Marry me.
God, she wanted to, despite knowing she would never fit into his world, despite knowing the lifelong scrutiny she would be placed under, despite not really knowing the man behind the title. Surely she would come to regret it. Surely she would eventually be an embarrassment with her lack of social graces.
Breathing deeply, she struggled to quiet her mind, allowing the exhaustion to carry her under. She had been traveling for at least an hour now and should arrive in London shortly. Though she feared that was not enough time to forget Mikhail, his kisses, his touch, the devastating pleasure he had introduced her to.
Trying to direct her thoughts to less painful musings, she tugged her sketchpad out and started to draw a similar cottage to their own. She could see setting a story there, one where children enter and were transported into a magical world. Time passed as she immersed herself in the drawings of the cottage, a portal, and the five intrepid children seeking adventure. Tonight she would fill in the words to complement the illustrations.
The closer she drew to London and to Connie and Lucan’s town house on upper Brook Street, the more Payton’s disquiet grew. Connie had recently married the Duke of Mondvale amidst much scandal. Since then, she had been a reigning toast for taming the man known to all as the Lord of Sin, and many clamored to be invited to the exclusive dinner parties and soirees she hosted. She had badgered Payton relentlessly to attend one of her rare balls; Payton had kept declining.
She had grudgingly left a note to her mother and aunt, informing them where she traveled. Payton would hate for them to launch an investigation and a manhunt into her disappearance, otherwise she doubted she would have informed her family of her departure. She loved them, but they also frustrated and hurt her deeply with their lack of support. They would be rabid because of her refusal to marry Mikhail, and her father would be certain to disinherit her for refusing a prince and a duke.
Am I being foolish?
She’d forgiven Mikhail’s deception, for she understood what it was like to be judged and measured not as the person one really was. He was a wealthy, titled aristocrat used to people toadying to his comforts, never being challenged or admired just for who he really was. While he was revered for his wealth and his ancestral heritage, she was derided for lacking what society called breeding. She had felt that no one ever took the time to peer beneath the veil into her heart. She knew it must be the same emotions and needs that had driven him to want to appear to be ordinary with her.
It was startling to feel the bittersweet ache of kinship with Mikhail.
Did she truly love him? The very idea seemed improbable. Lord Jensen had wooed and courted her for eight months before she had admitted to feeling some affection for him. She had only been with Mikhail a total of seven days, and she wanted to lay her heart and soul down before him. The idea terrified her.
Too emotionally exhausted to think further, she closed her eyes, allowing the rocking of the carriage to take her away from her troubled thoughts into deep slumber.
Chapter Seventeen
Payton doubted she had ever attended such a crush. The Duchess of Mondvale’s ball was a smashing success. Payton had arrived on Connie’s doorstep and had promptly burst into tears when her magnetic and too dashing husband, Lucan Wynwood, had opened the front door.
The tears had mortified Payton. She was not the type of female to give in to bouts of crying and vapors, but the man had been unruffled and had drawn her inside and hugged her. She had flung her arms around him, strangely glad to be able to return a comforting embrace.
His beautiful and vibrant duchess had bundled her into a guest chamber where they had spent the night talking. Payton had slid into an exhausted slumber, passing the day and majority of the following afternoon cocooned in sleep.
She roused late in the afternoon to realize she had arrived on the eve of the ball. Connie refused to accept the explanation that Payton was without a gown. They were of a similar build, so Payton had reluctantly agreed to accept one of the most glorious dresses she had ever worn.
The gown was of deep rose silk with an overskirt of silver gauze. A thick band of the rose silk encircled her tiny waist and the off-the-shoulder bodice was made in the same silk covered with silver gauze. The neckline, scalloped hem of the overskirt, and tiny sleeves were embroidered with flowers in delicate seed pearls. Her dark hair was arranged high around a cluster of roses of the palest pink in shades darkening to the pink of her dress. Her dancing slippers matched the dress, and her fan was of silver lace, embroidered with golden threads.
She had not even been at the ball for half an hour when the first whisper reached her ear.
Jilted.