The Royal Conquest(13)
A heavy sigh slipped from Calydon. “The ball my mother has planned in your honor is a mere six weeks away. I will advise Jocelyn and the household they are not to refer to you by your titles until it is necessary. Mother will be sorely disappointed.”
Mikhail had known his aunt by marriage would turn her matchmaking eyes his way. She’d already written to him when she learned he would claim his duchy with a reminder he must be in need of a wife. From Russia he’d heard the meddlesome wheels turning in Lady Radcliffe’s head. “I urge you to advise your mother to reconsider the ball in its entirety. I have no need for an introduction to England’s haute monde. When I am ready I will simply appear.”
Calydon chuckled. “Even so secluded at Sherring Cross, whispers of the chatter in London have reached our ears. All are awaiting the arrival of the new duke, especially the maters. My mother thinks it is somewhat of a coup, to host the first ball you’ll attend in society. Nothing I say will deter her.”
Mikhail grunted and pushed to his feet. He moved to the windows facing the rolling grounds of the estate. Several guests strolled on the lawns, and some were playing archery. His gaze searched, feeding the need in him to find Payton once more. He was decidedly curious to see if she had the same effect on him without the intimacy of their enclosure and the possibilities of seduction on the air. He doubted it…but he still wanted—no, needed—to know.
“You look for someone?”
“Yes.”
Calydon’s eyes sharpened with interest. “A woman?”
The blasted man’s tone was too hopeful. Mikhail briefly debated not answering. “A Miss Payton Peppiwell,” he said, trying to sound casual. He feared he failed, from the pleased smile that creased Sebastian’s lips.
“The young lady and her family only arrived at Sherring Cross late yesterday evening. How is it you have come to make Miss Peppiwell’s acquaintance when it is barely dawn?”
He grunted noncommittally and Sebastian laughed, then sobered at whatever he saw in Mikhail’s face.
“Is she still chaste?” Sebastian demanded with a narrow-eyed glare.
“What is it to you?”
“It obviously escaped your notice—she is family.”
Peppiwell. Mikhail’s other cousin, Lord Anthony’s wife’s surname had been Peppiwell. “I do not go around seducing women. The squall forced our early meeting, and we were together in the cottage you and I played in as children for a while. I returned her discreetly.”
Sebastian’s shoulders visibly relaxed, and then he frowned. “Payton doesn’t know who you are?”
“No. She’d demanded to know if I worked for you, so I gave her vague responses. They were not lies, but nor were they a full disclosure in what capacity I advised you, or trained horses for you.”
“Did she interest you?” Curiosity was rife in his cousin’s tone.
Memory of the artless hunger in her gaze and tentative smile swam across Mikhail’s vision, and he had to grit his teeth against the arousal curling through him. “Maybe.”
He could feel the shock pouring from his cousin, and Mikhail understood. It had been years since he admitted interest in a woman.
“You do not sound pleased.”
He met Sebastian’s gaze. “She is the only woman to challenge my discipline in years.” Mikhail had spent years distancing himself from the women of the Russian court, content to live with the coldness encasing his heart. Now this slip of a girl threatened his resolve. Was it even prudent to think about a woman who made those walls quaver? He could not allow anything to reduce him again to the pitiful boy he’d been after surviving Madam Anya’s depravity. He closed his eyes, drawing upon his iron control, forcing all pain and regret into abeyance.
He should relinquish all thoughts of Payton Peppiwell.
A thoughtful frown settled on the duke’s face. “Are you saying you have a different reaction to her than with other women?”
“Yes.”
Calydon slowly rose and moved to stand beside him. “Do you intend to pursue her?”
Mikhail’s mind muddled. No. She had only been a dangerous anomaly, albeit intriguing. He grunted, unable to give voice to the dual need warring inside.
“Mikhail,” Sebastian said softly, a note of apology in his tone.
Mikhail braced himself against the last thing he wanted to speak. Do not mention Madam Anya.
Sebastian hesitated as if sensing his turmoil. “If you do decide to explore the interest she stirred, be kind to her.”
Mikhail clenched his jaw. He knew his cousin wanted to say more, and he appreciated the restraint. “If I did, I would not treat her unkindly.”