by Stacy Reid
“Are you hurt anywhere? I felt no broken bones, but that does not mean there was no injury.”
He felt no broken bones. It was impossible to hold back the sharp tremor of uncertainty that quivered through her. “Did you check for injuries before or after you undressed me?” Everything in Payton screeched to a halt when the words barreled from her mouth. Painful heat scorched her cheeks. The situation was so unusual and mortifying.
“I had the presence of mind to do so before I undressed you.”
Was it her imagination his voice had gone huskier?
“Where are you hurt?” The concern in his tone was evident, but mistrust sliced through Payton. She tensed and then stifled a moan. Her body felt stiff, and there was a throbbing ache along her left hip, but no serious pain. Thank heavens.
“Are you a doctor?”
A decidedly imperious brow rose. “No.”
She scowled. “Are you related in any way to a profession that would deem it suitable for you to examine my person?”
His lips twitched, and she wanted to growl. The maddening man found her amusing, when the situation called for anything but humor. A disaster of the scandalous and unrecoverable type loomed on the horizon.
“No,” he finally answered.
“Then I am not hurt, thank you.”
“I am relieved you are not injured. I mean you no harm, Lady…”
Her wariness must have been apparent, yet he looked at her expectantly. Payton almost snorted. As if she would reveal her identity. She sat up fully on the edge of the narrow but well-padded bed, clutching the blanket to her throat as if it were a lifeline. The stone floor beneath her bare feet was cold, and she barely prevented herself from acting too jittery.
She needed her wits about her, and it was crucial for her to appear unafraid. “I must warn you, Mr. Konstantinovich, I know how to fight, very well.” She narrowed her gaze in what she hoped was a sufficiently threatening manner. “So I caution you to keep your distance while I go about my business, or else you will sorely regret it.”
Surprise flashed across his features, then a smile of possibly admiration lifted his lips. He held out his arms in a non-threatening manner, as if a man so darkly handsome and intimidating, with the grace and power with which he had moved, could be innocuous. Of what sort of man was she at the mercy?
He regarded her with an obvious amusement that irked her.
“I am a guest and friend of the Duke of Calydon. I was in the stables when you entered. I thought you might have been a thief, absconding with my prize stallion. I followed, and I witnessed your need.”
She stiffened, searching his face, probing and assessing. “I am no thief, and your assumption is offensive, sir. I, too, am a guest. What is most suspicious is you being in the stables at four in the morning. If there were a thief…it certainly was not me.”
The blasted man laughed, and the sound was so rich and masculine, it caressed her senses with wicked allure.
“I was bedding down in the loft, and I was not the one skulking around.”
“I was most certainly not skulking around. Ladies do not skulk,” she gritted out.
A friend of the duke was bedding down in the stables?
He frowned thoughtfully and then gave a firm nod, answering whatever question plagued him. “No…it was skulking.”
Arghh. Why was she allowing him to nettle her so, when the most important matter had not been addressed? “Where are my clothes, sir?”
Payton did not enjoy being so brusque, but it was impossible to pretend politeness. All of the lessons in decorum her aunt had relentlessly instructed seemed silly in this moment. She certainly could not remember any deportment lessons on what to do if one found oneself naked with a strange man in a remote cottage. Actually, if her memory served, she was supposed to scream, possibly swoon, and if he were rich and titled she should do all in her power to ensure they were compromised. She snorted in the most unladylike manner, and a dark brow lifted in question. As if his casual display of arrogance would prompt her to share her private thoughts.
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 th
e 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.
A smile curved his lips. “You are a beautiful woman.”
“It is rude,” she snapped, thoroughly rattled by his boldness and the unwilling interest stirring inside.
Provoking amusement lit his eyes. “Where I am from it is not rude to admire a ravishing jewel.” His gaze lingered on her lips, before moving lower to her breasts, then down to her bare toes. He lifted his eyes to her face again. “And you are exquisite,” he drawled.
Why had his words sounded so wicked? The silence seethed for endless seconds. To her utter mortification she felt her breasts getting heavy…achy; an unfamiliar but very pleasant sensation fluttered low in her abdomen. The air was thick with temptation, and disquiet simmered in Payton.
“Where are you from?” She pushed the words past her lips, desperately wanting to shatter the strange intimacy his words created.
Was it in her imagination that he stiffened?
He shifted in the chair, almost awkwardly. “Russia.”
She nodded, at a loss for what to say. Never had she imagined she would have been caught in such an appalling situation. The one-room cottage was small but tastefully furnished. There was no apparent screen she could duck behind to dress. She did not care if her clothes were not dried. She would not remain exposed another second in his presence. “I need to get dressed.”
“It is not wise. What you should be doing now is drying your tresses and keeping warm.”
She knew the truth of his words. It was only a few weeks ago that she had recovered from a fever after being caught in a light drizzle on one of her long walks. Yet it was unthinkable to remain before this man in such a manner. All he would need to do is tug the blanket from her in one move. Was he a man capable of ravishing her even if she screamed no? Would she protest? Bloody hell. It was not like her to possess such raging unladylike musings, and she was mortified at the directions of her thoughts. They were wanton and served to remind her she was not a gentle bred English rose, more of a prickly American cactus.
As if he could feel her churning confusion he spoke, “I will not harm you, Lady—”
She took several deep breaths before speaking. “I am Miss Payton Peppiwell, Mr. Konstantinovich.”
He inclined his head. “Thank you for the honor of your name. Despite the discomfort of this situation, I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Peppiwell. What may I do to make you more comfortable?”
Wipe the desire from your eyes.
She glanced once more to the rattling door. It would be unfair to demand he leave.
Icy tendrils of water ran down her forehead into her eyes and onto her cheeks. Her hair needed to be dried, and she needed privacy. What a quandary. An embarrassing sneeze escaped her. “I—”
“Let me attend you. You will become ill if you clothe yourself in those sodden garments. Your hair needs to be dried, and I believe I can be of assistance.”
She froze. Good God. He wanted to help her dry her hair? The impropriety of it was scandalous. Even without the decorum lessons she would have been appalled at his bald suggestion.
He stood, and she jumped to her feet. The air heated between them with a thrumming tension that had her throat tightening. The pounding rain was the only sound to pierce the disquieting silence. His eyes told Payton she was the most fascinating woman he’d ever beheld, and she was at a loss at how to respond to his unspoken seduction.
A shiver swept through her. His body appeared leanly muscled, hard, and graceful. She could also see the strength in his bearing. It took everything in her not to step back. Payton had never been more aware of the difference in strength and power between a man and a woman. For a few long seconds they glared at each other, and he tried a reassuring smile, but she narrowed her eyes in further warning.
“This situation is unexpected and obviously out of your realm of experience, but I swear on my honor the doubts in your eyes are unwarranted. You have no need to fear me, Miss Peppiwell.”
“I…I…” She hated being so flustered, and she really believed it was imperative to appear unflappable.
He arched a brow and cautiously reclaimed his seat where he studied her with calculating shrewdness. “Are you an intimate acquaintance of the duke and duchess?”
“Yes.”
“And would you agree only another trustworthy friend would hold certain knowledge?”
She frowned. The duke and duchess were both highly unconventional and only called a few people friends. “Yes,” she agreed.
His eyes bore into her for seconds, then he spoke, “The Duke of Calydon, Sebastian, and I have been friends for years. He met his duchess, Jocelyn, when she stormed his estate last year and held him at the point of a gun, a derringer to be precise.”
A startled laugh squeezed from Payton’s throat. She knew that story well. And as far as she was aware, only close intimate friends and family were acquainted with the scandalous manner in which Jocelyn had landed her duke.
He continued, “Her Grace gave birth to twins a couple months ago, and they are both dark haired and possess Sebastian’s eyes. Lady Malory was first born by a mere two minutes, and Lord Julian was a pleasant surprise to the duke and duchess.”
Who was he to hold such knowledge? Payton had been a guest at Sherring Cross a few times, and she had never encountered this man. But his revelations had the desired impact. Slow relief twisted through her, tension eased from her shoulders, and the defensive way she had been standing was relinquished. “You are friends with Sebastian and Jocelyn?”
“Sebastian and I have been close since childhood. I have only just met his duchess.”
Payton thought of his words, carefully assessing him, realizing if he had wanted to attack her he could have taken her already. For all her bravado about knowing how to fight, he would have subdued her with little effort. Another sneeze rushed from her.
“Allow me to assist you in drying your hair.” He pointed to a towel resting on a small burled walnut table.
His handsome face displayed no emotion, but there was an air of anticipation about him.
Everything about their encounter was already highly improper. She could set aside decorum this one time, and who would be privy to the knowledge that he assisted in drying her hair? Or that he had cut her trousers from her limbs. Hot color flooded her face, and she swallowed. “Thank you for your assistance. I am grateful. You must swear you will tell no one of what has occurred here.”
Her capitulation had that strange light glinting in his eyes once more before he masked his expression.
“You have my word, Miss Peppiwell.” He stood, graceful yet predatory, grabbed the towel, and stalked to her.
She met him in the middle of the room, breathing too heavily for comfort. Slipping past him, a death grip on the voluminous blanket, Payton sat in the chair closest to the fire.
Oh God, what am I doing?
Chapter Three
Miss Payton Peppiwell wore sensuality like a second skin, unstudied and wholly natural. She was the most exquisite young lady Mikhail had ever seen. She was neither tall nor short, just about the right height to fit perfectly into the curves of his shoulders. Her
voice was rich and smoky, laced with carnality and wickedness. She had deep auburn hair, brown eyes so fathomless they would appear black, if not for the flashes of dark gold at their center, a delicate nose, and elegant cheekbones. Her honeyed skin was unblemished and radiant, and even swaddled in blankets, her curves were so richly pronounced his mouth dried. When he’d cut away the wet clothes, he had barely spared a glance at her naked body, too concerned with stopping the terrible shivers that had been shaking her form, but now all he could do was stare like an untried youth.
Why was she at Sherring Cross? Certainly she was not a lady of the haute monde. Her hauteur would have been more evident, and she would have selfishly persisted in demanding he left the cabin, despite the inclement weather.
A shudder went through her as he started to dry her hair. He glanced down and suppressed a smile. She had the blanket clutched almost to her chin. A brutal fist of lust had slammed into his gut when he’d caught a tantalizing glimpse of her breasts earlier. Though she was skittish, the dark gold of her eyes glittered with interest and sensual awareness.
With the right seductive touch, her ripe curves could be his for the taking. He could coax her into parting her thighs, then bury his aching length to the hilt. The knowledge settled in Mikhail’s groin, hardening his cock into painful need, disturbing him with the strength of his response. It had been years since a woman had the ability to rouse him without him mentally allowing it. Anger at his lack of temperance over his passion twisted through his veins.
What the hell is wrong with me…concentrate. He buried the flare of unease. It would not do to unsettle her further with the dark edge trying to wind itself into his heart.
He did his best to dry her hair without tangling it, trying not to linger over its softness and beauty. Her hair was thick and gloriously abundant. An image of how she had looked seated atop his horse rushed through him. He could picture the curtain of her hair shimmering around them in cascading waves as she rode him, trembling on his cock from the pleasure he would give her.