your charms.”
Pleasure suffused her at Mikhail’s assertions. “Thank you for your kind words.”
“I did not offer them out of kindness.”
Her breath hitched at the shadows of hunger in his eyes, and she swallowed at the startling throb in her lower stomach. Not good. While she liked him, her family would object. But did she care? She liked him. “I have never had anyone look at me as you do,” she said softly. “Your gaze is like a physical touch; its intensity is almost alarming.”
A fleeting smile touched his lips. “I will learn to temper my attraction.”
“I would urge you not to.” Her voice was a mere whisper, but from the flash of desire that darkened his eyes, he had heard. He leaned in, and for a heart-stopping moment she thought he would kiss her. Please. She wanted the press of his mouth against hers.
“Your lips have been haunting me.”
“I am sorry to have caused you misery,” she said teasingly, trying to rein in the ridiculous need to behave wantonly.
He placed his hands on her hips, drawing her closer to his delicious warmth. “More like tormenting me.”
“Then I am sorry if I have caused you pain,” she whispered as she lifted her arms and clasped his shoulder. Acting on pure feminine instinct, she pressed her nose in to his neck, breathing in his evocative scent.
He froze, and a chill blasted her. A fraught silence settled around them, the undercurrents of something unknown rippling across Payton’s skin. The chill seemed to gather in strength, and she could feel him retreating, though he did not move. It scared her.
Instinctively she dropped her hands from his shoulders. Tension visibly drained from his body when she stepped away, and hurt lanced through her. “You find my touch repellent?” The idea seemed farfetched, but it was the alarming conclusion she had drawn.
Caution clouded his gaze. “No…never.”
Soft relief pulsed, and she smiled. “For a moment I—”
“I find all touch uncomfortable,” he admitted with evident discomfort.
But he seems so self-assured and arrogant…
“Oh!” She made to move away, but he gripped her hips and drew her to him. “I thought you found touching distasteful.”
“If I am the one in control it does not bother me,” he said in a deceptively mild tone, drawing her even closer, flushing her chest to his.
Oh.
“I have an incurable love for horses and dogs. I enjoy archery and boxing.”
She lifted her eyes to his, and the heat in his gaze strangled her breathing. “I…I feel as if you are about to kiss me, so for you to talk of dogs, horses, and pugilistic skills in this moment is decidedly confusing.”
His fingers tangled in her hair, and he lifted her face even closer. “You’d asked about my hobbies. What about yours?”
The anticipation of feeling his lips and tasting them for the first time was burning away all her resistance to mere ashes, and he wanted to converse?
He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth, darting his tongue to caress the closed seam of her lips. Payton’s knees weakened.
“I am a terrible painter,” she said huskily. “But I love to see images I create come to life on a canvas. You already know I enjoy writing fairy tales and drawing the images that roar to life in my mind to accompany my stories.”
“I look forward to reading them.”
Her breath hitched as nerves fluttered inside her. He pressed kisses to her lips. Payton sighed, loving the firm pressure on her mouth.
“You taste very sweet,” he murmured.
“It is the halva.”
He trailed his lips to the corner of her mouth and licked his tongue in a wicked and sensual glide of shocking temptation across the seam of her closed lips. “No…it is you.” He bit her lower lip and tugged, sliding his tongue inside.
She jerked in shock.
“It is definitely you,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “You are testing my control, and I ache to taste you deeper.”
She had no sensible response as confusing heat suffused her entire body.
He bent to nibble at her throat, the teasing strokes of his tongue rousing sensations she had never felt before. Everything inside of Payton ached. Her breasts and her most intimate valley throbbed, and she desperately wanted his touch, his taste, anything to relieve the sweet unknown pressure building.
“Then savor me,” she invited with a purr as he nipped the sensitive hollow of her throat.
He trailed fleeting kisses up to her lips, then teased her mouth in a seductive caress as she opened farther for him, inviting him inside.
“I can taste your innocence,” he growled softly.
“Is that so terrible?”
“It is dangerous, for I hunger for things you are too innocent to give.”
Then he stung her bottom lip with another sensuous nip. She gasped, and he coaxed with soft bites and licks at her lips, persuading her to open fully to his entreaty, then a beat later Mikhail claimed her in a show of raw dominance.
Flames of desire consumed her.
It was both…gently marauding and savagely ravishing. She parted her lips. A deep groan rumbled from Mikhail, and he kissed her deeper. His tongue sweeping inside her mouth was unexpected, as well as the sharp pleasure that stabbed low in her womb.
She pulled from him, panting. “I…this feels so…” Her words drifted away on a moan, as he trailed his lips over the pulse fluttering at her throat.
“Hot…needy?”
She had not realized people’s lips and tongue could mesh so delightfully. “Yes.”
“Good.” Then he tugged her closer, so she felt every hard inch of him, and took her lips in the same move.
Desires erupted in her unlike any she had ever known, and Payton slid deeper into sheer bliss. He owned her sighs, her moans. The kiss deepened, grew hungrier.
He pulled his lips from hers, breathing raggedly. “You intrigue me, Payton.”
Delightful shock coursed through her. “I do?”
He pressed kisses along the sensitive column of her neck. “Yes, I hunger to know you.”
His answer sent a shiver of uncertainty over her. He was everything that was sensual and forbidden.
“Will you allow me to take you on a walk or even a carriage ride?”
Oh.
“Payton?”
He made her heart jerk, her blood heated. Dangerous. So dangerously glorious and wonderful.
“You want to woo me?” She meant to ask the question teasingly, instead, her voice hitched.
“Yes.”
“You hardly know me.”
“I know enough.”
So do I.
A wicked tension wove around them as he awaited her answer. She hated being so honest with him, but he needed to understand what he would face. “Your status is not elevated enough for my mother or father to agree to me even strolling in the gardens with you. I would hate for you to face their censure and derision.”
“Is that your only objection?”
Mikhail made her want to rebel against the bidding of her family. Good Lord, what am I thinking? “I have no objection,” she said softly.
He wanted to know her better, even woo her. She’d always thought she would tread with utmost caution with the next man to attempt courtship, because there was a chance her heart could once again be mangled and crushed, and the very idea was unbearable. But with Mikhail she did not want to restrain any part of herself, and the intensity of feelings roiling through her so soon was almost frightening.
“I enjoy your company, Mikhail. If my parents agree to me walking with you, I would love to get to know you more.”
Pleasure flared in his eyes, then caution. Before she could question it, he tugged her closer, claiming her lips.
And even if they do not, I am determined to choose my own path.