I cannot marry him.
She rode hard, blanking her mind from the emotions trying to swamp her. Without realizing it, she had directed the horse to the cabin where she had met Mikhail. She could see it in the distance, and she slowed the horse, bringing him to a canter until they broke through the clearing before the cottage. She swept from the horse and released his reins. It made no sense to tether him with the approaching storm. Nor did she care if he fled and left her there. The longer she was away from everyone the better.
Payton ran up the small cobbled steps and slammed into the cabin, a harsh sob tearing from her. How could her parents believe Lord Jensen over their own daughter? Or did they know he lied, but were willing to accept another noble gentleman into their lives at all cost? They had already doubled her dowry in an evident bid to buy a title.
She no longer held any love for Lord Jensen and could not imagine her life as his wife and viscountess. She tried to remember the wonderful times they had together in the past, hoping to recall the warm thoughts of affection she had felt during his courtship. The only feelings roused in her were the ones of emptiness she had endured when he had stopped calling for days, weeks, when the rumors of Lord Anthony and Connie’s bastardy had roared through society. Payton had even written Lord Jensen and, to her undying embarrassment, her letters had been returned to her unopened with a scathing note from his mother.
Why would Lord Jensen now be so amiable to forming an attachment? It could only be her money, and such a motivation for marriage was wholly acceptable to society and her family. But not to me… What about love and respect?
Inevitability weighed down on her, and she pressed a hard fist to her stomach. What am I to do?
The door to the cottage was thrown open, and she barely stifled a scream. She breathed a soft sigh of relief when Mikhail strolled in, his hair tousled by the winds, his white shirt clinging to his damp chest. He must have been right on her heels, and she had not noticed.
She took an involuntary step in his direction before grinding to a halt. “What are you doing here?”
“You rode away from the estate as if the devil were after you.”
Her gaze flicked to his curious own, and the storm of emotions that had been gathering inside her grew in strength. “Were you the only one to follow me?”
He stepped farther into the cottage, dwarfing the small place with his presence. “As far as I could see.”
A harsh sob tore from her chest, and she wanted to hurl herself into his arms but buried the impulse. The desire was reckless and more than foolhardy. Despite their illicit kiss and the feelings he roused in her, her father would never accept Mikhail’s suit. Not when Lord Jensen had made his wishes so clear to a family only seeking greater elevation into the haute monde.
Lightning flashed across the sky, and seconds later, torrential rain gushed from the heavens, battering the roof of the cottage. The memory of their first meeting simmered through her, and the awareness of how alone they were seeped into the air. What she saw in his eyes was not calm and controlled.
“You should not be here, Mikhail.” It could all be in her head, but his presence in the cottage was dangerous.
“What has happened to see you so distraught?”
She hesitated, and his gaze sharpened.
“You may confide in me, Payton. Are we not friends?”
Friends? Was that what their unusual relationship was…friendship? The need to unburden welled. “I…” She thrust her fingers into her chignon, tumbling the loose coil from its knot.
“You can trust me,” he coaxed, his piercing gaze steady on her.
“My father has accepted the honorable Jensen St. John, heir to the Viscountcy of Kenilworth’s, offer for my hand in marriage,” she confessed softly.
Mikhail stiffened imperceptibly, a smooth mask descending over his face. “I see. And you object.”
“Yes.” Tears slipped down her cheeks, and she wiped at them with a furious swipe. Do not cry.
“Is your only objection because he is a lord?”
There was a curious undertone in his voice she could not decipher. But he seemed decidedly interested in her response.
“No! He is a liar who besmirched me to my parents…and even if he had not acted despicably I would have objected!”
Mikhail flinched. It was subtle but unmistakable. He stepped farther into the cottage, and she instinctively created more space between them. He noticed her shift, and a fleeting smile touched his lips, but he honored the distance.
“Tell me,” Mikhail said, strolling to sit on the only table in the cottage, folding his arms across his chest, legs sprawled in a very ungentlemanly manner.
Something hot and uncomfortable hovered in the air between them, and she was too inexperienced to put a name to it. But whatever it was seethed in his eyes, and it reached from him like a caress, kissing against her skin, seducing her to relax her guard and unwind.