“I was simply a monetary means to an end for Tatiana. I doubt I will make acquaintance with a young lady who can see beyond the power of money and connections.”
Calydon’s brow arched. “There are many young ladies who desire marriage for other reasons.”
“It is neither here nor there.” Mikhail was not sure if there had ever been a time in history when marriage matches were not about money or political alliances. All his life he had been pursued for wealth and prestige, and he would admit the idea of a woman looking at him without avarice glowing in her eyes was pleasant.
Like Payton.
Seeking a distraction from his viscerally disturbing thoughts, Mikhail looked out into the gardens. The duchess strolled by, arm in arm with her younger sister, Lady Victoria. Their heads were dipped close, their lovely faces animated. Mikhail remembered a time when his cousin had been deeply jaded and had sworn never to marry or trust a woman. Now Sebastian had a duchess and children. The sudden ache filling Mikhail’s chest was unexpected and curious, but not altogether uncomfortable. “I never thought you would allow yourself to trust a woman.”
A smile creased the duke’s face, drawing attention to the rapier scar on his left cheek. His eyes darkened, and the love in them actually caused a slow, uncomfortable jerk of Mikhail’s heart.
“The right woman can be trusted with everything that you are—the darkness and the light,” Sebastian answered, his eyes flicking to the gardens, seeking his duchess. At that moment she and Lady Victoria threw back their heads and laughed without an ounce of decorum. The duchess chortled, and it warmed Mikhail to see Sebastian’s reaction to her delight. The duke had been cold for far too long, and Mikhail was damned glad for his cousin’s good fortune.
“I am glad you found her,” Mikhail said softly.
“And I would be doubly glad if you would find a similar happiness.”
Mikhail contained his flinch. “I am content.”
“No…you merely exist, closing yourself from life because you fear hurting. I know, for I did the same for years until I met my duchess.”
Rage lit in his veins, and he met Sebastian’s eyes. “You compare our pasts?” Mikhail asked, the raw edge of dark emotions tugging at his calm facade.
The duke’s eyes hooded, and he sank into his chair. “Never,” he said. “I cannot comprehend your pain, but I can identify with the haunting distance I see in your eyes. It is a lonely path to eschew female companionship. I think it is a similar thought your father had and why he pushed you to consider Princess Tatiana.”
Mikhail had no want for the affections his cousin spoke about. For ten long years he’d exercised the utmost control over his body and emotions, forming liaisons on his terms. Whenever he lusted, he slaked it with minimal fuss by women who understood he offered nothing and accepted the way he made love—with his lover positioned on hands and knees, ensuring minimal skin contact.
“Have you directed the housekeeper to place me in the west wing, away from all the guests?” Mikhail asked, directing the conversation to where he wanted. It was the reason he had chosen to bed down in the stable’s loft last evening. The chamber that had been readied for him was on the same floor as the other guests. He’d requested the change and then had spent hours riding, even going as far as to dine in the village’s inn closest to Sherring Cross.
Calydon lifted a brow at his diversion. He nodded and then brought them solidly back to business. “Mother and Jocelyn have a full itinerary to welcome you into society in a few weeks.”
Mikhail grimaced. “No,” he growled.
Calydon set aside his correspondence, directing his undivided attention to Mikhail. “You have your seat to claim in Parliament. There are connections to be fostered. While it is appealing to bury your head in the country, you cannot ignore the duties to your title for months.”
“They will wait,” Mikhail said flatly. The memory of gazes burning with rabid speculations and whispers of whore and brothel sliced through him. The scandal of his life would never be over, and it would follow him wherever he traveled, but he would control when it haunted his steps. The minute he was introduced to society, the vultures would seek his past as if it were carrion, simply because that is what they do. Then the gossip would ride the air and somehow find itself into every drawing room in London. Despite the vileness of the rumors, matchmaking mothers and young ladies would plot his downfall with avaricious glee, throw themselves at his feet, sneak into his bed, and pretend to be pregnant by him…
He snapped his teeth together in annoyance. He would delay his introduction for as long as possible. Another scandal had urged him to leave his home, family, and country, to assume a mantle in which he had never been interested. All his life, his heart had belonged to Russia. After one of his cousins had died without issue six months ago, knowledge of the responsibilities he would have to assume in England had settled in Mikhail’s gut like a heavy boulder. But it had been easy to give in to his mother’s gentle persuasion to visit Sherring Cross, for it came when he had wanted to leave Tatiana’s pleadings and her tear-stained face, and the scandal her betrayal and his subsequent reaction to it had wrought, behind.