The Royal Conquest(9)

“I promise you no harm, Miss Peppiwell.” Mikhail kept his voice low and crooning, as if speaking to one of his horses. “As soon as the rain lessens, I will ensure you are returned to the main house discreetly before the guests rise.”

It would not bode well if those in attendance realized he and Miss Peppiwell had been alone for any duration.

Her eyes sparkled with rancor. “I have learned all too well the perfidy of promises; I have no faith in them.”

Ah. Already jaded. For one so young, it was a pity. “You can have faith in mine.”

A subtle tremor flowed through her limbs, and incredulity flashed in her eyes. “I think not,” she all but growled, then ruined her ferocity by sneezing.

His fingers brushed against the exposed skin at her nape, and she flinched. Their conversation was not relaxing her at all. The awareness of how worried she must be killed all his longings of lust, attacking his resistance mercilessly. “You have no need to fear my presence, Miss Peppiwell.”

She gave him an assessing glance, then lifted her chin a notch. “I am not afraid.”

So her method was not to admit fear lest he saw it as a weakness. His admiration rose. He strolled to the fireplace and collected the poker. She watched him with a frown that broke into a cautious smile when he handed it to her.

“I see,” she said, her eyes now dancing with humor. “This is you giving me permission to defend myself, if you should do anything untoward?”

The transformation to her features when she relaxed was astonishing. Mikhail was used to beauty, but Miss Peppiwell’s unique charms had a delightful effect on his senses. The young lady also seemed unaware of her own desirability. There was no predatory calculation in her eyes, no smoldering glances from beneath lowered lashes. Was that because she was not aware of his wealth and stature? If he were to reveal himself, would she change? The thought left him cold. “Yes, I am granting you permission if you feel threatened in any manner.”

Her lips twitched. “You are brave indeed, sir. I may think your provoking stares are untoward,” she said teasingly.

It had been more than a decade since he had felt such an interest in a woman. But then, it had been years since any lady had looked at him without avarice glittering in her eyes. Belonging to one of the most prominent families in Russia was not as fortuitous as it seemed. He liked being able to pretend normality with her. It gave him freedom to speak and act in a manner in which he ordinarily would not allow.

“Allow me to make amends for the unintentional impropriety of my actions. Will you picnic with me later today, if the rain stops?”

“You want to take me on a picnic?” She queried with undisguised bemusement.

Mikhail himself was startled when the words escaped his lips. He should be doing anything to place distance between himself and this enticing female. His one true purpose should be to hide his identity, not compromise it by wooing a woman. It would not do for the scandal he left at home to follow him to London. She was destroying his common sense. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Your charm has delighted me, and I wish to spend more time in your company.” What the hell was he saying?

She appeared nonplussed, before her enticing lips stretched into a wide smile. An irrepressible dimple appeared, and he wanted to kiss it. Mikhail almost snorted at his fanciful thoughts.

“I would enjoy a picnic, but my parents will object to you calling on me.” A quick frown settled on her face. “I…please ignore what I said. I would be delighted.”

He nodded, a curious feeling shifting inside him. He had not expected her to agree to his impulsive invitation. He tried to assess the need that had prodded him to ask her and was frustratingly blank. This was so unlike him, tension wove its way into his gut.

“Please turn and go to the far corner. I need to make myself presentable.”

After wrapping her hair in the second towel, he walked to the wall farthest from her and closed his eyes. Sounds shuffled in the cottage, and it was a testament to his needs that he could make out the distinct noise over the pounding rain. He bit back a groan when he heard the blanket slither to the ground. More rustles, and then a soft gasp from her, no doubt the shock of the wet clothes on her skin.

“You can turn around.”

Mikhail braced himself, and then faced her. She was the most ludicrous sight he had ever beheld, with the towel perched haphazardly on her head, a mass of tendrils rioting around her face, her shirt limp with dampness, and the blanket wrapped around her body at least three times to make a bulky toga. And yet she was the most refreshing woman he had ever laid eyes on, with her flashing defiant eyes and lopsided smile.