by Stacy Reid
The clapping sound of hooves echoed from outside, and a minute later the door to the cottage opened. She could feel his searing gaze, but she did not turn around.
“Leave us and return to the estate,” Mikhail said flatly.
She turned to see to whom he spoke and espied Vladimir poised in the doorway of the cottage behind him.
Mikhail moved toward her with purposeful strides.
“Stay where you are,” she said hoarsely.
He stopped, regret darkening his eyes. “Payton, I—”
“What is all this?” She lifted the book and pointed to the cleaned room with its fresh curtains and bedsheets.
“I had planned for us to speak here.”
Though she knew, she needed to hear it from his lips. “You are titled?”
He schooled his features into a neutral mask, but she could see the guilt in his eyes.
“Yes.”
She clenched her hands over the book to prevent their obvious shaking. “You are a prince, a duke, and not a man of affairs or an advisor to Calydon?”
“Payton, I—”
“Answer me!” Her voice came out like a snarl, ferocious enough that he halted the movement of reaching for her.
He flicked a glance to Vladimir, positioned near the entrance of the cottage, pretending he was not listening with rapt interest. With a bow, he gracefully exited and closed the door with a soft snick. The deference shown to Mikhail only served to incense her further.
“You are a prince, and you are engaged to wed a princess.” And Payton had almost given him her virtue like a wanton harlot. The clenching pain around her heart was unbearable.
“I am not engaged. Princess Tatiana tried to compromise me into marrying her, and I refused.”
She remembered the implication of the princess patting her stomach. “But she is with child.”
He stepped closer, and she backed away.
“Her child is not mine, and I have no intention of marrying Princess Tatiana.”
Payton was angry at the surge of relief pulsing in her veins. “You told my family of your background, knowing they would pressure me into such an elevated union.”
He closed his eyes. “Payton, I—”
“Is your name even Mikhail?”
His jaw visibly clenched. “I am Prince Alexander Mikhail Konstantinovich Dashkova, the Count of Montgomery, and the Duke of Avondale.”
Payton’s heart pounded. “Why did you lie to me?”
“My reasons for wanting anonymity had nothing to do with you.” There was a wealth of pain in his voice that tugged at her heart.
“It was my intention to remain from the prying eyes of society for several months. I simply wanted peace, and I then met you. I…I did not hate the thought of you touching me, and I was not sure what I felt, so I decided to take the time to know you. No woman has ever looked at me and not seen the privileged life I could give her. When we met, Payton, I could see the attraction in your eyes, and you felt this without knowing if I had a farthing to my name. I realized I could pursue you simply as a man and not a prince, a duke, who the haute monde was already clamoring to meet, and I acted on the desire. I never meant to hurt you.”
And I wanted you because you had no expectation of me to behave in a ladylike fashion. “From what did you want peace?”
“Society,” he said flatly. “Scandals, gossips, young ladies doing all in their power to compromise me.”
“Thank you for being honest. I will implore you to leave this cottage.”
He flinched. “Did you want me when you believed I was an ordinary man?”
Yes. Her throat closed on the answer.
“Tell me you didn’t want me then, and I will leave you alone,” he said with shivering intensity.
Payton swallowed, her heart jerking as he started to shrug from his jacket. Good Heavens. “Mikhail, I—”
“Answer me,” his voice lashed at her.
Emotions clogged her throat. “I wanted you…and I wanted to marry you.” She pushed the painful admission past her throat.
“I am the same man, Payton.”
How could he believe so? The man standing before her now, although he was dressed casually, had power rolling off him. Penetrating, cool blue eyes stared at her. The change should have been subtle, but the imperious bearing screamed. All the hopes and dreams she had harbored about them in the dark corners of her heart had been smashed into thousands of pieces.
“Maybe,” she whispered. “But I have no doubt you would eventually be dissatisfied with your choice.”
“An impossibility that is so ludicrous it does not bear discussion. I could never be unhappy with you; you are genuine, a breath of fresh air I want to inhale and keep trapped in my lungs. People always behave differently when they know who I am. All they can see is the title and the wealth. Not me, Payton. They never see me. You did.”
What about my touch, Mikhail? You said you did not hate my touch, but I still cannot hold you.
He reached for her, and she jerked away. “Your sentiments only drive home your ridiculous reason for deceiving me.”
“I…” He thrust his fingers through his hair, and a look of frustration crossed his face. “Do you love me?”
Yes. “What does that matter?”
“I esteem you more than any woman I have ever known.”
Not love. Would it have mattered if he spoke of tender feelings? Payton glared at him, unable to credit what she was hearing. “You have insulted me in the worst possible manner, and yet you stand here telling me I should believe that you esteem me?”
His mouth flattened with impatience. “How have I insulted you?”
Temper lit in her veins. “You have touched me, kissed me—” Her voice broke, and she took seconds to rein in her emotions. “You did not trust me with your identity, because you believed me to be the kind of woman to be incapable of holding affection only for you, because you are a prince and a duke. You believed this from our very first meeting. I could understand hiding your titles that first day in the cottage, but you made no effort to confide in me in the days after we met. It is a wonder you want to marry me, when you think so little of my character. You made me believe there was a chance of an ordinary life with you. You made me yearn for your kisses, hunger for your touch, dream of having a son with your eyes, a daughter with your smile, knowing you would never be able to give me the life I desire…a life you were fully aware I craved. This only reveals to me you care so little for the things I desire for my life.”
He flinched, and an emotion akin to despair flashed in the depth of his eyes. “Give me a chance to make amends. It was never my intention to hurt you, and I swear I will do all in my power to give you the life you crave. I have enough wealth so you can live how you please, do whatever you desire.”
Was such a thing possible with him? Her heart wavered, and she snapped her spine straight. A few pretty words would not make her resolve change. “No.”
A ruthless determination settled on his face. “Is there the possibility you can love me?”
I fear I already do. She shook her head in confusion. “What do you want from me?”
“Marry me, be my princess, my duchess, and I swear you will never want for anything.”
Pain twisted in her heart. He was a prince, a duke; he would rub shoulders with the highest of the haute monde. She would never fit into his world. She wanted to scream at him. Everything had been so perfect when he had been common. “I am not polished enough to be your princess or your duchess. You will be called to court and Parliament, be expected to host balls and political meetings, and I cannot envision such a life for myself.”
His eyes were steady on Payton; her carefully constructed mask of indifference was on the verge of crumbling.
“Then simply be my wife…my lover, and my friend.”
An inarticulate murmur slipped from her at the raw hunger in his eyes. Yes, her heart screamed, but her lips would not agree. The anxiety of trapping hersel
f in such a world clamped around her heart, but the dread of losing him forever made her knees wobble. “I need time to think,” she gasped hoarsely.
He prowled closer; the sheer force of his magnetism and will pressed in on her, arousing fear and the heady sense of primal desire in equal measure.
He cupped her cheeks, the gentleness of his touch at odds with the emotions that darkened his gaze to cobalt. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and her breath hitched. Tilting her head more, he kissed her, a simple meeting of lips, an exchange of breath, without demand. “Be my lover and wife, Payton. That is all I ask. I will shield you from everything else.” His voice was a low soothing murmur, coaxing her to say yes and succumb to all the temptations and delight he had to offer.
She reached up and clasped the hands cupping her cheeks, and he froze. Denial roiled through her blood. “Except my touch. You said you also pursued me because you did not hate the idea of me touching you. But you still deny me the pleasure of learning you, threading our fingers together as we stroll by the lake, the comfort of holding you when you despair, the simple joy of hugging you when I am happy.” She dropped her hand, a different type of pain pulling at her heart. “Tell me, Mikhail, will you allow me to touch you eventually?”
Awful silence.
She tried to step back, and he drew her close.
“No, do not pull from me,” he said, kissing the corner of her mouth.
Awareness hummed in her veins. “I must. You tempt me with a life in which I know I will find despair.”
“I am falling in love with you, Payton. You are the first woman to make me hunger for the feel of your touch, the first to make me laugh so easily, and the only one to make me dream of idle days by the fire, or in bed, wrapped around you, drowning in your scent as I drive you to completion. You tempt me to relinquish control to you. Never before have I possessed such thoughts.”
A dangerous thrill shot through her and, before she could respond, he kissed her. She allowed the fire of lust to consume her world, willingly burning away the doubt and hurt, to only bask in the moment of sheer pleasure, for she would never again feel such joy in a man’s arms.
His lips devoured her, and he stroked his tongue in her mouth with ruthless persuasion. But his touch at her nape and hip was a gentle caress, a soothing glide over her fevered flesh in the midst of the storm into which his sensual assault drew her.
She clasped his shoulders, and he pulled from her. Gripping her hands, he kissed her knuckles, then lowered them to her side and pushed them behind her, holding her hands at her back in a gentle but ironclad clasp. The move thrust her breast outward, an offering for him to touch and taste.
“I cannot allow you to touch me.” Regret and pain swirled in his gaze.
Her heart thudded. “I know,” she said.
“I am going to take you.”
A soft whimper escaped her lips. “I know.”
“And I will bind you to my bed when I do so.”
Danger and anticipation prickled along her senses. “Once again you are speaking too much.”
His low laugh created a sweet ache that filled her chest. He released her hands and stepped away from her. Then he tugged at his simple cravat, pulling it from his neck. His eyes, glittering and aroused, pinned her to the spot. Mikhail moved behind her, unbuttoned and unlaced her corset and the tapes to her petticoats, and pushed them from her hips. In complete silence he removed stays, chemise, stockings, and drawers. Payton trembled when she stood wantonly naked, his comforting weight pressing into her from behind.
“Everything in me is urging me to lift you to the bed and place you on your knees and elbows, sink my cock into you, and give you pleasure until you are trembling from the intensity,” he said softly at her nape, licking along the arch of her throat.
The images that erupted in Payton’s mind had a distinct appeal, and her breathing fractured, and in utter shock she could feel the moisture pooling between her legs.
“But I find I cannot bear the idea of not seeing your eyes, your face blushing with passion, another anomaly I endure when it comes to you, Payton.”
He encircled her wrists, and the silken press of his cravat glided against her skin as he bound her wrists together at her back. Her awareness of him was acute and intense.
He tugged, testing the knot’s firmness. Then he removed the pins from her hair, tumbling the heavy coil to her lower back. He glided around her and barely placed his lips against hers. The caress was subtle, but Payton felt as if he breathed her in.
“If you ever want me to release your bonds, call me Alexander.”
Then the kiss grew deeper, and her heart raced, for the intensity of his mouth as it roved over hers bespoke need, a claiming.
He glided the tips of his fingers over her hips, up her side with firm pressure, leaving fire in his wake. She moaned, leaning farther into his caress, instinctively tugging at the restraints, needing to twine herself around him and hold him to her.
She sobbed into his kiss as the visceral need was denied, but was drawn into a vortex of pulse-pounding pleasure as he ravaged her lips.
He cupped her breast, flicking a thumb over her straining nub. Oh, his touch. It is glorious. Her nipple beaded, and the delicious throb started low between her thighs. As if he sensed her rising need, he nudged her legs wide, snaked his hand down, and cupped her most intimate part. Then he stroked her, and Payton’s knees nearly gave.
She pulled from their kiss, dropping her forehead to his shoulder as he continued his wicked torment. His fingers were magical as he strummed and caressed her straining knot of pleasure, before sliding two fingers deep…and deliciously hard.
He murmured soothing reassurances when she jerked at the sharp lash of pleasure and pain. Payton arched, lifting to her toes, and bit into his shoulder through his jacket, a sob of need hissing through her teeth.
“Release my hands,” she pleaded with a whimper. She desperately needed an anchor, needed to touch him, to hold onto anything that would help her ride the waves of sensations coursing through her body.
“No.”
Mikhail nudged her legs wide and pushed his fingers deeper, stroking her over and over. The sensations peaked in her belly, and she started to tremble. On a wordless cry, Payton let ecstasy consume her, shuddering as waves of release rolled through her.
“Are you well?” The sensual rasp of his voice calmed her, soothing the edges of raw need that still lingered.
“You are still clothed.” Her voice was thick with arousal.
He eased from her, and she glanced up into his shuttered eyes.
What is it?
He removed his waistcoat and shirt with quick movements, baring his wonderfully sculpted chest. She gasped as he gripped her by the hips and lifted. Payton instinctively circled his thighs with her legs to prevent herself from falling. Her bound hands did not allow her to clasp him for purchase. Strong arms came around her back and hips, holding her to him until he settled into the winged-back chair near the fire.
He eased her off his lap ever so slightly and undid the buttons to his trousers. It was then she realized he would not fully undress, that he would eschew all form of skin on skin contact, for he settled her on his thighs and positioned her so she could not lean on his naked flesh.
A hard brush of velvet steel caressed against her, and she lowered her eyes to his lap.
Her breath caught audibly at his thick length. She wanted to explore him, to feel his vitality in her palm. The ache in her heart grew unbearable.
“I wish…”
He skimmed a light caress over her trembling lips. “I know,” he said, his voice low and rough, but unyielding.
He lowered his hand from her cheek, leaned forward and reached behind her, gripping the middle of the tied cravat. Then he pulled her into him and slanted his lips over hers. They kissed tenderly…and deeply. With a soft moan she parted her lips for him, allowing the passion to sweep her away, burying the flare of hurt of not being able to touch
him.
His other hand slid over her buttocks and squeezed, before drifting around to her heated center, sliding a finger deep, never releasing her lips from their heated embrace.
It was the only part of her he allowed to cling to him with such fervor, and even as she trembled at the devastating pleasure peaking with every slide and dip of his fingers, she coaxed his lips to never release hers. Each kiss went deeper, lingered longer, connecting them on a more profound level of intimacy than she’d ever explored with him. Each kiss communicated regret and longing, hurt and acceptance. And God help her, but she felt the burning love.
The steady drops of rain against the windows, his taste, his scent, the beat of her heart, the firm caress against her nub of pleasure pounded delight through her veins. Her eyes fluttered open and she rode the pleasure, staring into the dark desire in his eyes.
He shifted, widening her legs bracketing his thighs, and the thick, broad edge of his erection nudged at her soft wetness. A dull aching pulse began to throb between her thighs. Sweat coated her skin; she trembled on him and, with a soft sigh, she arched and let him in, accepting the penetration.
For she could do nothing but submit to the yearning desire simmering between them.
Chapter Fifteen
Mikhail needed to obliterate the pain in her golden eyes, wanted to brand her with passion so she was not capable of leaving. The relentless need to claim her irrevocably as his, rose hot and powerful inside. She was becoming everything to him, and he did not want to lose her, not her stubbornness, her fierce pride, or her captivating mix of vulnerability and strength.
Her hair, as rich as autumn leaves, flowed down her back, and her eyes glowed with wanton heat. Holding her gaze, he pulled her onto his aching length slowly and relentlessly. She was so damned tight. Sweat beaded his brow. Her teeth sank into her plump bottom lip, and her beautiful eyes glittered with apprehension and arousal. Mikhail slid his hand along the curves of her thighs, worshipping the feel of her lush body, up to her hips, round to the globes of her ass where he tightened his grip.
