The Royal Conquest(4)
I will not faint.
“Where are my clothes?” Her pulse hammered, and her knuckles ached from gripping the blanket too tightly. “Please get back,” she snapped, fear making her voice husky.
He rose from his crouch in front of her and his long-legged stride carried him swiftly across the room, where he sprawled by the fire in an armchair, but his piercing eyes never left her face. It was an illusion, but she felt better with the short distance.
His black hair was wet, and his white shirt was plastered to the wall of his chest, and with each movement the muscle rippled and twisted with grace. Was he not cold? She could still feel the chill from the raging storm outside.
“Are you hurt anywhere? I felt no broken bones, but that does not mean there was no injury.”
He felt no broken bones. It was impossible to hold back the sharp tremor of uncertainty that quivered through her. “Did you check for injuries before or after you undressed me?” Everything in Payton screeched to a halt when the words barreled from her mouth. Painful heat scorched her cheeks. The situation was so unusual and mortifying.
“I had the presence of mind to do so before I undressed you.”
Was it her imagination his voice had gone huskier?
“Where are you hurt?” The concern in his tone was evident, but mistrust sliced through Payton. She tensed and then stifled a moan. Her body felt stiff, and there was a throbbing ache along her left hip, but no serious pain. Thank heavens.
“Are you a doctor?”
A decidedly imperious brow rose. “No.”
She scowled. “Are you related in any way to a profession that would deem it suitable for you to examine my person?”
His lips twitched, and she wanted to growl. The maddening man found her amusing, when the situation called for anything but humor. A disaster of the scandalous and unrecoverable type loomed on the horizon.
“No,” he finally answered.
“Then I am not hurt, thank you.”
“I am relieved you are not injured. I mean you no harm, Lady…”
Her wariness must have been apparent, yet he looked at her expectantly. Payton almost snorted. As if she would reveal her identity. She sat up fully on the edge of the narrow but well-padded bed, clutching the blanket to her throat as if it were a lifeline. The stone floor beneath her bare feet was cold, and she barely prevented herself from acting too jittery.
She needed her wits about her, and it was crucial for her to appear unafraid. “I must warn you, Mr. Konstantinovich, I know how to fight, very well.” She narrowed her gaze in what she hoped was a sufficiently threatening manner. “So I caution you to keep your distance while I go about my business, or else you will sorely regret it.”
Surprise flashed across his features, then a smile of possibly admiration lifted his lips. He held out his arms in a non-threatening manner, as if a man so darkly handsome and intimidating, with the grace and power with which he had moved, could be innocuous. Of what sort of man was she at the mercy?
He regarded her with an obvious amusement that irked her.
“I am a guest and friend of the Duke of Calydon. I was in the stables when you entered. I thought you might have been a thief, absconding with my prize stallion. I followed, and I witnessed your need.”
She stiffened, searching his face, probing and assessing. “I am no thief, and your assumption is offensive, sir. I, too, am a guest. What is most suspicious is you being in the stables at four in the morning. If there were a thief…it certainly was not me.”
The blasted man laughed, and the sound was so rich and masculine, it caressed her senses with wicked allure.
“I was bedding down in the loft, and I was not the one skulking around.”
“I was most certainly not skulking around. Ladies do not skulk,” she gritted out.
A friend of the duke was bedding down in the stables?
He frowned thoughtfully and then gave a firm nod, answering whatever question plagued him. “No…it was skulking.”
Arghh. Why was she allowing him to nettle her so, when the most important matter had not been addressed? “Where are my clothes, sir?”
Payton did not enjoy being so brusque, but it was impossible to pretend politeness. All of the lessons in decorum her aunt had relentlessly instructed seemed silly in this moment. She certainly could not remember any deportment lessons on what to do if one found oneself naked with a strange man in a remote cottage. Actually, if her memory served, she was supposed to scream, possibly swoon, and if he were rich and titled she should do all in her power to ensure they were compromised. She snorted in the most unladylike manner, and a dark brow lifted in question. As if his casual display of arrogance would prompt her to share her private thoughts.