The Royal Conquest(44)

Calydon smiled. “Payton will not refuse your hand. Passion is a powerful motivator, and it will grow into deep affections.”

Mikhail arched a brow.

“From what I gathered, she has only allowed Lord Jensen chaste kisses and that when she knew the man for months. Yet in a matter of days she has given you her virtue.”

He stiffened. “Hold your tongue. She is untouched.”

Skepticism suffused the duke’s face. “I am not the only one to notice the rumpled bed and Payton’s flushed appearance.”

Mikhail growled, raking fingers through his damn hair as he stalked to the window. He grabbed the ledge and pushed it open, appreciating the cold air filling his lungs. “I was reckless and could have damaged her reputation. The very scandal I so detest could now be circling her heels because I was unable to keep my head.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, and he swore he could still smell the heady and decadent fragrance of her passion on his fingers. She had been so alluring and responsive. The wonder of her had been like his first brush with intimacy. It had been so long since he’d allowed himself to drown in his lover’s moan and taste; everything had been so new.

Calydon walked to stand beside him. “You will not have to worry of gossips. The other lords will be discreet. They value the connection we have too much. And when it is made known you are Prince Alexander and the Duke of Avondale all hints of indiscretions will be forgiven.”

The fickleness of society.

“I must travel to London and Kent,” Mikhail said. “I will see my solicitors and attorneys. Open the houses and ensure the estates are aware of my arrival. They’ve had no notice I am in England, and it will take weeks to have everything sorted.”

“You are revealing yourself?”

“I must…for Payton.” I will simply endure the scandal of my past when it rears its inevitable head much sooner than I would have wanted.

“You sound uncertain.”

Mikhail grimaced and took the cup of tea Sebastian held out. A maid had rolled in a tea tray some time ago, no doubt at the duchess’s order.

“I will travel to London and speak with Mr. Peppiwell and council him to keep my confidence until I choose to reveal my status to Payton. I want the man to know who I am so he can stop pressuring her to marry Lord Jensen. I do not want to inform Payton of my titles yet. Her disgust with high society is deep, and my titles will not endear her to me. I need the opportunity to woo her, to make her fall in love with me, so she will not reject my offer once she knows. Without his support the man will not allow me a mile near her.”

He sipped the tea, welcoming the warmth traveling to his gut.

“I know how much you value your solitude, but you are making the right decision,” the duke said. “It is a bit underhanded, but I understand why you need more time with her.”

Mikhail did not reply. He was taking a gamble, and he had realized hours past, the outcome was crucial to him, but deep in his gut, the knowledge hovered that he may have very well lost her already. The cards were stacked against him because of his titles. How much more would they slide against him when months, then years passed, and she realized he would never allow them to be too intimate?



The past two days had been a whirlwind of disaster.

“Payton, what were you thinking?” Her sister Phillipa said with a gentle scold.

Payton shrugged, unable to speak from the knot forming in her throat. Her sister had stopped at Sherring Cross last evening with Lord Anthony on their way to London. She had received Payton’s letter and, instead of responding, Phillipa thought delaying their arrival in London for a brief side trip to the duke’s home to view the man Payton was apparently falling for was a worthwhile detour.

Phillipa had heard all sorts of sordid details from their hysterical mother. Payton groaned just remembering the entire encounter. Mikhail had left the cottage, and she had wanted to rush after him, but for the first time in months, propriety had reared its head. Then Lord Jensen had groaned and stumbled to his feet, withdrawing a handkerchief from his top pocket to press against his bleeding nose, blustering about summoning his father and the magistrate. The wait for the rain to lessen had been the most painful hour of her life. Calydon had left the cottage as well, and she had suffered through Lord Jensen’s blusters and assurances he would still wed her, a thing her father had been happy to hear.

Dealing with her mother’s hysteria about how ruined they were had lasted until the wee hours of the morning.

“Payton, you are crying.”

She groaned and swiped at her cheeks. “I am more unsettled than I realized.” This was the first chance she and Phillipa had gotten to speak in private since her arrival. She had spent a couple hours with Jocelyn and the twins, and an inordinate amount of time soothing their frazzled mother.