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The echoes of rage and pain in his tone had Payton biting her lower lip. She gripped their clasped hands and lifted them to her lips where she pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “You do not have to tell me anymore,” she said hoarsely.
“I can hear the tears in your voice, Payton. I forbid you to pity me.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks, her mind alive with imagining such violations. “I do not pity you. I am deeply sorry—”
His hand tightened on hers.
“Nor will you express sentiments of regret, for you had no hand in causing my pain.”
She nodded, lifting their laced hands to once again kiss his knuckles.
“Are they dead?”
He chuckled. “Bloodthirsty little thing, aren’t you?” Then a beat later he said, “They were punished to the full extent of the law.”
“I am glad,” she said softly.
Was this why he had suffered society’s displeasure? She had a multitude of questions roiling through her, but she tempered them. It could not have been easy for him to confide such a painful experience. It would not do for her to badger him with questions when she could feel the dreadful tension seething from him.
“My kidnapping and torture was a vile scandal that lived in my court for years. I could not bear the touch of another, and it became evident, as I would withdraw from every embrace, or brush of skin, deliberate or accidental. I could not survive allowing anyone close unless I allowed it. I was betrothed to Lady Olga, yet upon my return I could not endure her closeness. Months passed and I still could not. I found her in the arms of another. I understood, and I did not hate her for it, but it made me realize I may never be able to experience normal intimacy.”
Oh.
“Scandal has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. Princess Tatiana compounded it by painting me as a seducer of the worst sort. When I arrived in England, I knew how it would be, the haute monde watching and waiting, young ladies behaving silly just to garner my attention or entrap me. I wanted a break from it all, so I had thoughts to bury myself in Sherring Cross. Then I met you…”
Scandal.
She tightened her fingers on his, and with a tug he pulled from her.
Though she understood, it still hurt.
“I do not know if I will ever be able to suffer your touch,” he admitted in a bleak tone.
Suffer…
She nodded, her throat tight with emotion. How could she ever hope to overcome such memories?
He drew her to him, and though she was sore, she did not protest when he flipped her to her stomach and covered her like a warm sensual blanket, nudging her legs apart with his to slide his thick length impossibly deep within her once again. The groan that pulled from her throat was echoed by Mikhail.
His breath tickled her ear. “Do you believe you will ever consent to walk in my world?”
She closed her eyes and gasped as a tear leaked from her lids. “No.” Their fierce loving had not changed anything. He was still a prince, a duke…and she was still woefully ordinary.
She shifted and grasped the fingers he had clenched on the pillow above her head. His muscles tensed above, and he trembled. It was subtle, but she felt it.
Her heart broke just a bit more. “You cannot bear my touch, Mikhail, and I cannot survive the pain, scandal, and hypocrisy of your world. Why should we trap each other in such an impossible situation?”
Please show me the way, she silently begged.
He remained silent, and she felt when he retreated emotionally from her.
Farewell, Mikhail.
Chapter Sixteen
Cold rain fell in a steady drizzle, wetting him, but Mikhail did not care. He stood on the small front porch of the cottage, gazing into another starless night, Vladimir at his side. Mikhail had woken the second Payton roused from her exhausted slumber. He’d watched her observing him through slitted eyes, pain and regret darkening her lovely features.
The heaviness in his heart was an unbearable weight. You cannot bear my touch…why should we trap each other in such an impossible situation?
She’d dressed as best she could without assistance and then fled the cottage, racing away on Aeton. He’d dressed, appreciating the coldness encasing his heart. It pushed against the dart of slashing pain stuck within. Mikhail could not guess how long he’d remained outside in the cold before Vladimir had ridden to join him.
“Miss Peppiwell has left Sherring Cross,” Vladimir said into the quiet of the night.
“I know.”
“Forgive me for interfering in a situation I had not comprehended,” Vladimir said hoarsely. “The princess is a friend, and I believed her, when I should have known you would never act with such dishonor.”
Mikhail remained silent.
“Won’t you go after Miss Peppiwell?”
“I told her of Madam Anya, but Payton still left.”
The man’s eyes widened, and the awareness of what Payton meant to him must have penetrated, for Vladimir blanched.
“Forgive my interference.”
“The fault does not lie with you…but with me. Society bows to my wealth and influence, but she does not care for it.”
I will not survive your world. She had sounded so final, yet she had given herself to him. Even now she could be with his child. Fierce possessiveness gripped Mikhail’s heart.
“That is very unusual,” Vladimir said.
Yes, one of the very aspects that had drawn him to her fire was also serving to keep her from him.
Another rider emerged from the dark, and Calydon brought his horse to a stop and dismounted.
“Leave us,” Mikhail ordered.
With a nod, Vladimir departed, greeting Calydon before mo
unting his horse and riding back to the house.
His cousin approached with measured steps, his eyes assessing Mikhail.
“Payton has left Sherring Cross. Her parents are firmly on her heels, no doubt eager to drag her back to accept your offer.”
Mikhail grunted.
“I am certain you have more to say,” Calydon said with a lifted brow.
He joined him on the steps, a bottle of brandy clutched firmly in his hands. Calydon handed it to him, and Mikhail took a deep swig, letting the burn slide down his throat and settle in his belly.
“Will you go after her?”
“No.” He had seen the pain in her eyes when he did not allow her to touch him. It had been the same with Lady Olga, and she had only withstood the distance for a few months before breaking from him in tears. How long would it take Payton?
“Why not?”
“She does not want me.” Impossible, his heart taunted. The woman who had surrendered to him so sweetly, with such ardor, needed him, just not the trappings of society.
“Is it because of what happened with Madam Anya?”
“Yes…no… Who the hell knows?” You are a prince and that is the only reason she is rejecting you. And the most painful part of his admission was that he understood. There had been days when he walked through the halls of the Russian court, and the rabid and shocked whispers had gutted him. When his aversion to touch had been realized by those he flinched from—his family and friends—pity had been mixed with the curiosity, urging him to shun society. But he’d refused to bow to weakness and had shrouded himself in cold distance from it all—pity, curiosity, love, and understanding. “Payton believes there is no hope for us. She cannot imagine being my princess and duchess, and she does not believe I will ever be able to endure her touch.”
He handed the bottle of brandy to Calydon.
“You can force society to accept her.”
“I do not want to,” Mikhail said. “I would prefer to show Payton she does not need society’s approval, and it is hers they will need to gain. As my princess, my duchess, she will have more influence that she can comprehend.”
