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Anger darkened Lord Jensen’s mien, and he dismounted, striding to her swiftly. “Do you understand the precarious position you placed your reputation in with your reckless little racing adventure? As your—” He broke off, his eyes narrowing on her lips. “Has this bounder kissed you?”
Payton stiffened in outrage. “My lord, you have overstepped your bounds.”
“I know how your lips appear when they have been well kissed, for I have tasted from them enough times to know,” Lord Jensen growled, anger mottling his face.
Mikhail subtly tensed.
Her heart pounded, and mortification twisted in her. Lord Jensen’s words made it appear as if she were a wanton who traded kisses with any man to pay attention to her.
“I…” Tears pricked behind her lids, and he reached for her.
“Do not touch her.” Though spoken softly, Mikhail’s words were infused with cold command, freezing Lord Jensen.
Payton did not wait to observe his reaction to Mikhail’s order. “Excuse me,” she snapped, and raced past Lord Jensen to her horse.
“Do not presume to tell me I cannot touch my fiancée,” Lord Jensen hissed.
Payton stumbled. Fiancée?
Gripping the reins of her horse, she faced him, her heart thundering in her ears. He was here because her father sent for him.
No. Her father wouldn’t. He had always been her ally in the war with her mother and aunt. She glanced at Mikhail. He stood with his feet braced apart, his hands thrust deep into his pockets his eyes remote and carefully masked.
Call on me. She mouthed the words, and tenderness pierced her when a slow smile curved his lips.
Mikhail strolled over, gripped her hips, and helped seat her on Aeton.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and rode away ignoring Lord Jensen’s shout for her to wait for his escort.
She prayed his presence did not mean what she feared, but somehow she knew it did, and the battle she had planned for independence seemed as if it had arrived far sooner than she anticipated.
Chapter Nine
Payton sequestered herself in her room for the rest of the afternoon. She had even declined to luncheon with the rest of the guests, furiously writing down all the reasons she wanted to choose her own husband. Her mother would ignore them, but her father would at least lend a listening ear. Or so she hoped.
Aunt Florence had barged into Payton’s chamber earlier, a whirlwind of excitement, and informed her Lord Jensen St. John was in the smaller parlor. Knowledge of what awaited settled in her stomach like bad ale; he was the last man she wanted an audience with today.
A luncheon tray had been sent to her room, and she had kept him waiting while she ate. After much haranguing from her mother, Payton dressed in a simple lime green day gown, caught her hair in a loose chignon without the aid of a maid, and slipped her feet into walking slippers.
A mere hour later, she moved with determined steps to the parlor.
“I urge you to give him a fair hearing, my dear,” her aunt murmured.
Payton cast a glance down the dimly lit corridor, hoping she could stumble and sprain her ankle, saving her from the conversation about to happen. “Do you know what he wishes to speak of, Aunt?”
Aunt Florence clasped Payton’s arm and gave her an encouraging smile. “I have some idea.”
Denial surged inside Payton. It was Aunt Florence’s shoulder she had cried on so piteously when he’d distanced himself without even a letter. Why had she expected her aunt to be loyal? “Aunt, I cannot—”
“Give him a chance, my dear. At least listen to what he has to say with an open heart. And know your father has already given his blessing.”
With a gentle squeeze of her hand, Aunt Florence stepped back. Nervous energy coursed through Payton, and she took a calm breath, opened the door to the parlor, and sauntered in as if she had not a care in the world. A soft snick sounded, and she faltered. Her aunt had closed the door and left her alone with the dratted man.
Since being jilted she’d received several propositions, from amusing to really vulgar, with which she had dealt with cool aplomb. Yet to see Lord Jensen in the parlor waiting for her with an air of confident expectation had sweat breaking on her brow. “Lord Jensen, this is a charming surprise.” The lie soured on her tongue, but she would be pleasant and ladylike, and would be as firm as possible in denying his request for reacquaintance without being abrasive. “Why have you requested an audience?”
“Payton—”
“Miss Peppiwell,” she said with a tight smile.
“There was a time you allowed me more than simply calling you by your given name,” he insinuated softly.
Her heart lurched. “And there was a time I thought you a gentleman with honor who was worth according such liberties. Alas, we must learn to live with disappointment.” Three kisses. And she was glad she had not allowed more despite his gentle persuasions.
A look of discomfort flashed across his face. “This is why I wish to speak with you so urgently.”
He had the gall to pat a section of the sofa beside him.
She moved across the room and sat on the chaise farthest away from him. Annoyance shafted through her when he launched to his feet and rushed to her side, kneeling down, gripping her hands. Good lord.
“I admire you most ardently,” Lord Jensen said with an earnestness that would have charmed her several months ago. “I have been foolish, Pay—Miss Peppiwell—and I beg your forgiveness. Nothing would make me happier than if you would consent to be my wife.”
Lord Jensen did not admire her. How could he even think she would believe such a thing possible after his atrocious behavior?
Please do not let their ears be pressed to the door. Payton would not be able to endure the anger of her mother and her Aunt Florence at such an early hour. She stood and, with deliberate steps, she walked to the door and opened it.
Thank heavens.
After ensuring her aunt had not lingered in the hall, Payton returned to the parlor. She smiled gently and regretted it immediately. The look of anxiety in his eyes dispelled, when she had only smiled in hopes of lessening the sting of her rejection. “Please, my lord, stand.”
He stood and sat beside her on the chaise, clasping her fingers. Payton withdrew her hand, uncaring that she might offend him.
She searched for polite words to decline his offer. “Your offer is indeed generous, and I thank you for making it, but I cannot marry you. Please believe me when I say I take no pleasure in causing you discomfort.”
“I love you, and from our many walks I believe you return my heartfelt affections.”
She found him singularly lacking. “While I appreciate your sentiments and the courage it must have taken for you to declare yourself, I do not return your heartfelt affections.”
“What?” He looked genuinely bewildered and hurt. “I love you, Payton.”
She searched for the spark of interest, that sweet feeling of delight, and only felt regret for lost time and a possible friendship. “Forgive me for causing you pain. It is not my intention. But I hold no such affections for you, and I cannot marry you, Lord Jensen.”
It seemed as if her words finally penetrated, because he froze, and the utter shock that filled his eyes had tension shifting through her.
“I do not think you understand,” he said, lips tightening, all affable charm vanishing. “I am offering to make you my future viscountess, despite your lack of recommendations.”
She stiffened, knowing what was about to come. The reminder of her supposed inferior circumstances. “I have given you my answer, my lord.”
He puffed up like an angry bird. “Who do you think you are to reject me?”
Her palm itched to slap the look of condescending hauteur from his face. She rose and graced him with a polite smile. “Good day.”
He rushed to her, grabbing her hands. He pressed a fervent kiss to her cheek, and she jerked from him. “Lord Jensen, please conduct yourself like a gentleman,?
?? she snapped, thoroughly angered by his persistence.
“I cannot stay away from you, Payton, I ache for you.”
She narrowed her eyes in warning. “You are aching for a slap, my lord, one I will not hesitate to give.”
He placed his hands over his heart as if she had pierced him. “Why are you being so stubborn? You said yes to my offer last year, and we never called off our engagement.”
The depth of rage that surged through Payton rendered her speechless for precious seconds.
Seconds he used to tug her closer. “Your father has already given me his blessing.”
She yanked her hand away from him. “How dare you,” she whispered.
“Payton, I—”
“Be silent!”
He flushed, and awareness of her anger seeped into his eyes. A look of regret and possibly shame chased his features, but nothing softened inside of her.
