The Royal Conquest(14)

“Not intentionally. But we both know you will hold back a part of yourself with Payton at all times. She deserves so much more.”

Why were they even having this pointless discourse? “I would not waste my time with a pursuit. That would require me revealing my status, and I welcome solitude too much now to think of courtship.”

But what if you could endure a normal relationship?

It was as if the devil himself slinked from the bowels of hell and whispered the thought in his ear. Mikhail was almost certain he could touch the spot beneath his ear and feel temptation’s cold kiss.

Blasted hell.

What in God’s name was a normal relationship? Since his kidnapping, and sexual torture at the hands of one of Russia’s most infamous courtesans, Mikhail abhorred touch. Even when he eventually took a wife, he faced the risk of having her turn to another man for affections he could not give.

Christ. He had already experienced it with a woman he’d thought he loved. Lady Olga. He’d always recoiled from the icy pain of her grasping touch, and she’d sought another.

So why was he even thinking of taking Payton on a picnic?

The mere thought of pursuing her had emotions he’d not felt in years twisting in his gut—anxiety, dread, and electrifying excitement. He preferred to dwell in the cold void where no pain or memory of humiliation resided. But what if learning her allowed him something he’d thought he would never reclaim—the sensual glide of a lover’s touch, the press of her lips against his throat, the fan of her breath as she trailed hot kisses down to his stomach and enveloped his cock in her sublime heat, a simple hug when he was weary?

Mikhail had never suffered such a quandary.





Chapter Five

Proper young ladies did not imagine being kissed senseless, of being ravished and held in an illicit embrace by unknown gentlemen. Never had it been more evident that Payton was not proper, nor a well-bred young lady, like those who peppered the haute monde. She had fantasized about how Mikhail’s hands would feel against her bare skin, dreamed of his lips pressed softly to hers, of waltzing with him under the stars. Of what it would have been like if he had taken her in his arms and kissed her. Gently marauding or savagely ravishing?

Dear heavens.

Payton dried her hair fully and changed into a soft blue day dress, but it seemed she had not escaped a cold and fever as she had hoped. It was the only explanation for the burning curiosity that had lighted in her veins as they had played cards by the fire and now continued to torment her hours later.

The whole encounter had been so surreal, so appealing. Since living in England, this had been the first time she had gotten a glimpse of what life with an ordinary man could be like. A small cottage…well mayhap not so small, but the quiet intimacy while they lazed by the fire, talking, reading, playing chess or cards with not a care in the world.

Blast the man. He made her question the resolve to guard her heart so stringently, and he was untitled. Her family would have a fit if they could peek at Payton’s intimate thoughts, and she finally admitted she must do something about their incessant badgering her to marry. She craved something else, not a life of adventure or wealth, but one filled with calm acceptance of her abilities and passion. She had never imagined it would be so daunting to inform her mother and aunt she desired simply to marry a man of her choosing.

Lifting the pen from the inkwell, she wrote to her sister Phillipa. Payton felt as if their relationship had been strained since Lord Jensen jilted her, but Phillipa insisted it was not so. Payton knew better. Hurting, she had thoughtlessly blamed her sister for Lord Jensen’s coolness, when he was the one who had been lacking. They had since repaired their relationship, but Payton had not unwound to confide in her sister the way she had done in the past. Her embarrassment and hurt had been too profound.

Payton hoped sharing with her sister now would reaffirm the closeness they’d once had. And she also desperately wanted the counsel of someone who did not live for high society. She snatched a piece of foolscap paper from the desk drawer, placed it on the small walnut desk where she settled, and started to write.

Dearest Phillipa,

I have missed you so, sister. It has been a few weeks since we last exchanged letters. How are you and Lord Anthony? I tried to escape Mother and Aunt Florence to visit you in Baybrook, but I fear they would only follow me and ruin the idyllic and blissful time you must be enjoying with Anthony.

I have met someone

I confess I write to you now because I am in desperate need of your guidance. I met someone this morning on an early morning ride; a Mr. Mikhail Konstantinovich. The inclement weather forced us to share a cottage together, alone, for a few hours. I have never met a man so alarmingly handsome and fascinating. Though he acted gentlemanly, for the most part, the force of his presence was felt in a manner I have never encountered before. From a mere stare, my heart raced, and I ached with the need for him to press his lips to mine.