The Royal Conquest(60)

“Won’t you go after Miss Peppiwell?”

“I told her of Madam Anya, but Payton still left.”

The man’s eyes widened, and the awareness of what Payton meant to him must have penetrated, for Vladimir blanched.

“Forgive my interference.”

“The fault does not lie with you…but with me. Society bows to my wealth and influence, but she does not care for it.”

I will not survive your world. She had sounded so final, yet she had given herself to him. Even now she could be with his child. Fierce possessiveness gripped Mikhail’s heart.

“That is very unusual,” Vladimir said.

Yes, one of the very aspects that had drawn him to her fire was also serving to keep her from him.

Another rider emerged from the dark, and Calydon brought his horse to a stop and dismounted.

“Leave us,” Mikhail ordered.

With a nod, Vladimir departed, greeting Calydon before mounting his horse and riding back to the house.

His cousin approached with measured steps, his eyes assessing Mikhail.

“Payton has left Sherring Cross. Her parents are firmly on her heels, no doubt eager to drag her back to accept your offer.”

Mikhail grunted.

“I am certain you have more to say,” Calydon said with a lifted brow.

He joined him on the steps, a bottle of brandy clutched firmly in his hands. Calydon handed it to him, and Mikhail took a deep swig, letting the burn slide down his throat and settle in his belly.

“Will you go after her?”

“No.” He had seen the pain in her eyes when he did not allow her to touch him. It had been the same with Lady Olga, and she had only withstood the distance for a few months before breaking from him in tears. How long would it take Payton?

“Why not?”

“She does not want me.” Impossible, his heart taunted. The woman who had surrendered to him so sweetly, with such ardor, needed him, just not the trappings of society.

“Is it because of what happened with Madam Anya?”

“Yes…no… Who the hell knows?” You are a prince and that is the only reason she is rejecting you. And the most painful part of his admission was that he understood. There had been days when he walked through the halls of the Russian court, and the rabid and shocked whispers had gutted him. When his aversion to touch had been realized by those he flinched from—his family and friends—pity had been mixed with the curiosity, urging him to shun society. But he’d refused to bow to weakness and had shrouded himself in cold distance from it all—pity, curiosity, love, and understanding. “Payton believes there is no hope for us. She cannot imagine being my princess and duchess, and she does not believe I will ever be able to endure her touch.”

He handed the bottle of brandy to Calydon.

“You can force society to accept her.”

“I do not want to,” Mikhail said. “I would prefer to show Payton she does not need society’s approval, and it is hers they will need to gain. As my princess, my duchess, she will have more influence that she can comprehend.”

His cousin smiled fleetingly. “And what of her other concern?”

Mikhail’s gut clenched. “I have a great urge to submit myself to Payton’s caresses,” he admitted. “But I cannot imagine giving someone such power over my desire again.”

Calydon threw him a surprised look, and Mikhail understood. The control he had learned to exercise over his passion had been absolute.

“In what way?” the duke asked with curiosity rife in his tone.

Mikhail hesitated. Though he trusted and respected Calydon it was hard for him to bare his emotions.

“With Payton I do not have the hard-won control I worked so hard to attain.” He gritted his teeth, almost uncomfortable in telling his cousin what he had done. But Calydon needed to understand how disturbed Mikhail felt, and how significant Payton’s effect was on him.

“When I turned twenty-one, I revisited Madam Anya.”

“The hell you say!”

The cold memories of the time before, when he had been sixteen and at the madam’s brutal mercy slithered through Mikhail, leaving a vile taste in his mouth.

“I did return. After my Cossack riders tore the brothel apart and found me…” He scrubbed a hand over his face and across his nape with unnecessary roughness. It was as if he wanted to remove the lingering memory of her touch, the licks of her tongue, and the whip as it bit into his skin, leaving behind the sickening sensations of pain with pleasure.

He grabbed back the bottle and took another swig. “I spent years training, honing my body into a weapon. Never did I want to be at the mercy of another being again. And if I found myself in such a position, it would be with the full awareness I had done everything physically, and mentally I was capable of outwitting them.”