by Stacy Reid
“Miss Peppiwell, may I introduce you to my assistant, Vladimir.”
The man’s probing gaze was unsettling. His expression was guarded…cold even, and a shiver of discomfort coursed through her.
She quickly greeted him. “It is delightful to make your acquaintance, Vladimir.”
The man grunted.
“By chance are you related to Mr. Konstantinovich?”
Vladimir’s mien became even more distant.
“I…I only asked because Mr. Konstantinovich also has a penchant to grunt and provide one syllable answers. Please ignore my uncalled-for impertinence,” she ended sweetly, not knowing what she did to elicit such an immediate dislike.
Laughter bubbled inside when the man only softly grunted. She suppressed it and moved to the mounting block to seat herself. Mikhail conferred in the corner with Vladimir. Imperious anger flashed across Mikhail’s face, and his assistant bowed, handed him a basket and, with a stiff nod in her direction, departed.
The exchange had curiosity filling Payton. Mikhail watched Vladimir leave, his face not betraying any of his thoughts. Then he strode to Sage. Payton’s breath hitched at the grace in which Mikhail seated his horse.
They cantered out of the stables. The gentle breeze lifted the tendrils of hair from her forehead. Payton lifted her face to the sun as it crested over the horizon and broke through the darkened clouds, breathing in the fresh crisp scent of the morning. “I do wish I was riding astride.”
His eyes flicked to her. “I will wait if it is your wish to dress accordingly.”
“My mother and aunt would never forgive me if I traipsed around in such garments when amongst such lofty guests,” she admitted on a light laugh, nodding to the few people on the lawn playing croquet.
He nudged his horse closer. “I have seen the duchess riding in breeches.”
“She is a duchess. I daresay she can do whatever she wishes without exciting malicious comments. It is not the same for a mere ‘miss’.”
“And you speak from experience?”
She shrugged, unable to answer because of the sudden tightness in her throat. She did not want to delve into the disappointment and hurt she had endured. Payton would much prefer learning about him. She was no longer naive enough to trust easily but, for the first time in months, she wanted to ride and indulge in laughter and the dance of courtship with a gentleman. Her mother and Aunt Florence would be thrilled to know Payton was moving away from the pain of being jilted, but would be livid to know it was because of a mere mister. “I will admit I have stepped close to society’s flame, and I felt the heat of their displeasure.” More like she had been engulfed in the most painful of fires.
“I am familiar with how unforgiving society can be.”
She gave him a curious smile. “I had not expected a man of affairs to be intimately acquainted with the haute monde.”
Guilt flashed in his eyes, and he looked away from her toward the rolling countryside. “I have been deeply enmeshed in their circles for years now.”
“You have?”
Piercing blue eyes swung back to her. “Yes. I thought you mentioned a race?”
“Then let us ride,” she said, surging her horse ahead.
Without hesitation he tore after her.
Payton laughed in exhilaration at the magnificent speed and grace of the stallion beneath her, delighted that Mikhail was not holding back in his challenge. He was treating her as an equal and not some fragile lady to be cosseted or scolded for her boldness. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, and her heartbeat quickened as they sped past the rolling countryside, a blur of greens and the bright splash of flowers and roses. The steady sounds of hoof beats thumping the ground in a thrilling rhythm urged her to encourage her horse to move faster.
They cut the corner at breakneck speed, and delight pulsed through her veins. She rode the wind, and joy uncurled in her. The power of his stallion outdistanced hers, but she did not care. The very fact he afforded her such freedom, to be wild and daring, thrilled her to her toes.
They swept behind a cusp of trees, slowing their pace. They trotted in companionable silence before halting in a clearing behind a copse of willow trees. A faint sound of gurgling water reached her ears, along with the sweet trilling of birds. Payton could not resist the laugh that pelted from her. It was loud, boisterous, and utterly unladylike, and she did not care. “That was glorious, Mikhail. We must indulge in another race. Next time I will be properly attired, and I am certain I will trounce you.”
“Your laugh…it’s beautiful.”
A sweet ache pulsed in her chest. A memory of chortling too loudly at an intimate garden party Lord Jensen’s mother had hosted blared in Payton’s mind. The viscountess had sniffed, aiming her pointy nose in the air with a caustic comment that Payton laughed like an American. Many of the other ladies had twittered and giggled behind their fans, while her cheeks had burned in mortification. Lord Jensen had not even defended her, only whispering discreetly that she should ignore them, that she was lovely, and they were simply envious.
But this man…he thought her very loud laugh was beautiful. She didn’t want to be captivated, but he was just so intriguing. Payton wasn’t sure if she should trust the feelings of interest curling through her, for it was surely the path to heartache. “When you stare at me so, what are your thoughts?” Oh God, she was being too bold.
He leaned forward, resting his muscular forearms on his thighs. “I think of what it would be like to dance with you, to feel your passion in movement and sounds, to taste you.”
She snapped her gaze to his. “You think of kissing me?” She pushed the words out, determined to sound worldly and unaffected.
“The image has dominated my thoughts since we met.” He sounded disgruntled.
Desire brushed against her senses. I have imagined kissing you as well. Never would she confess such a scandalous thought, but from the smile curving his lips, it was as if he knew her most intimate musings.
“Come, let us eat.”
“Eat?” she parroted inanely. It was then she saw the small basket tied securely behind him. “I do not think, after our vigorous race, the food will be edible. You had intended to picnic alone?”
His mouth twitched. “No.”
“So sure of me were you?”
“More like desperately hopeful.”
She laughed lightly, loving his utterance. Desperately hopeful. “I see, and what is our fare?”
“I coaxed Calydon’s cook to make us something special.”
“You have a unique relationship with the duke. You have an entire wing of Sherring Cross at your disposal and now his cook,” she teased.
“I have known him for years.” He dismounted and assisted her to the ground, careful to leave space between their bodies.
“He seems a generous employer if he allows you to coax his cook. Though I can imagine with just a smile you would have Mrs. Beaton willing to make anything for you.”
“Ah…is this your way of telling me that with a smile I can have you at my whim?”
“Absolutely not, it would take more beguilement than a mere smile to charm me. I am made of sterner stuff.”
His soft laugh brushed against her skin like temptation itself, and he was so darkly seductive he took Payton’s breath.
In silence they walked farther into the clearing, approaching a small brook. Gray clouds hovered above the sky, and a distant thunder rumbled. The day was so beautiful she prayed rain did not interrupt. In the center there was a stone table and chair. Mikhail unpacked the food on the table. A wine and some sort of confectionary.
“What is that?”
“It’s halva, made with almond. Try it,” he invited as they sat.
She took a delicate bite. Her eyes widened at the delicious flavors exploding along her taste buds. “This is wonderful.”
He had a bottle and two small glasses which he filled with a golden liquid. “This is Medovukha. I am fortunate to have an assistant w
ho knows how to make it.”
She accepted the proffered glass and took a tentative sip. It was impossible to hold back the moan of pleasure. “That really is wonderful.”
“Now you’ll understand why Vladimir, though grouchy, is invaluable to me.”
They drank and ate in companionable silence, and Payton wondered when she had ever felt such peace. Endless days of attending balls and picnics had only ever filled her with anxiety, as she’d constantly fretted if she was doing the right thing. Had she walked gracefully enough? Giggled like a lady enough, wielded her fan the proper way? Had she waited until someone was introduced before speaking? Those days had been painful…yet there had also been the thrill of just being there amongst such nobility.
“Do you live in England?” Mikhail asked. “Or are you only visiting?”
Payton swallowed her last piece of halva. “I may eventually return to Boston, but for now I am firmly rooted here.”
“You do not sound too happy.”
She considered her words carefully. “There are wonderful things in England. I have been much exposed to arts and books, which I adore, more so than when I lived in America. I simply do not feel like I fit, and there are times I despise attending society functions.”
“Then why do you attend?”
“It is very difficult to refuse my mother or aunt or even my father. Not that I think I will be banished as my mother threatens, but I am subjected to their whims by law until I reach my majority.”
With a sigh she rose to her feet and walked along the edge of the small brook. “I do understand they wish for me to make an advantageous match and to be comfortably situated. But I believe there is more to life than being the wife of a lord.”
He stood and moved to stand beside her. He was close, the warmth of him reaching out and gliding against her skin. But she did not move away, in fact, she subtly swayed closer. “What about you, Mikhail? Will you return to Russia?”
“I will visit my family yearly, but my home is now in England.”
She heard the wistfulness in his tone, and she understood. A day had not passed that she did not reminisce on Boston, the life and friends she had left there. “And will you settle here in Norfolk?”
“For now.”
She waited for him to expound, but he remained silent. Payton hesitated to pry further, though the need to learn more about him was becoming a persistent desire. “Do you have a wife?”
Startled eyes met hers. “I would not dream of tasting you if I were attached.”
She flushed. “Of course. I did not think you without honor, I…I…merely wondered if you had any attachment, and I asked the question poorly.”
“I had an understanding once, but we agreed we would not suit.”
There was a dark undertone in his voice that had her assessing him carefully. “May I ask why?”
He grimaced. “The fault lies with me. She understandably needed more from me, and I was unable to provide it.”
She touched his arms lightly, and he froze. She quickly withdrew her fingers, a blush heating her cheeks. “Such a separation must have caused you pain. I am sorry.”
“It was years ago; if it caused pain, I have forgotten,” he said in a voice that was chillingly distant.
Awareness of how secluded they were reared its head. She strolled toward the grazing horses, and he kept pace with her, each of his steps exuding masculine grace and vitality. “Thank you for riding with me. I must return to the estate. I am to be fitted for a ball gown for Lady Blythe’s midnight soiree this weekend. My mother would lambast me if I missed the modiste the duchess has been kind enough to ask to attend our needs.”
He nodded. “Reserve a spot for me on your dance card.”
Liquid warmth slid through her veins. “You will attend?”
“Yes.”
An event she had previously dreaded now had anticipation curling through her. “I am surprised.” He arched a brow, and she winced. “Please do not think me unkind. I only know the bigotry of society and had not thought Lady Blythe would have invited you to her ball.”
“Think nothing of causing me offense; I much prefer if you speak freely. My connection with Calydon allows me much within society.”
Of course. It was the same connection her family shamelessly importuned upon. Was it that he yearned to be a part of the haute monde? A sinking sensation entered her stomach. “I see.”
“The disappointment in your tone compels me to know what it is you believe you have perceived.”
“I had the thought you might wish to be a part of the coveted inner circles of the haute monde. The idea disappointed me, when it should not have. I have no right to judge you based on my desires.”
His gaze settled on her face. “And your desire is not to be associated with high society?”
Payton hesitated. “Yes.”
The twig between his fingers snapped. “May I enquire as to what happened?”
She hesitated. “I don’t belong. Months after being introduced to society I waited for someone to look at me and see the dirt beneath my fingernails.”
She held up her hands, and he lightly encircled her wrists.
“These hands have milked a cow and dug deep into the soil. They have even scrubbed a pot and lifted a chamber pot.”
Amusement gleamed in his eyes. He pulled her fingers toward his lips and brushed the lightest of a kiss across the tips. Payton wasn’t sure if she should pull from his caress or lean farther in to him. She glanced through the trees, unable to make out the indistinct forms of the players on the lawn. But if she could see them, surely they could see a man and a woman standing much too close.
“Industrious hands are not dirty, they are to be much admired,” he murmured.
“Sentiments only few would agree with.”
“What else has contributed to your distaste of high society?”
“Many young ladies I had thought close acquaintances took pleasure in reminding me I did not belong to their social circles. I ignored my discomfort, my sister’s warnings of the hypocritical nature of society, and enjoyed each lavish ball I attended. The heir to a viscountcy pursued me most ardently and I…believed I loved him.”
Mikhail’s expression became guarded, but Payton knew he held on to her every word. There was a piercing stillness about him that unsettled her, and his grip had tightened reflexively on her fingers.
“Do you still love him?”
“I do not think so.”
His expression became even more closed, and her heart thudded.
“What happened with this man?”
She pulled her fingers from his clasp, a bit thrown by his intensity. “He proposed to me, and our engagement was announced. A rumor started circulating concerning someone close to my family, and society was very cruel in their reactions. I was tarnished by association, and Lord Jensen withdrew his affections.”
And society blamed me, hated me, and cut me for it, because it was further proof of my inferiority. The unspoken words were still too painful for her to admit.
“He was a damn fool. A mere rumor would not dissuade me from your charms.”
Pleasure suffused her at Mikhail’s assertions. “Thank you for your kind words.”
“I did not offer them out of kindness.”
Her breath hitched at the shadows of hunger in his eyes, and she swallowed at the startling throb in her lower stomach. Not good. While she liked him, her family would object. But did she care? She liked him. “I have never had anyone look at me as you do,” she said softly. “Your gaze is like a physical touch; its intensity is almost alarming.”
A fleeting smile touched his lips. “I will learn to temper my attraction.”
“I would urge you not to.” Her voice was a mere whisper, but from the flash of desire that darkened his eyes, he had heard. He leaned in, and for a heart-stopping moment she thought he would kiss her. Please. She wanted the press of his mouth against hers.
“Your lips have been hauntin
g me.”
“I am sorry to have caused you misery,” she said teasingly, trying to rein in the ridiculous need to behave wantonly.
He placed his hands on her hips, drawing her closer to his delicious warmth. “More like tormenting me.”
“Then I am sorry if I have caused you pain,” she whispered as she lifted her arms and clasped his shoulder. Acting on pure feminine instinct, she pressed her nose in to his neck, breathing in his evocative scent.
He froze, and a chill blasted her. A fraught silence settled around them, the undercurrents of something unknown rippling across Payton’s skin. The chill seemed to gather in strength, and she could feel him retreating, though he did not move. It scared her.
Instinctively she dropped her hands from his shoulders. Tension visibly drained from his body when she stepped away, and hurt lanced through her. “You find my touch repellent?” The idea seemed farfetched, but it was the alarming conclusion she had drawn.
Caution clouded his gaze. “No…never.”
Soft relief pulsed, and she smiled. “For a moment I—”
“I find all touch uncomfortable,” he admitted with evident discomfort.
But he seems so self-assured and arrogant…
“Oh!” She made to move away, but he gripped her hips and drew her to him. “I thought you found touching distasteful.”
“If I am the one in control it does not bother me,” he said in a deceptively mild tone, drawing her even closer, flushing her chest to his.
Oh.
“I have an incurable love for horses and dogs. I enjoy archery and boxing.”
She lifted her eyes to his, and the heat in his gaze strangled her breathing. “I…I feel as if you are about to kiss me, so for you to talk of dogs, horses, and pugilistic skills in this moment is decidedly confusing.”
His fingers tangled in her hair, and he lifted her face even closer. “You’d asked about my hobbies. What about yours?”
The anticipation of feeling his lips and tasting them for the first time was burning away all her resistance to mere ashes, and he wanted to converse?
He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth, darting his tongue to caress the closed seam of her lips. Payton’s knees weakened.