The Royal Conquest(45)

Phillipa came over and rested a hand lightly on her shoulder. Payton met her gaze in the vanity mirror.

Phillipa’s light golden eyes glowed with concern and curiosity. “Are you not feeling up to tonight’s ball?”

Payton sighed. “No, but Mother will never forgive me, and I cannot endure another round of hysteria. The husband of Lady Davenport, the hostess, was at the cottage, and for some blasted reason Aunt Florence wants to test her knowledge.”

And father has not yet returned from London. Not that he wouldn’t firmly side with her mother and aunt. But he had always been the voice of reason, and she needed to speak with him. He had to consider Mikhail’s suit.

“It is to get ahead of the possible scandal,” Phillipa said with a grimace. “It is the way with society. Aunt Florence must see what Lady Davenport knows and deflect any whisper, with all the social power and grace she wields as the Countess of Merryweather. I know you may not want to hear this, but it is best you attend and do not seem to be hiding.”

“I had not thought to hide.”

Phillipa squeezed her shoulders gently in reassurance. “You look beautiful.”

Payton nodded, flicking a glance at her reflection. Her hair was tightly bound without a strand out of place; a plait wrapped her head like a coronet. Strings of tiny pearls also dotted the roped plait, a perfect complement to the strands at her throat. She had also selected one of her more daring dresses, a sapphire-colored gown, with ruffled sleeves and a slightly scandalous neckline. She had wanted to feel beautiful tonight…in the event she saw Mikhail. Her breath audibly hitched, and a flush rose in her cheeks.

“Are you thinking of him?”

She lifted startled eyes to Phillipa.

“You are blushing, Payton,” Phillipa said with a light laugh, moving to sit on the chair beside the small vanity. “Did you…” She took a deep breath and continued, “Did you allow him to make love with you?”

Heat flooded her face at the question. “No, but I wanted him to.”

“Payton!” her sister gasped. “Then I am glad father arrived in time and saved you from being foolhardy.”

“Do not lecture me, Phillipa. Not when I hold knowledge of all you had done with Lord Anthony before marriage.”

It was her sister’s turn to blush the color of her fiery red hair.

“Our situations are different,” she muttered. “Anthony was determined to marry me.”

So is Mikhail. Payton nodded, a mash of hope and despair roiling inside her. “When you gifted Anthony with your virtue, did you love him?”

Phillipa smiled gently. “I did…but I had not realized it. Do you love your Mr. Konstantinovich?”

Payton stood and walked to the bed, lifting her gloves and slipping them on. “I do not know. I thought I had loved Lord Jensen, and I wanted to marry him, yet the feelings I had for him were merely pleasant. After only a few days of acquaintance, the feelings Mikhail rouses in me are so intense, they sometimes make me question myself. I hunger to know him, and I yearn for his kisses. Is this love? The only thing I know for certain is I have never felt such passion for another.”

Phillipa walked to her and clasped her hands. “It may not be love now, but it sounds like you are well on your way.”

“Lord Jensen is distressingly persistent, and mother and father are insisting that I wed him in a few weeks, instead of allowing a drawn-out engagement.”

“I know,” Phillipa said soothingly. “They are hoping a wedding will quash the potential for scandal…and they do not want Lord Jensen to change his mind again.”

Payton got to the heart of what had been keeping her awake. “Mikhail wants to marry me.”

Surprise, then delight, lighted Phillipa’s features. “That is wonderful, I—”

“I blurted it to Mother in frustration, and she slapped me,” Payton choked.

Anger flashed in Phillipa’s eyes. She, too, had felt the brunt of their mother’s anger and disappointment when she had dared to stand firm and insisted she would marry Lord Anthony despite his bastardy.

“I will speak with Father,” Phillipa promised.

“Thank you,” Payton whispered. “Mother already spoke to him, and he will only consent to me marrying Lord Jensen. I will not, Phillipa. I would prefer to risk sailing back to America.”

“Wipe the anxiety from your eyes. Attend Lady Davenport’s ball and have a grand time. I will speak with father when he returns in the morning, and you will promise not to act rashly.”

“I promise,” Payton said.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, you are weary from your journey, and you seem tired.”