“I have done nothing to bring you shame,” Payton said hoarsely.
He held her gaze, and then nodded. Her mother sobbed quietly in the background, but Payton did not spare her a glance. It was her father she needed to convince. “Father, please believe me when I say—”
“No,” he said. “I have spoken, and I have informed Lord Jensen he can make the announcement in the Gazette and the Times.”
Betrayal scythed through Payton. “You would believe Lord Jensen over your own daughter?”
“Do not cast aspersions on the man wishing to marry you,” her aunt gently berated.
Payton’s throat burned. “I know this family desires to move amongst loftier circles. I never believed my father and mother would place their desires above my happiness.”
Her mother gasped, but her father stood immovable.
“The reason I am consenting, Payton, is because you gave yourself to him. Phillipa acted in a similar reckless manner, and I did nothing. No more,” he snapped coldly. “You will marry Lord Jensen, or I will disinherit you.”
Without speaking she turned from the room and ran.
Chapter Ten
No, no, no, no!
Payton ran into the icy outdoors toward the stables. In her periphery she saw Lord Jensen rushing after her, and she hurried her steps. Her emotions were too volatile to face the lying wretch; she was liable to slap his face with all her strength, which would no doubt create a new wave of scandal, since several of Lady Calydon’s guests were strolling on the front lawn and through Sherring Cross’s famous gardens.
Averting her gaze from everyone, Payton did not halt until she reached the stables. The scent of worn leather and horses filled her nostrils, and she headed for another stallion, one that had already been fitted with reins and saddle, no doubt for one of the guests.
Without hesitation, she used the mounting block and seated herself astride, pulling the hem of her day gown to her knee in the most indecent fashion.
“Payton, my darling, please let me explain,” Lord Jensen said, running to stand beside her.
Rage blasted through her. Her hands trembled, and she fisted them on the reins, not wanting to betray the depth of emotions roiling through her. Payton prayed her face was filled with all the distaste she felt as she looked down on him. “You are despicable, and nothing will ever persuade me to wed you.”
The concern and charm shifted, and anger flared in the gray depths of his eyes. “Your father has already given his blessing. And if you think to make this difficult, I promise I will ruin you. How many men do you think will want you after I have made it known I’ve had you? You think you know what it is to face ostracism? All London will speak of is that I took your virtue, and no man will offer for you, whether he be high or low born.”
She gasped, shock pouring through her. “A few months ago all it took for you to shift your affections was a rumor of Lord Anthony and Connie’s bastardy. Now you are so eager to marry me, even if I feel only contempt for you. Why? My dowry and inheritance?”
A grimace twisted his lips. “It is vulgar to speak of money so casually, but I suppose I cannot expect better.” His eyes flicked to her exposed legs and lust heated his gaze. “We will be good together, Payton. Just give me a chance…give us a chance. Now get down so we can discuss this in a becoming manner,” he ended patronizingly.
Smothering a very unladylike curse, she surged away.
He yelled her name, and she ignored him, bursting from the stables. Payton urged the horse she rode to almost breakneck speed. She had to get away. Thunder grumbled in the distance. The gloomy weather seemed to be in perfect tandem with her emotions. Lightning cut across the sky, followed by another blast of thunder. A squall brewed, but she would not return to the main house. She could not face more arguments or tearful pleading from her mother.
I cannot marry him.
She rode hard, blanking her mind from the emotions trying to swamp her. Without realizing it, she had directed the horse to the cabin where she had met Mikhail. She could see it in the distance, and she slowed the horse, bringing him to a canter until they broke through the clearing before the cottage. She swept from the horse and released his reins. It made no sense to tether him with the approaching storm. Nor did she care if he fled and left her there. The longer she was away from everyone the better.
Payton ran up the small cobbled steps and slammed into the cabin, a harsh sob tearing from her. How could her parents believe Lord Jensen over their own daughter? Or did they know he lied, but were willing to accept another noble gentleman into their lives at all cost? They had already doubled her dowry in an evident bid to buy a title.
She no longer held any love for Lord Jensen and could not imagine her life as his wife and viscountess. She tried to remember the wonderful times they had together in the past, hoping to recall the warm thoughts of affection she had felt during his courtship. The only feelings roused in her were the ones of emptiness she had endured when he had stopped calling for days, weeks, when the rumors of Lord Anthony and Connie’s bastardy had roared through society. Payton had even written Lord Jensen and, to her undying embarrassment, her letters had been returned to her unopened with a scathing note from his mother.
Why would Lord Jensen now be so amiable to forming an attachment? It could only be her money, and such a motivation for marriage was wholly acceptable to society and her family. But not to me… What about love and respect?
Inevitability weighed down on her, and she pressed a hard fist to her stomach. What am I to do?
The door to the cottage was thrown open, and she barely stifled a scream. She breathed a soft sigh of relief when Mikhail strolled in, his hair tousled by the winds, his white shirt clinging to his damp chest. He must have been right on her heels, and she had not noticed.
She took an involuntary step in his direction before grinding to a halt. “What are you doing here?”
“You rode away from the estate as if the devil were after you.”
Her gaze flicked to his curious own, and the storm of emotions that had been gathering inside her grew in strength. “Were you the only one to follow me?”
He stepped farther into the cottage, dwarfing the small place with his presence. “As far as I could see.”
A harsh sob tore from her chest, and she wanted to hurl herself into his arms but buried the impulse. The desire was reckless and more than foolhardy. Despite their illicit kiss and the feelings he roused in her, her father would never accept Mikhail’s suit. Not when Lord Jensen had made his wishes so clear to a family only seeking greater elevation into the haute monde.
Lightning flashed across the sky, and seconds later, torrential rain gushed from the heavens, battering the roof of the cottage. The memory of their first meeting simmered through her, and the awareness of how alone they were seeped into the air. What she saw in his eyes was not calm and controlled.
“You should not be here, Mikhail.” It could all be in her head, but his presence in the cottage was dangerous.
“What has happened to see you so distraught?”
She hesitated, and his gaze sharpened.
“You may confide in me, Payton. Are we not friends?”
Friends? Was that what their unusual relationship was…friendship? The need to unburden welled. “I…” She thrust her fingers into her chignon, tumbling the loose coil from its knot.
“You can trust me,” he coaxed, his piercing gaze steady on her.
“My father has accepted the honorable Jensen St. John, heir to the Viscountcy of Kenilworth’s, offer for my hand in marriage,” she confessed softly.
Mikhail stiffened imperceptibly, a smooth mask descending over his face. “I see. And you object.”
“Yes.” Tears slipped down her cheeks, and she wiped at them with a furious swipe. Do not cry.
“Is your only objection because he is a lord?”
There was a curious undertone in his voice she could not decipher. But he seemed decidedly interested
in her response.
“No! He is a liar who besmirched me to my parents…and even if he had not acted despicably I would have objected!”
Mikhail flinched. It was subtle but unmistakable. He stepped farther into the cottage, and she instinctively created more space between them. He noticed her shift, and a fleeting smile touched his lips, but he honored the distance.
“Tell me,” Mikhail said, strolling to sit on the only table in the cottage, folding his arms across his chest, legs sprawled in a very ungentlemanly manner.
Something hot and uncomfortable hovered in the air between them, and she was too inexperienced to put a name to it. But whatever it was seethed in his eyes, and it reached from him like a caress, kissing against her skin, seducing her to relax her guard and unwind.
She briefly closed her eyes at her ridiculous fancy and walked to the small window of the cottage, leaning her forehead on the cool glass. “I wanted to marry Lord Jensen a few months ago. In fact, I was quite eager. But even before he cried off, the doubts had started. While we had a grand time at balls, and on our carriage rides, I had started to realize Lord Jensen did not care much for my accomplishments. When I tried to share my passion for crafting fairy tales, he smiled indulgently and informed me as a future viscountess I would not have to lower myself to do such works. Aunt Florence had encouraged me to keep silent about my writing, saying the haute monde would think me silly…that Lord Jensen would find my ambitions unbecoming. I am ashamed to say I repressed much of myself to secure a well-made match.”