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.