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“They have danced six dances now,” a voice filled with shock and what sounded like admiration said.
“It is scandalous, that is what it is!”
“I think she is an original.”
This time the notes of admiration were filled with warmth.
“I would say the Duke of Avondale has clearly declared who will be his duchess.”
This tone was filled with envy.
Payton did not care. She could feel Mikhail’s eyes on her; the swell of the gossip murmurings rose, but she was becoming immune to it all. It was freeing to know how little she cared for their opinion in this moment.
“Payton!” The sharp call of her aunt did not deter her, and pure pleasure wrapped itself around her heart as she ignored the head of her family.
She met the eyes of Connie, and a full-blown smile burst on Payton’s lips when the duchess raised her glass of champagne and gave her a mock bow. Payton winked, and Connie laughed, and the ballroom throng witnessed the byplay.
Payton swept from the ballroom to the foyer, ignoring those who tried to signal her attention. She was one of the first guests to depart, and it took little effort for her carriage to be brought around.
She waited until she was settled inside before releasing the laugh she had been suppressing. This night had been perfect…almost. The freedom to act on her feelings had been so rewarding. When she had returned to his arms, uncaring of the world around for the first time she could ever remember, she had felt the crack in the belief she could never fit in his world.
She had soared in his arms, the desperate realization that while she did not want to be a part of the hypocrisy of high society, the easy condemnation and gossip, the desire to be Mikhail’s wife, his lover, his princess and his duchess, had rattled in her head, a hammer to her resistance. And when she took the plunge, society would be the one that needed to fit into her world. A society where there was kindness to the wallflowers, where it was acceptable to invite the bluestocking to her balls, where the gent who possessed two left feet would still be encouraged to waltz, and, if it was her wish, to ride in Hyde Park astride in trousers. The very title she feared had the power for her to act however she wanted, if she would but have the strength to reach for him.
What about never knowing what it is like to touch him? How could she ever hope to defeat such demons?
There was a lurch, and she slipped a bit forward. A few minutes passed, and she stirred. Mayfair, where her father’s town house was located, was not all that far from Connie’s residence. They should have arrived by now. Payton lifted her head and frowned. Was it her imagination that the horses were moving faster? She banged on the carriage roof, and a few seconds later the portal slid open.
“Why have we increased our—?” What?
Dozens of men on horseback surrounded her carriage, and the countryside they raced past was not familiar in the least. Pulling the watch from her pelisse, she gaped at the time. She had been woolgathering for almost an hour.
Fear slithered along her spine. “Stop the carriage,” she ordered, her mind churning with confusion and determination.
Why would the driver detour without informing her? She gasped when a horse trotted alongside the equipage, and she identified Vladimir. She opened the window. “What are you doing? Please order the driver to stop at once.”
“Will you leave the carriage in the middle of nowhere?”
She glared at him. “What is the meaning of this?”
A slight smile quirked his lips. “I am being allowed to atone for my stupidity.”
“By kidnapping me?” For the most awful precious seconds she had thought it could have been Lord Jensen, and she would have to endure a similar fate as Phillipa had when a man who had been obsessed kidnapped her.
Relief pulsed inside, and then a thought occurred. “Are you planning to do away with me for Princess Tatiana?”
Shock flared wide in Vladimir’s eyes to be quickly replaced by amusement.
“No, Miss Peppiwell. Please be assured you have nothing to fear.”
“I am not sure how things are done in Russia, but kidnapping here is a punishable crime.”
The dratted man’s lips twitched.
“I am taking you to Kent at Prince Alexander’s command.”
Payton spluttered at the man’s gall. She slammed the window shut and tried to settle her thoughts. She rocked with the motion of the carriage with a steady sense of anticipation building inside her. Mikhail was being outrageous and so improper. A smile tugged at her lips. She did not want to even imagine the gossip there would be if this got out.
Payton was infuriated. Mikhail really had the temerity to have the bounder Vladimir kidnap her. Was he aware the depth of scandal it could cause if it were ever discovered?
Now, approximately two hours after she had left the ball in London, that he delivered her to one of the most glorious castles she had ever seen, did not detract from his outrageous action. The outriders had broken away from the carriage once the horses trotted into the driveway. Payton descended the carriage to be received by the servants awaiting her arrival.
She felt mystified. The head housekeeper, Mrs. Claxon, took charge in quick order, and introduced Payton to the line of staff, then ushered her inside before escorting her upstairs to the loveliest of chambers, where an elegant maid modestly curtsied, awaiting her orders.
Her cheeks burned. What must they be thinking? Only a woman of loose morals would be at the prince’s house at such a late hour, unaccompanied, yet they treated her with the utmost respect and kindness.
The chamber was decorated in antique gold and blue, with six soaring windows facing the rolling expanse of the green castle grounds. A Parisian chaise lounge upholstered in golden silk stood in the far corner, and one of the most exquisite writing desks Payton had ever seen sat under the windows. She indulged in a bath to remove the sweat and dust of travel and dressed in a matching blue jacket and skirt trimmed in silver, and a soft peach shirt with ruffled sleeves that had been laid out. Payton did not question how her valise had been delivered along with her to the castle.
It seemed he had planned this with great thoroughness.
She marched to the oak armoire and wrenched the door opened. She had several day dresses, riding habits, and even a few ball gowns organized inside.
Good heavens. Did he not plan to return her home?
She stiffened her shoulders and exited the chamber. The majestic beauty of the castle took Payton’s breath away. She toured the lower rooms, seeking Mikhail in the parlor or drawing room. They were decorated in ornate elegance; if the ceilings had not been so high, the mass of detail might have seemed fussy, but the proportions were splendid, and yet the castle seemed very lived-in and comfortable. The rooms were all decorated with elegant furniture in Italian marble and carved mahogany. The windows were covered with sweeping curtains in brocade velvet with the ducal shield displayed in gold braid on each of the tassel-festooned pelmets. The walls were hung with some of the most exquisite paintings she had ever seen. Payton doubted that even the British Museum held such great works of art. The chairs and sofas were upholstered in silk in muted shades of silver and blue in one room and in crimson and gold in the next.
Payton had never seen such a pleasing interior.
She searched for the library or an office, for she refused to believe he would bring her here and not be present. She came upon a room where a faint light shone beneath the door. She rapped on the door, and when no answer came, she opened it and entered.
It was a library. No—it was a world of fantasy and dreams where walls and walls of books rose in three stories of stunning splendor. It was the most magnificent library Payton had ever seen.
“This is so glorious,” she gasped, unable to credit her eyes.
“This is one of the reasons I brought you here.”
She muffled the squeak and spun sharply.
Good heavens.
Mikhail stood in the doorway, obviously having recently
emerged from a bath. He was dressed in formal trousers and jacket, complemented by a blue waistcoat and an expertly tied silken cravat. His black hair was neatly groomed, although slightly damp, without a strand out of place, his blue eyes were cool and distant; he was every inch the aristocrat. Against her own volition she was intrigued by this side of him. This man seemed cold and arrogant…more like a duke or prince than her Mikhail. She was overwhelmingly conscious of how much she had missed him, when only hours before she had been in his arms waltzing.
She loved him utterly.
An unbearable tension wound itself around her heart with the admission.
She buried the flare of pleasure at seeing him and gave him a look of pure disgruntlement. “Did you believe seeing books would make me forgive your deplorable behavior? Disabuse yourself of the notion, Mik—your highness.”
Regret flared in his eyes. “Please do not refer to me as such.”
Her heart softened. “I won’t if that is your wish.”
“I see you have refreshed yourself?”
“Are we to ignore the elephant in the room?”
His lips twitched. “I do not understand your phrase.”
“Very well, are you going to ignore the deplorable behavior I just mentioned?”
He grunted.
“You had me kidnapped.”
Silence stretched between them for a moment.
“Escorted,” he finally said.
She frowned. “To what end? You and I are—”
“Will you dine with me? Dinner will be served within the next hour.”
