The Royal Conquest(48)

“How droll,” she teased, uncaring of his income. She prayed he did not believe it mattered to her.

“Hmm.” He pressed another kiss to her lips. “My grandmother left me the majority of her wealth, and I have tripled it over the years. I rival Calydon’s holdings.”

Shock sliced through her. Calydon’s dukedom was one of the richest in the realm.

“I do not think your assertions are possible.”

Mikhail’s eyes remained guarded. “They are.”

“I do not care,” she said. “I will worry less when my father disinherits me if I run away with you. But it is a wonder with such wealth, you are not able to purchase a title.”

“I may have several hidden somewhere I can pull out for you,” he said with humor, and something undecipherable glittered in his gaze.

Payton chuckled. A shadow shifted in his eyes, and she hesitated. Concern curled through her. What was he saying? “Are you titled?” she asked with a burst of nervous laughter.

“It is abhorrent you say the words with such dread. A title does not define a man.”

“But it defines the world he lives in,” she snapped, her heart thundering.

A soft laugh floated on the air, and footsteps drew close to where they stood in the shadows. She pressed a quick but hard kiss on his lips. “I must go before my aunt and mother descend on us.”

Then she withdrew and entered the crush of the ballroom. It took Payton a few seconds to realize how rattled she was. The shadows in Mikhail’s eyes troubled her. Could it be that he was titled? The possibility of it was too much to contemplate. What would a nobleman be doing working in the Calydon stables?

“Payton!” Her aunt’s sharp but low call tried to pull her from her furious thoughts.

Mikhail had never said he worked in the stables. But he’d said he worked for Calydon as his advisor. From her experience, a lord would not be working. Then she recalled the tempered sense of power and grace that seemed to emanate from him so effortlessly, his confidence in the face of confronting her father and Lord Jensen in the cottage, his assurance her parents would accept him.

Uncertainty clawed at her stomach, and she wanted to return to the gallery and question him.

A possessive hand settled on her elbow. She lurched around to spy Lord Jensen, his mother, and Aunt Florence.

“Miss Peppiwell, you remember my mother, the Viscountess of Kenilworth,” he said with a toadying and self-satisfied smile.

Payton pulled from him, none too subtly, and he narrowed his gaze in warning.

She allowed a smile to grace her lips and dipped into a curtsy. “Lady Kenilworth.”

The viscountess barely nodded, gray eyes a replica of her son’s, shooting distaste. “The execution of your curtsy was decidedly inelegant and shallow,” she said, and Payton’s palm itched to slap the smugness from her face.

“I believe this waltz was promised to me, Miss Peppiwell,” Lord Jensen said, holding out his arm.

No, it was not. She could not suffer the thought of dancing with the lying arse. Denial hovered on her lips.

“This dance is mine,” Mikhail’s voice drawled from behind her. He looked to the viscountess and Lord Jensen, and greeted them with a small smile.

His veiled gaze settled on her aunt. “Lady Merryweather.” Mikhail was chillingly polite, and arrogance was evident in every line of his bearing.

An awkward silence fell and spread.

“I did promise you all of my dances,” Payton murmured, ignoring the shocked gasp of those close enough to hear.

Placing her hand on his arm, she strolled with serene grace to the ballroom floor.

It is the horse breeder, a voice close by hissed.

She felt as if his tall frame drew every female eye in the room.

How shocking, another thrilled, are you sure?

He is very handsome; I can see what tempted her scandalous behavior.

Murmurs rose from the people inside the ballroom, and Payton fought the blush heating her cheeks. There was nothing but amusement dancing in Mikhail’s eyes.

Payton lowered her gaze, a smile pulling at her lips. “I feel as if the eyes of the entire haute monde are upon us.” And the feeling increased, knotting her stomach with anxiety, for she knew how fast and vicious whatever gossips they bred tonight would spread.

“Then let them watch. Every man here envies my arms, for you are within them.”

She chuckled. The waltz started, and Payton soared with Mikhail. She buried the fear that he might belong to the world she deplored, basking in the strength and assurance of being in his arms, baring all emotions she felt in her eyes, trusting him to be her wall if she crumbled.

“Would you like to leave?”

“No.”

Something unfathomable shifted in his eyes. “I do not like that you are subjected to gossip. I promise you to change it.”