The Royal Conquest(47)

It was as if the assembly gasped in unison, no doubt titillated that the very horse breeder they were discussing would appear. Of course no one would dare give him the cut direct, for he had arrived with the powerful Duke of Calydon.

She did not linger, nor did she turn to view them as they descended the ballroom steps. Payton escaped to the gallery that overlooked the ballroom and took a deep cleansing breath. Tonight felt especially painful, and Payton had never felt so wretchedly alone. She wished she’d not agreed to attend. She spied her aunt in the sitting room on the chaise lounge near the refreshment table speaking with Lady Davenport and several other society matriarchs. Aunt Florence was smiling and nodding, looking decidedly pleased.

Had they noticed Mikhail? Or were they pretending they did not know him?

Chatter mingled with muted laughter. Dozens of chandeliers created a dazzling display of light, women laughed and twirled, giggling behind their fans, a few even rudely pointing at some unsuspecting young lady, believing they were being discreet. Payton would prefer to leave everyone she had formed a connection with in England and escape back to America, before she would ever marry Lord Jensen and trap herself with such vicious harpies she would be forced to be polite to as his viscountess.

The hairs on the back of her neck lifted.

“You do not look happy to be here,” a too-close voice whispered. How had he found her?

Temptation walked into her sanctuary in the form of Mikhail. Payton gasped at the picture he presented, dressed in so casually an elegant manner, in stark black-and-white. He was garbed in an expertly tailored black jacket and trousers. Only his crisp white cravat, waistcoat, and a white pleated shirt lightened the overall impression of darkness. His black hair was perfectly groomed, and the raw brilliance of his male beauty had her heart stuttering.

Without hesitation she gripped the lapel of his jacket and pressed her forehead to his chest, relief crashing into her. She buried her nose in his shirt, and his scent invaded her senses, rich and masculine.

“You are trembling, Payton,” he said softly, his strong arms wrapping around her.

She had no thought for propriety or to worry someone else might intrude upon the sanctuary of the gallery. She was only happy he was present, a calm anchor in the midst of thundering pain and emotions their cruel words had elicited. His warm embrace was also a wonderful haven from the pounding demands she had faced recently. Everything faded, and she sank more into the security of his arms. “Where have you been?”

Gently he stroked her back and shoulders. “I traveled to London to see my solicitors,” Mikhail said gruffly. “I had urgent business there. I tried to call on you, but you were abed. I left a note explaining my departure.”

She had been up for hours dealing with her mother’s hysteria and had been beyond exhausted, but she’d received no note. Anger, quick and powerful, cut through her. It was horrible they would go as far as to screen her letters.

“I gathered my note was not delivered to you.” The wry humor in his tone had a fleeting smile touching her lips.

She nodded, her racing heart calmed, and gradually her tension flowed away. “I saved all my dances for you.”

He stiffened, and she lifted her head from his chest.

His eyes blazed with hunger. “I feared you would no longer want to marry me.”

“I have always been the dutiful daughter and Phillipa the rebellious one,” Payton said with a small smile. “But in this I will not bow to their dictates.”

A warm sensual smile curved his lips. “I will call on you tomorrow.”

“You will be met with staunch resistance.”

He exuded confidence. “Yet I will prevail.”

“And I will be glad.”

Shadows darkened his eyes. “There are things you do not know about me, that I must tell you.”

“I do like secrets,” she said softly. “But I can see yours have caused you pain. I will be here when you are ready to unburden.”

His eyebrow arched in evident surprise. “I thought you would have insisted on traversing through my history.”

She tipped onto her toes and brushed her lips across his in the lightest caress. “I, too, have secrets, and I promise you I will not divulge them after a mere five days of acquaintance,” she said teasingly.

He pulled her even closer to him, holding her face in his hand. Then he dipped his head. The first soft touch of his lips to hers was a question, not a demand, and she responded with a moan of surrender. He slid one of his hands down her neck, resting his thumb against the beat of her pulse, and deepened their kiss.

He pulled his lips from hers. “I am embarrassingly wealthy.”