The Royal Conquest(41)

She parted her lips and returned his kiss shyly, as if she had not just been lifting her hips in passionate demand. Her breath, a delightful scent of berries, slid over his mouth in a silken caress, and yearning shot through his heart.

Touch me, do not touch me. The dual needs warred, and he gritted his teeth until they ached. “We must—” He stiffened and listened.

Her eyes searched his face. “What is it?”

Blasted hell. “There is someone at the door.”

Her face paled, and she jerked to her feet, staring at the door as if it were an apparition. “I believe you are mistaken, there—”

Her words strangled as her name floated in on the wind, and the door rattled under the pounding of a fist and not the wind.

“Oh my heavens. It is my father!” she said with a horrified gasp.

“I surmised.” Mikhail had lost his head. Never had he imagined someone else followed when she raced away from the estate. But he should have realized they would have organized a search party with the inclement weather. He was so wrapped up in everything about her, he had not been thinking.

With swift movements he dragged his shirt off the peg and drew it on. It was crumpled with a multitude of wrinkles. He pushed the bed back in its slot and straightened the sheets as best he could. Then he turned to Payton.

Christ.

Only am imbecile would miss the flush of passion that still made her skin rosy, and the heavy-lidded arousal, but her anxiety and obvious embarrassment was doing a damn good job of hiding it. Her lips were swollen and red, her hair loose around her in wild disarray. It would be impossible to hide what they had just been doing a few moments ago.

He strode toward the door.

“What are you doing?” She gasped, rushing over to him.

“I am opening the door.”

“You cannot!” Her hands went to her hair frantically, and with deft movements she gathered the heavy mass and tried to coil in into some sort of knot atop her head. The end result looked ridiculous, but she was filled with too much anxiety for him to point it out.

“Ooh!” She clasped her cheeks. “I cannot believe this is happening. Why would my father follow me? I think we should ignore it; maybe they will search elsewhere,” she said on a hopeful note.

Tenderness curled through Mikhail, and a fierce rush of protective urge swamped him. He would bear her touch even if it killed him, if only to offer comfort. “Come here,” he said, drawing her into his arms.

She flung herself against him and slipped her hands around his waist.

Distaste sliced through him, burning and roiling through his blood, scorching him like a poison-tipped knife. He could feel the frantic beat of her heart vibrating through his body. With a ruthless will he’d not thought himself capable of, he tampered his revulsion and returned her embrace. “It will be well,” he soothed, gently circling her back. “This is unexpected, but we can face it. We are attired as best we can. And it may only be your father outside.” He hoped. The man may have formed a party to search for her.

She groaned into his chest. “I had not even thought that he might have company.”

Hell.

“It is tempting to ignore them, but the other cottages are farther away, and the weather is fierce.”

As if to prove his point the rafter shuddered under a blast of thunder.

“My father is out there in this squall, without shelter,” she said softly.

Sweat beaded on his brows as the burn of her touch became cold, encasing him in ice. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry,” she said wretchedly. “I never intended for this to happen!”

“I am not sorry.”

She worried her bottom lip. “They will expect us to marry. It is too soon.”

“I know,” he said softy.

“What if we are forced to marry and we end up not liking each other?”

“You speak of the impossible. I already like you, and my desire to know your mind and body will only grow. I will have no regrets.”

“Neither will I,” she said into the soft of his throat, and he flinched.

She dropped her hands and pulled away from him. “Oh, Mikhail, I have been thoughtless. Please forgive me.”

He heard the unvoiced need in her voice to understand, but he ignored it. “Think nothing of it; I hardly felt your arms.” Liar.

She searched his face, then squared her shoulders and gave a decided nod. “Open it,” she said, obviously bracing herself.

He gave her an encouraging smile and went to the door. Rain blew into the room, and there was shuffling of feet before her father stomped his way into the room followed by Lord Jensen, Lord Prendergast, and Lord Davenport.

They all jerked to a halt when they spied Payton standing in the center of the room, her hands clasped at her middle.