Arrgh, cease!
Mikhail tried to subdue his lurid thoughts. Probably he needed to step outside into the squall and endure the frigid rain to clear his head. Miss Peppiwell’s hair jerked from his grasp as she glanced at him quickly, then away to gaze into the fire. More than once she’d shifted to peek up at him while clutching the blanket to her throat, her exquisite heart-shaped face filled with desire…and uncertainty.
The aroma of berries wafted on a gentle breeze to his nose, and he prevented himself from inhaling her scent further. She was already afraid of him. Her eyes flicked across the room in a quick assessment, and he noted her lingering gaze on the iron poker by the roaring fire. She heard his low chuckle, for she looked back to him, a cool expression hiding the fear she had flinched with earlier.
She was no wilting miss. He saw the defiant courage and was impressed. Many young ladies would have been beyond hysteria by now, liberally indulging in swooning fits and the vapors, considering he was not successfully hiding the lust slicing at his self-control.
The silence lingering between them, as he lifted the heavy mass of her hair to blot the final wetness from it, was tense. How could he put her at ease? First he had to rein in the blasted hunger twisting in his gut. He had more control of his passions than he was currently displaying.
She sneezed into the blanket, three times in quick succession.
There was no kitchen or parlor or a hearth for cooking. He vaguely remembered playing games in his youth here with Sebastian and Anthony when they had wanted to escape the main house. “We may have stumbled upon the cottage in which the Calydon children played.”
“I think you are right.”
Though she sounded relieved he had started a discourse, she was ramrod stiff in the chair.
“Your hair will not fully dry, however, most of the wetness is dealt with. I’m regretful to say I see no teapot or any liquor to help you with the chill.”
She graced him with a wobbly smile. “We will simply make do with our sparse accommodations. It was fortuitous you found the cottage when it was needed. The horse I rode, he is your stallion?”
He hesitated. “Yes, I trained him as a gift to Calydon.”
“He is a magnificent animal. I pray he will return safely to the stables.”
“Sage will be fine,” Mikhail reassured. “He is well trained.”
“That is what you do, train horses?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
Her gaze narrowed. It was hard to not miss the intelligence and curiosity lurking in her gaze. “You train horses, or you do not, there is no ‘in a manner of’ about it.”
“It is one of the things I do.” Mikhail was careful to keep the amusement from his tone. He could imagine what it would be like if he revealed himself to be a prince. Miss Peppiwell would probably start to scream, if only to bring attention to their location to ensure she entrapped him for marriage. Not that he was foolishly tempted to reveal his identity.
He’d sought his cousin’s estate to get away from the oppressive weight of society’s expectations, and the fact that he would soon be immersing himself in England’s haute monde, a place he had not entered since Madam Anya’s perfidy. He’d had enough vile rumors to deflect in his own homeland and had shunned the haute monde whenever he visited England, but now Mikhail had little choice. Everyone was expecting to meet the new Duke of Avondale.
They would simply have to wait. He’d lived with depraved scandal for years and had just escaped another. The realization that, if he were not careful now, Mikhail could land himself back in the dark mire of vicious rumors and unending ignominy, set his teeth on edge.
Hell. It had been an unpleasant shock to find Sherring Cross bursting at the seams with the very guests he had wanted to avoid until it became absolutely necessary. Lady Calydon was hosting a small, intimate house party, which unfortunately coincided with Mikhail’s arrival. He craved a few months of peace without the trappings of society, and he was not about to compromise it because of Miss Peppiwell’s unease, but he would do everything possible to make her relax.
A sigh escaped her, drawing his attention to her lovely face.
“And what else do you do?”
“I sometimes advise others on estate matters,” he answered vaguely.
A quick frown flashed across her face. “I see. Like a financial advisor?”
“Yes.”
She pushed strands of wet hair off her cheeks. “And you provide this service for the Duke of Calydon?” Her shoulders had relaxed a bit, but her eyes still glowed with wariness.
“I have advised him on several estate and financial matters over the years.”
Her direct stare was unwavering. “And you also do this for other lords?”
Mikhail thought of his father, brothers, and other cousins. Even the recently crowned Tsarevich Alexander had solicited Mikhail’s expertise because of his acumen with money.
“Yes.”
“And were you invited to Lady Calydon’s house party?” Miss Peppiwell’s voice trembled, but her eyes were challenging.
“No, my presence at Sherring Cross is a happy coincidence.” He doubted he hid the inflection of sarcasm from his tone, but she nodded, seeming satisfied.
“I promise you no harm, Miss Peppiwell.” Mikhail kept his voice low and crooning, as if speaking to one of his horses. “As soon as the rain lessens, I will ensure you are returned to the main house discreetly before the guests rise.”
It would not bode well if those in attendance realized he and Miss Peppiwell had been alone for any duration.
Her eyes sparkled with rancor. “I have learned all too well the perfidy of promises; I have no faith in them.”
Ah. Already jaded. For one so young, it was a pity. “You can have faith in mine.”
A subtle tremor flowed through her limbs, and incredulity flashed in her eyes. “I think not,” she all but growled, then ruined her ferocity by sneezing.
His fingers brushed against the exposed skin at her nape, and she flinched. Their conversation was not relaxing her at all. The awareness of how worried she must be killed all his longings of lust, attacking his resistance mercilessly. “You have no need to fear my presence, Miss Peppiwell.”
She gave him an assessing glance, then lifted her chin a notch. “I am not afraid.”
So her method was not to admit fear lest he saw it as a weakness. His admiration rose. He strolled to the fireplace and collected the poker. She watched him with a frown that broke into a cautious smile when he handed it to her.
“I see,” she said, her eyes now dancing with humor. “This is you giving me permission to defend myself, if you should do anything untoward?”
The transformation to her features when she relaxed was astonishing. Mikhail was used to beauty, but Miss Peppiwell’s unique charms had a delightful effect on his senses. The young lady also seemed unaware of her own desirability. There was no predatory calculation in her eyes, no smoldering glances from beneath lowered lashes. Was that because she was not aware of his wealth and stature? If he were to reveal himself, would she change? The thought left him cold. “Yes, I am granting you permission if you feel threatened in any manner.”
Her lips twitched. “You are brave indeed, sir. I may think your provoking stares are untoward,” she said teasingly.
It had been more than a decade since he had felt such an interest in a woman. But then, it had been years since any lady had looked at him without avarice glittering in her eyes. Belonging to one of the most prominent families in Russia was not as fortuitous as it seemed. He liked being able to pretend normality with her. It gave him freedom to speak and act in a manner in which he ordinarily would not allow.
“Allow me to make amends for the unintentional impropriety of my actions. Will you picnic with me later today, if the rain stops?”
“You want to take me on a picnic?” She queried with undisguised bemusement.
Mikhail himself was startled when the words escaped his l
ips. He should be doing anything to place distance between himself and this enticing female. His one true purpose should be to hide his identity, not compromise it by wooing a woman. It would not do for the scandal he left at home to follow him to London. She was destroying his common sense. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Your charm has delighted me, and I wish to spend more time in your company.” What the hell was he saying?
She appeared nonplussed, before her enticing lips stretched into a wide smile. An irrepressible dimple appeared, and he wanted to kiss it. Mikhail almost snorted at his fanciful thoughts.
“I would enjoy a picnic, but my parents will object to you calling on me.” A quick frown settled on her face. “I…please ignore what I said. I would be delighted.”
He nodded, a curious feeling shifting inside him. He had not expected her to agree to his impulsive invitation. He tried to assess the need that had prodded him to ask her and was frustratingly blank. This was so unlike him, tension wove its way into his gut.
“Please turn and go to the far corner. I need to make myself presentable.”
After wrapping her hair in the second towel, he walked to the wall farthest from her and closed his eyes. Sounds shuffled in the cottage, and it was a testament to his needs that he could make out the distinct noise over the pounding rain. He bit back a groan when he heard the blanket slither to the ground. More rustles, and then a soft gasp from her, no doubt the shock of the wet clothes on her skin.
“You can turn around.”