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.