The Royal Conquest(36)
She briefly closed her eyes at her ridiculous fancy and walked to the small window of the cottage, leaning her forehead on the cool glass. “I wanted to marry Lord Jensen a few months ago. In fact, I was quite eager. But even before he cried off, the doubts had started. While we had a grand time at balls, and on our carriage rides, I had started to realize Lord Jensen did not care much for my accomplishments. When I tried to share my passion for crafting fairy tales, he smiled indulgently and informed me as a future viscountess I would not have to lower myself to do such works. Aunt Florence had encouraged me to keep silent about my writing, saying the haute monde would think me silly…that Lord Jensen would find my ambitions unbecoming. I am ashamed to say I repressed much of myself to secure a well-made match.”
She pushed from the window and turned to Mikhail. “He jilted me. And I was hurt and angry. Hurt he would think so little of me, and of the wonderful persons Lord Anthony and Lady Constance are.”
Payton balled her hands into tight fists. “He abandoned me without a word. He drifted away, stopped calling, and was not gentleman enough to face me to end our engagement. Against my aunt’s advice, I visited his home, and I was not even admitted.” Payton ended on a whisper, the humiliating memory twisting her stomach into knots.
The entire situation infuriated her. “I moved past his betrayal, society’s derision, and I even started to feel relief. Happy I had escaped what might have possibly turned out to be a shallow union . And now he is once again pursuing me, and my family pretends he did not shred my heart because he is a lord. I will not wed a man who treated me with such little regard,” she growled.
“Then do not marry him.”
She paced, agitation battering her senses. “You do not understand, Mikhail. If my father says I must, what choice do I have?” She closed her eyes. “I will flee. I have been thinking to return to my grandmother in America. It will be a daunting journey to take by myself, but I fear I must escape my family’s persistent pressure or crumble to their demands and join in an unhappy union .”
His veiled gaze settled on her face. “What happened to prompt this command?”
She fought to control her emotions. It was silly of her to feel betrayed. She had long accepted that Lord Jensen had no honor. She tried to swallow down the raw emotions rising in her throat. “He lied to my father. St. John has insisted he took my chastity when we were engaged. I never gave myself to him! It is convenient for my mother and aunt to believe it, for they will get their hearts’ desire for me to be a viscountess. I will never marry into the haute monde.”
The sob she’d been valiantly holding on to broke free. Oh God.
Mikhail pushed from the table, and in two strides he was there drawing her to him. Strong arms closed around her, and she eagerly burrowed into the warmth and comfort in his reassuring embrace, slipping her hands around his waist and hugging him tight.
He froze, and she heard the thud of his heart against the side of her face pressed into his chest.
“I apologize,” she whispered, dropping her hands from his waist. “I forgot your aversion to touch.”
He cleared his throat. “Think nothing of it; I would welcome your embrace for a few moments if it would ease you.”
The words wrapped around her heart, terrifying and intriguing, because she somehow knew he had never made the offer to another. A new type of warmth unfurled in her chest. She wanted to twine herself around Mikhail, burrow further into his heat until the uncertainty faded. But she could not. Though he offered, he braced himself stoically for her to accept, his eyes shadowing with unnamed but volatile emotions. She shifted in his arms and tilted her head to look at him fully.
His gaze was shuttered, and the tenseness had yet to ease from his frame.
“I am contented, thank you.” Then a horrible thought occurred. What if he hated touching her as well, and because of her inexcusable tears he was forcing himself to hold her, to offer comfort? “Would you like me to step back?”
“No…I would be a foolish man to want to relinquish a beautiful lady from my arms.”
Payton smothered a snort, and he chuckled, the sound dark and full of sensual promise.
“Do you want me to release you?” he asked, his voice low and rough.
Acute awareness of his hands resting against her back, the far-too-intimate nature of their embrace slithered through her. In his touch she felt strength and restraint. His closeness should have intimidated her and made her feel nervous, but he provided a curious sense of comfort. “No. I want you to hold me closer.”
Surprise flared in his eyes, and then he masked it. The need to pierce his armor welled in Payton. She lifted her fingers to his lips. She touched him with a featherlight caress, fleeting and tentative, gliding her fingertip across his jaw.