The Royal Conquest(5)

A quick glance around the cabin did not reveal her garments. “My clothes, if you please, sir.” She controlled the wince at her acerbic tone. Though she didn’t need to contain her reaction, the blasted man remained unflappable at her ire. Most gentlemen would excuse themselves, not stare at her with such shivering intensity.

“They were soaked, and you were trembling as if from a seizure. I cut the breeches from you, as the rain plastered it to your skin in a manner that made it difficult to simply pull from your body.”

“Good heavens,” she said horrified.

“However, your shirt and undergarments are drying by the grate.”

“I have a strong constitution; you could have left me clothed,” she said, unsure if she should be appalled or grateful at his impertinence.

“Do you?” His amused murmur washed over her.

A mass of hair that had been loosely pinned tumbled down her back; the icy water still soaking her strands wetted her neck and shoulders. Water trickled down her forehead, and she instinctively raised a hand to swipe it away. When cold air washed over the top of her breasts, she scrambled to draw the blanket to her throat.

A sharp indrawn breath from her rescuer had her fingers clenching reflexively on the blanket. Something heated, predatory, and dangerous swirled in the depths of his eyes, before his gaze hooded, and Payton was suddenly too petrified to move. Awareness of her vulnerability seeped into every crevice of her being. Despite the frigid night air, a bead of perspiration trickled down her spine, along with more rivulets from her hair. Payton would rather die than release the blanket to shift the heavy wetness from her neck. As circumspectly as possible, she catalogued every potential weapon in the small cottage: a poker iron, a carafe, a kettle, a china doll, and what looked like a broom.

Her heart clamored, but she held his gaze, afraid to look away lest he pounced. His unwavering stare prompted her into speech. “I am grateful for your assistance, and I thank you. Forgive my brusqueness, but it is not every day I wake undressed in a cottage alone with a stranger.” Good Lord. It was his turn for his fingers to grip the armrest of his chair.

Maybe it was a terrible idea to remind him she was naked.

She attempted to smile. “I would be grateful if you would leave, so I may have some privacy.” Thankfully her voice had not betrayed her nervousness.

Sudden laughter gleamed in his eyes. His gaze swept the tiny one room cottage, and then he looked at the door rattling under the power of rain and thunder raging outside. “No,” he refuted with a low drawl, then inclined his head in mock politeness. “I fear we will both be denied the thing we want the most now.”

His response jolted her, and her heart stuttered. She didn’t need to wonder what he desired. His midnight gaze bore into her, a searchlight, as it caressed over her face. The very thought of him desiring her had a curious effect on Payton’s senses. Slow, laden heat surged through her body, and it was not cold that had her nipples beading beneath the coverlet. The mash of fear and fascination made her feel ill.

Good Lord, what is wrong with me?

Never had she physically reacted so to a man, not even Lord Jensen, to whom she had been engaged. She’d only found Lord Jensen’s embrace and kisses mildly enjoyable, but this man’s bold stare was mystifyingly intriguing.

“You are being ungentlemanly, sir.”

“I did not claim to be a gentleman. Though I will admit if the weather was different, I would grant you the privacy you seek.” He waved to the door. “I will not prevent you from leaving if you wish.” His words were a taunt, and she did not miss the way he straightened in the chair, as if anticipating her actions.

Payton wanted to toss her head and inform this man she would leave if he would not, but a wind howled, long and mournful, mocking her silent assertions. She searched for a clever and witty response, but could not find her tongue.

“Tell me, why were you traipsing about the stable at such an indecent hour dressed in that manner?”

“I do not have to explain my actions to you, sir, but I ride more comfortably without skirts hampering my movement. And that is all I sought this morning, the freedom to ride without judgment.” Lest he saw her body’s reaction and thought it was an invitation. It was certainly not.

“Hmm,” he murmured noncommittally, steepling his long fingers on his muscular thighs.

Heat climbed her neck for noticing his virility. The flickering light from the fireplace illuminated the stark lines of his face and highlighted his strong jaw. He was unquestionably masculine and handsome, but also an unknown man who was staring at her with an expression she’d never encountered on another person. Payton’s emotions vacillated between anger, apprehension, and intrigue. “You are staring, sir.” Please act more gentlemanly and avert your eyes.