“I am certain I misheard,” her mother whispered, shock evident in her tone.
“It was an offer for an outing, Mother, not one of marriage.”
“He will believe it indicates a willingness on your part to walk with him,” Aunt Florence said.
A deeper throb started between Payton’s brows. “I said yes, and it would be discourteous of me now to decline.” She would not relent, and if she were to win this argument without her mother descending into hysteria and summoning her father, then mayhap she could win the war to make her decisions with little fuss.
A boom of thunder had everyone jerking, and Payton peeked through the windows. The sky had darkened, and the trees swayed under a sharp gust of wind. It seemed as if the day would be spent indoors and the game of croquet, which had been organized, would be canceled.
“A picnic in this weather would be ill-advised,” Aunt Florence said with a smirk of satisfaction.
She was unfortunately correct. Payton would take the time to work on the illustrations for the twins’ fairy tale and would do her very best not to think of Mikhail’s audacious wink, her mystifying response to it, and the sense of loss she now felt because they would not be able to picnic together. Maybe it was for the best.
With a murmured excuse she swept from the parlor. She headed for the Rose Room, a very secluded and smaller drawing room Jocelyn had insisted Payton commandeer for her personal space to work. She entered, strolling to the windows to draw the golden cords for the drapes.
Oh!
Mikhail was rabble-rousing on the lawn outside with little Lord William, Jocelyn’s nine-year-old brother. The boy shrieked and chortled as Mikhail ran backward to catch the ball soaring in the air. They were playing cricket. Payton stood frozen, soaking in his handsomeness and kindness. Not many would have halted their day’s activities to play with children. Lady Emily, Jocelyn’s thirteen-year-old sister, fisted her hands on her hips, and even from where she stood, Payton could see her bottom lip quivering.
Mikhail picked a wildflower and presented it to her with a flourish and a bow. The frown on Emily’s face vanished, and delight suffused her features, and then with elegance that surprised Payton, Emily dipped into a curtsy. Payton laughed as Mikhail ruined it all by rubbing his knuckles on Emily’s head. A mystified look crossed his face when Lady Emily scowled and stomped away.
She is a girl, you dolt, experiencing her first infatuation, and you just treated her like a little brother.
It was then Payton decided she would prepare to battle her parents for the right to choose a man as heartwarmingly delicious and ordinary as Mikhail. Thunder rumbled, and fat heavy drops of rain descended from the sky, slapping against the glass like pebbles. There were shrieks, and the children and several guests raced from the lawn.
Mikhail remained, tipping his head to the sky, the column of his throat displayed. The strong lines of his jaw were clean-shaven, revealing every arrogant line of his handsome features. He was dressed in dark trousers and an open-neck white linen shirt. Within seconds he was soaked, but he did not move.
Awareness stirred inside as she drank in his virile pose. The shirt plastered to his chest and, even from where she stood, she could see the sculpted hardness of his body. The need to touch him welled, and she bit the inside of her lower lip, hoping to banish the wanton thoughts. Could she draw him so—muscular legs braced apart, head tipped to the darkened sky, the corded arch of his neck begging for someone…for her, to glide her tongue over his skin, tasting him, and then ending the stroke of her tongue at his lips? He lowered his head and unerringly looked right at her.
Oh.
He lifted an eyebrow in challenge, and Payton’s heart lurched. She froze, and they stared at each other for unending seconds. Then he scowled and walked away.
Confusion rushed through her. For a few seconds she’d thought he was just as enthralled by her. Yet now he seemed angry. Maybe it really had been the best thing for the rain to ruin their chance to picnic. For if she was not careful she could once again lead her fanciful heart to pain and disappointment.
Chapter Six
Mikhail surged to wakefulness, his heart thundering in his chest, phantom pain and pleasure twisting through his gut like acid. It had been years since he’d woke in such a state, and he knew what—or better who had caused it—Payton. She made him feel. Her expression as she’d watched him through the windows had been one of yearning. It had been so intense, something primal in Mikhail had unfurled, and the desire to really know her had rushed to the fore.
Who was she really?
For what did she hunger?
What made her happy?
The depth of anger he’d felt at his weakness burned beneath his skin even now. How was it possible he was not able to control the cravings running amok in his body? After being used for Madam Anya’s depraved pleasures, the depth of self-loathing that had filled him because his body had responded against his will had nearly crippled him. He’d dragged himself from the void and had mastered his body’s reactions. But somehow, he was inexplicably unable to bury the need Payton was calling forth.
If he was honest, he would admit he was anticipating seeing her again.
He’d tried to connect on an intimate level with Lady Olga after Madam Anya, and the coldness that had rushed through his soul had manifested outward. No pleadings or overtures of affections had been able to soften him. Since then he’d not made any effort to attempt what was deemed normalcy. It was inevitable for the same thing to happen with Payton if he pursued her. She was not a light-skirt for casual dalliances, so he could not seduce her to simply slake his lust; she would be a conq
uest for marriage.
He pushed from the bed and strolled to the wide Palladian windows. Moonlight bathed the land in an ethereal glow, tempting him to exit the house and take a midnight swim in the lake.
The freezing water would help him clear his head.
With quick movements, he drew on his trousers and tugged a simple shirt from the armoire. He wasted no time slipping his feet into shoes. He opened the door and padded silently along the darkened corridor, then down the winding staircase. The quiet of the house was soothing, and memories of running down these steps with Sebastian and Anthony had Mikhail smiling.
A light wavered in the distance, and he stopped. Sherring Cross was a large estate, and Mikhail’s chamber was well secluded from the rest of the guests. There should be no one up and about in the west wing where his chamber was located. The light appeared closer, and he saw it was a candle flame. Who else would be awake at this hour?
He pressed forward and descended the stairs. The light from the candle was not enough to penetrate the overwhelming dark, and he could not make out the features of the person climbing the steps. The flapping voluminous white nightgown indicated a woman. A faint scent of berries had his nostril flaring. A hiss slipped from beneath his teeth.
He kept his steps light and soundless, while she clambered up the stairs with enough noise to wake the dead. It took him a while to realize she was muttering beneath her breath.
He waited for her to realize he was a mere six steps above her.
“Oh!” She dropped the candelabrum, and darkness enclosed them. There was a flurry of sounds as she rapidly descended the stairs, running from him.
To her credit she had not screamed. But was she not afraid of tripping?
He grabbed the banister and followed. “My apologies, I did not mean to startle you.”
Her footsteps halted. “Mik…Mr. Konstantinovich?”