The Royal Conquest(43)

The man would insist Payton marry Lord Jensen, despite her state of obvious compromise with Mikhail. Distaste filled him. Was social elevation so important to her family? Payton did not want to marry a man like Lord Jensen, and her father was willing to employ force. Mikhail would not step away. He wanted Payton for himself. The idea of a lifelong commitment so soon should have rattled him, but instead it felt right. He would eventually marry, why not to a young lady who roused all of his interests? “I will visit you at your earliest convenience, Mr. Peppiwell.”

He stiffened and glared at Mikhail.

“There is no need, sir, my daughter’s fiancé understands that nothing happened here,” Mr. Peppiwell said stiffly, though wariness glowed in his eyes. “They are to marry two weeks from today.”

“I will call on you tomorrow morning by nine,” Mikhail said flatly. How quickly Mr. Peppiwell will change his song once Mikhail revealed who he was. At least he could rest assured Payton actually liked him and not his social status. But will she want me once she discovers I’m a prince?

I will never marry into the haute monde. Her passion-filled snarl spoken just mere minutes past echoed in his head. He gritted his teeth until they ached. It was her acute dislike and distrust of all lords that was prompting Mikhail now to speak with her father first. She’d already told him to withdraw all thoughts of courtship if he belonged to the haute monde. He would inform her father and secure his silence, and then woo Payton until he was certain she would not reject him because of his connection to the realms. Otherwise she would rebel or even flee. He should feel some unease at his thoughts, but he’d always been ruthless is pursuing what he wanted…and he wanted her.

Discomfort flashed across Payton’s face, and she moved as if to speak and then hesitated. Something akin to fear or maybe doubt flashed in her eyes. Coldness settled in Mikhail’s gut. Why had she hesitated?

Was she regretting their shared passion? Worse, what if she now doubted forming an attachment because he could not bear her touch? He’d seen the pain in her eyes when he’d pulled from her touch. His chest throbbed with an unknown ache. Before he could do or say anything foolish, he turned and walked from the cottage into the lashing rain and tried to reason logically around the hollow sensation forming in his gut.





Chapter Twelve

“Mr. Peppiwell departed for London at the crack of dawn.”

Mikhail grunted at the amusement in Sebastian’s tone. He weaved and bobbed, slamming a fist in Mikhail’s side. He could have dodged the punch, but instead he moved into the attack, welcoming the bite of pain. Rotating his shoulders, he sidestepped another precise and well-timed jab. They had been sparring for almost an hour, and sweat drenched Mikhail’s skin, his muscles burned, and the reason for sparring at such an ungodly hour was sleeping soundly above him.

After being informed by the housekeeper that Mr. Peppiwell had left for London with a message to return in two days, Mikhail had mercilessly resisted the urge to climb the stairs and sneak into Payton’s chamber. He wanted to know how she fared. The need had been powerful enough so that he had climbed the stairs and had paused on the final steps, battling the desire. A few guests had been walking along the corridor and had given him curious stares filled with rabid speculation. He’d cursed and retreated and instead dragged his cousin from his duchess with a growl to meet him in the fighting room.

He needed the distraction or he would likely do something stupid like whisk her away to the cottage and make love to her for days. Or worse, inform her of his titles before securing support and watch her turn from him. For the long night he had been restless, the taste and scent of Payton alive on his tongue, and the fear he may never be able to bear her touch rioting in his mind. He’d also known she would be facing censure from her parents and had wanted to be a buffer.

Then the very man whom Mikhail needed to outline his plans had departed at light. What was the man thinking? With a disgusted snarl, Mikhail marched from the mat and tugged the towel from the peg, raking it across his skin.

“You are going to marry her.” A flat statement from Sebastian, but Mikhail heard the pleasure in his tone.

“Yes.”

“Because you compromised her?”

“I wanted to court her and explore the feelings brewing for her before I lost my head and allowed us to be compromised.” With a sigh he threw the towel against the rack, and then faced his cousin. “Wipe the pleasure from your eyes,” Mikhail snarled. “She still does not know who I am, and may very well refuse my offer once she knows.”