The Accidental Princess
The Accidental Princess
Michelle Willingham
From dutiful debutante…Lieutenant Michael Thorpe is a forbidden temptation for Lady Hannah Chesterfield. Etiquette demands Hannah ignore the shivers of desire his wicked gaze provokes, but he’s the only man to recognise her restless spirit, and her unawakened body is clamouring for his touch… …to passionate princess!They are thrown together by scandal, and a defiant Hannah joins Michael on an adventure to uncover the secret of his birth – is this common soldier really a prince? If so, will the ordinary man who has taught Hannah the meaning of pleasure now make her his royal bride?
‘Tell me to stop.’
But she didn’t. She had broken so many rules today.
His gaze was heated, his eyes burning with a warning she couldn’t heed. Something about this man drew her in, tantalising her with the promise of physical pleasure.
‘Don’t stop. I need this…’ Hannah didn’t even understand what she was asking for.
‘So innocent.’ His mouth moved over her skin, caressing her with his warm breath. As before, her body came alive, needing him to touch. To taste.
Michael pulled her against him, though he didn’t hold her tight. ‘This is your last chance to run away. I’m not above taking what’s offered.’
‘Show me what it’s supposed to be like,’ she murmured.
The words were all the encouragement he needed, and he covered her breathless mouth with his own. Instinct took over and Hannah kissed him back, ignoring every warning that flew into her mind. She didn’t care. Soon enough, she’d never see him again.
And, by Heaven, if she was going to be ruined after today she might as well have a memory to show for it.
The Accidental Princess
Michelle Willingham
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
About the Author
MICHELLE WILLINGHAM grew up living in places all over the world, including Germany, England and Thailand. When her parents hauled her to antiques shows in manor houses and castles Michelle entertained herself by making up stories and pondering whether she could afford a broadsword with her allowance. She graduated summa cum laude from the University of Notre Dame, with a degree in English, and received her master’s degree in Education from George Mason University. Currently she teaches American History and English. She lives in south-eastern Virginia with her husband and children. She still doesn’t have her broadsword.
Visit her website at: www.michellewillingham.com, or e-mail her at michelle@michellewillingham.com
Previous novels by this author:
HER IRISH WARRIOR
(#ulink_755209d6-b1b6-545d-9145-ace319b3adb1)
THE WARRIOR’S TOUCH
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HER WARRIOR KING
(#ulink_755209d6-b1b6-545d-9145-ace319b3adb1)
HER WARRIOR SLAVE
(#ulink_31a58c85-102c-5421-94f7-2b8545667a7f)
THE ACCIDENTAL COUNTESS
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Also available in eBook format inMills & Boon® Historical Undone:
THE VIKING’S FORBIDDEN LOVE-SLAVE
THE WARRIOR’S FORBIDDEN VIRGIN
AN ACCIDENTAL SEDUCTION
(#ulink_ccda03db-525b-5493-8e6f-4bdf0cb5cdb5)
(#ulink_be08b411-b598-595d-bd7e-d026d57444d8)The MacEgan Brothers
(#ulink_582d6aec-09fc-56a8-a22a-294636367410) prequel to The MacEgan Brothers trilogy
(#ulink_96d732ab-be33-590f-a2fd-60d9e0a3a043) linked by character
Author Note
I’ve always loved princess stories, ever since I was a little girl. I devoured Grimm’s fairytales and other classics such as A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett and The Prince and the Pauper by Mark Twain. I wanted to explore the idea of a soldier hero, Michael Thorpe, who looks nearly identical to a crown prince. Throughout the book Michael must question his past and discover whether he was an illegitimate son or the true prince.
Lady Hannah Chesterfield, the daughter of a marquess, is drawn to Lieutenant Thorpe, though she knows she can never wed a soldier. As Michael’s secrets unfold, Hannah is forced into a fascinating world of intrigue and royalty. Ultimately she must decide whether or not to face her greatest fear: surrendering to her hidden desires.
I hope you enjoy THE ACCIDENTAL PRINCESS, and I invite you to try its companion book, THE ACCIDENTAL COUNTESS, about Hannah’s older brother Stephen Chesterfield, the Earl of Whitmore. You can also find behind-the-scenes information about my books on my website: www.michellewillingham.com.
I love to hear from readers, and you may e-mail me at michelle@michellewillingham.com, or write to me at: PO Box 2242 Poquoson, VA 23662, United States.
Warmest wishes.
To Elizabeth, my own special princess.
Acknowledgements
I’d like to thank the library staff of the Mariner’s Museum in Newport News, Virginia, for their invaluable help in researching the interior of a steamship. In particular, thanks to Library Researcher Bill Edwards-Bodmer, who guided me in choosing the best steamship to use as a model for my own ship. I had a great time poring over old photographs and I was very inspired by the luxurious interiors of these historic vessels.
Chapter One
London, 1855
She could feel his eyes watching her from across the room. Like an invisible protector, warning away anyone who would bother her. Lady Hannah Chesterfield smiled at one of the ballroom guests, but she hadn’t heard a word the woman had said. Instead, she was all too aware of Lieutenant Thorpe’s gaze and the forbidden nature of his thoughts.
Though she’d only met him a few weeks ago, she hadn’t forgotten his intensity. Nor the way he’d stared at her like a delectable sweet he wanted but couldn’t have.
He’d brushed his lips upon the back of her hand when her brother had introduced them. The unexpected kiss had made her skin flush, awakening the strange desire to move closer to him. He looked as though he wanted to kiss every inch of her, and the thought made her body tremble. His interest had been undeniable.
It was nearing midnight, the hour of secret liaisons. More than a few ladies had disappeared into the garden with a companion, only to return with twigs in their hair and swollen lips.
Hannah wondered what it would be like to indulge in such wickedness, feeling a man’s mouth against her lips, his hands touching her the way a lover would. There was something about the Lieutenant that was dangerous. Unpredictable. He didn’t belong here among London’s elite, and yet he fascinated her.
She risked a glance and saw him leaning against the back wall, a glass of lemonade in one hand. His black tailcoat was too snug across his broad shoulders, as though he couldn’t afford one that fit. His matching waistcoat accentuated his lean form, while the white cravat he wore had a careless tilt to it. His dark hair was too long, and he was clean-shaven, unlike the current fashion.
His mouth gave a slight lift, as though daring her to come and speak to him. She couldn’t possibly do such a thing.
Why was he here tonight? It wasn’t as if Lieutenant Thorpe could seek a wife from among the ladies. He might be an officer, but he did not possess a title. Furthermore, if it weren’t for his unlikely friendship with her brother Stephen, the Lieutenant wouldn’t have been allowed inside Rothburne House.
‘Hannah!’ A hand waved in front of her face, and she forced herself to pay heed to her mother, who had crossed the room to speak with her.
‘You’re woolgathering again, my dear. Stand up straight and smile. The Baron of Belgrave is coming to claim his dance with you.’ With a slight titter, Christine Chesterfield added, ‘Oh, I do hope the two of you get on. He would make such a dashing husband for you. He’s so handsome and well-mannered.’
An unsettled feeling rose up in her stomach. ‘Mother, I don’t want to wed the baron.’
‘Why? Whatever is wrong with Lord Belgrave?’ Christine demanded.
‘I don’t know. Something. It feels wrong.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake.’ Her mother rolled her eyes. ‘Hannah, you’re imagining things. There is absolutely nothing wrong with the baron, and I have little doubt that he would make an excellent husband.’
A sour feeling caught up in her stomach, but Hannah didn’t protest. She’d learned, long ago, that her mother and father had carved-in-stone ideas about the man she would marry. The gentleman had to be well-bred, wealthy and titled. A saint who had never transgressed against anyone, who treated women with the utmost respect.
And likely rescued kittens in his spare time, she thought sourly. Men of that nature didn’t exist. She knew it for a fact, being cursed with two older brothers.
Though she wanted to get married more than anything, Hannah was beginning to wonder if she’d ever find the right man. Having her own home and a husband was her dream, for she could finally have the freedom she wanted.
She craved the moment when she could make her own choices without having to ask permission or worry about whether or not she was behaving like a proper lady. Although she was twenty years old, she might as well have been a girl of five, for all that she’d been sheltered from the world.
‘Now, Hannah,’ her mother chided. ‘The baron has been nothing but the soul of kindness this entire week. He’s brought you flowers every day.’
It was true that Lord Belgrave had made his courtship intentions clear. But despite his outward courtesy, Hannah couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. He was almost too perfect.
‘I’m not feeling up to a dance just now,’ she said, though she knew the excuse would never hold.
‘You are perfectly well,’ her mother insisted. ‘And you cannot turn down an invitation to dance. It would be rude.’
Hannah clamped her lips together, suppressing the urge to argue. Her mother would never bend when it came to appropriate behaviour. With any luck, the dance would be over in three minutes.
‘Smile, for the love of heaven,’ her mother repeated. ‘You look as though you’re about to faint.’
Without waiting for her reply, Lady Rothburne flounced away, just as the Baron of Belgrave arrived to claim his dance.
Hannah forced a smile upon her face and prayed that the remaining hours would pass quickly. And as the baron swept her into the next dance, she caught a glimpse of the Lieutenant watching them, an unreadable darkness upon his face.
Michael Thorpe had a sixth sense for trouble. He often perceived it before it struck, which had served him well on the battlefield.
It was happening again. Intuition pricked at his conscience, when he saw Lady Hannah about to dance with the Baron of Belgrave. Whether she knew it or not, the suitors were circling her like sharks. There wasn’t a man among them who didn’t want to claim her.
Including himself.
She was an untouched angel. Innocent of the world, and yet he recognised the weariness in her green eyes. Her caramel-brown hair had been artfully arranged with sprigs of jasmine, while her gown was purest white. It irritated him that her parents treated her as a marital offering to be served out to debauched males.
Like the dog that he was, he wanted to snarl at her suitors, warning them to stay the hell away. But what good would come of it, except to embarrass her among her family and friends?
No. Better to remain in the shadows and keep watch over her. He’d seen so much death and war in the past few months, he felt the need to protect something fragile and good. Soon enough, he’d have to go back to the Crimean Peninsula. He’d have to face the demons and ghosts he’d left behind, and, more than likely, a bullet would end his life.
For now, he would savour this last taste of freedom before the Army ordered him back to the battleground. He glared at Belgrave, watching the pair of them on the dance floor. For a brief moment he imagined himself holding a woman like Hannah in his arms.
His good friend, the Earl of Whitmore, approached with an intent glare upon his face. A moment later, Whitmore’s younger brother, Lord Quentin Chesterfield, joined them.
‘I hope, for your sake, Thorpe, that you weren’t eyeing my sister.’ The Earl spoke the words in a calm, deliberate fashion. ‘Otherwise, I’ll have to kill you.’
Lord Quentin leaned in, a mischievous smile on his face. ‘I’ll help.’
Michael ignored their threats, though he didn’t doubt that they meant them. ‘Your sister shouldn’t be dancing with Belgrave. I don’t trust him.’
‘He might be a baron, but he looks a bit too polished, doesn’t he?’ Lord Quentin agreed. ‘Like he’s trying too hard to impress the women.’
‘You could try a bit harder with your own attire.’ Whitmore grimaced at his younger brother’s dark purple jacket and yellow waistcoat.
‘I like colourful clothing.’ Lord Quentin shrugged and turned his attention back to the dancing couple. ‘I suppose we shouldn’t worry. Our father isn’t going to allow Hannah to wed a man like Belgrave, even if he does propose.’
Glancing at the ceiling as if calculating a vast number, Lord Quentin thought to himself. ‘Now how many proposals does that make for her this Season…seventeen? Or was it twenty-seven?’
‘Five,’ Whitmore replied. ‘Thankfully, from no one appropriate. But I’ll agree with you that Belgrave wouldn’t be my first choice.’ Crossing his arms, the Earl added, ‘I’ll be glad when she finds a husband. One less matter to worry about.’
From the tension in Whitmore’s face, Michael suspected that impending fatherhood was his greater fear. ‘How is the Countess?’ he asked.
‘One more month of confinement, and then, pray God, we’ll have this child. Emily begged me to take her to Falkirk for the birth. We’re leaving at dawn. Still, I’m not certain I want her to travel in her condition. Our last baby arrived weeks earlier than we’d expected.’
‘Emily is approaching the size of a small carriage,’ Lord Quentin interjected.
Whitmore sent his brother a blistering look, and Michael offered, ‘I’ll hold him down while you break his nose.’
A smile cracked over the Earl’s face. ‘Excellent idea, Thorpe.’
Changing the subject, Michael studied Lady Hannah once more. ‘Do you think the Marquess will choose a husband for her this Season?’
‘It’s doubtful,’ Whitmore replied. ‘Hannah might as well have a note upon her forehead, telling the unmarried gentleman: “Don’t Even Bother Asking.”’
‘Or, “The Marquess Will Kill You If You Ogle His Daughter”,’ Quentin added.
The brothers continued to joke about their sister, but Michael ignored their banter. Beneath it all, he understood their fierce desire to protect her. In that, they held common ground.
But regardless of what he might desire, he knew the truth. A Marquess’s daughter could never be with a soldier.
No matter how badly he might want her.
‘Lady Hannah, you are truly the loveliest woman in this room.’ Robert Mortmain, the Baron of Belgrave, led her in the steps of the polka, his smile broad.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured without looking at him.
She couldn’t deny that Lord Belgrave was indeed charming and handsome, with dark brown hair and blue eyes. Born into wealth, nearly every unmarried woman had cast her snare for him—all except herself. There was something about him, a haughtiness that made Hannah uncomfortable.
Don’t worry about it, she told herself. Papa isn’t going to force you to marry him, so there’s no need to be rude. The problem of Lord Belgrave would solve itself.
Hannah’s skin crawled when the baron touched the small of her back, even with gloved hands. As they moved across the floor, she tensed. The smug air upon his face was of a man boasting to his friends. He didn’t want to be with her; he wanted to show her off. A subtle ache began to swell through her temples.
Just a few minutes more, and the dance will be over, Hannah consoled herself. Then she could escape to the comfort of her room. It was nearly midnight, and though she was expected to remain until after two o’clock, she might be able to convince her father that she didn’t feel well.
Lord Belgrave scowled when they danced past the refreshment table. ‘I didn’t realise he would be here tonight.’
He was speaking of Lieutenant Thorpe, who was now openly staring at them. Displeasure lined the Lieutenant’s face and he gripped the lemonade glass as though he intended to hurl it towards the Baron.
‘Why did your father invite him, I wonder?’ Lord Belgrave asked.
‘Lieutenant Thorpe saved my brother Stephen’s life a few years ago,’ she admitted. ‘They are friends.’
Though how Stephen had even encountered such a man, she’d never understand. Despite his military rank, Thorpe was a commoner—not the second son of a viscount or earl, as was customary for officers in the Army. And were it not for her brother’s insistence, she knew the Lieutenant would never have been invited.
There was nothing humble or uncertain about the way he was watching them. Anger ridged his features, and though the Lieutenant kept himself in control, he looked like he wanted to drag her away from Belgrave.
‘He’s trying to better himself, isn’t he?’ Belgrave remarked. ‘A man of his poor breeding only poisons his surroundings.’
From his intensity and defensive stance, the Lieutenant appeared as though he were still standing on a battlefield. Likely he’d be more comfortable holding a gun instead of a glass of lemonade.
‘I don’t want you near a man like him.’ The baron scowled.
Lord Belgrave’s possessive tone didn’t sit well with her, but Hannah said nothing. It wasn’t as if she intended to go anywhere near the Lieutenant. Even so, what right did Belgrave have to dictate her actions?
None whatsoever. The dance was nearly finished, and she was grateful for that. Her headache was growing worse, and she longed for an escape to her room. When the music ended, she thanked Lord Belgrave, but he held her hands a moment longer.
‘Lady Hannah, I would be honoured if you’d consent to becoming my wife.’
She couldn’t believe he’d asked it of her. Here? In the middle of a ballroom? Hannah’s smile grew strained, but she simply answered, ‘You’ll have to speak with my father.’
No. No. A thousand times, no.
The baron’s fingers tightened when she tried to pull away. ‘But what of your wishes? If you did not require the Marquess’s permission, what would you say?’
I would say absolutely not.
Hannah kept her face completely neutral. She didn’t like the look in his eyes. There was a desperate glint in them, and she wondered if Belgrave’s fortunes were as secure as he’d claimed. Forcing a laugh she didn’t feel, Hannah managed, ‘You flatter me, my lord. Any woman would be glad to call you her husband.’
Just not me. But then, a word to her father would take care of that. Although the Marquess presented an autocratic façade to his peers, he was softer towards her, probably because she’d never embarrassed him in public, or even hinted at rebellion. Obedient and demure, she’d made him proud.
Or at least, that’s what she hoped.
Hannah managed to pry her hand free. Even so, she could feel the baron’s eyes boring into the back of her gown. She walked towards her father and brothers, who were standing near the entrance to the terrace. From the serious expressions on their faces, she didn’t want to interrupt the conversation. She took a glass of lemonade and waited outside the ballroom, in the darkened shadows near the terrace. It wasn’t good to be standing alone, but she hoped she was near enough to her brothers that no one would bother her.
Everyone else was still inside, dancing and mingling with one another. Her head was aching even more, a dreadful pressure that seemed to spread.
Oh, please, not tonight, Hannah prayed. She’d suffered headaches such as these before, and they were wretched, attacking her until she was bedridden for a full day or longer.
‘You don’t look well,’ came a male voice from behind her.
Without turning around, she knew it was Lieutenant Thorpe. His voice lacked the cultured tones of the upper class, making his identity obvious. Hannah contemplated ignoring him and approaching her father, but then that would be rude. And whether or not she wanted to speak to him, good manners were ingrained within her.
‘I am fine, Lieutenant Thorpe. Thank you for asking.’
Despite her unspoken dismissal, he didn’t move away. She could feel him watching her, and, beneath his attention, her body began to respond. It felt too hot, even outside on the terrace. The silk of her dress felt confining. She fanned herself, not knowing why his very presence seemed to unnerve her so.
She didn’t turn around, for it wasn’t proper for her to be speaking with him alone. Even if he was completely hidden behind her, she didn’t want to take a chance of someone seeing them. ‘Was there something you wanted?’
He gave a low laugh, a husky sound that was far too intimate. ‘Nothing you can give, sweet.’
Her face flushed scarlet, not knowing what he’d meant by that. She took a hesitant step closer to her father, sensing the Lieutenant’s presence like a warm breeze upon her nape. Her gown rested off her shoulders, baring her skin before him. The strand of diamonds she wore grew heavy, and she forgot about her aching head. Instead, she was intensely conscious of the man standing behind her.
‘You look tired.’
It was so true. She was tired of attending balls and dinner parties. Tired of being paraded around like a porcelain doll, waiting for the right marriage offer.
‘I’m all right,’ she insisted. ‘You needn’t worry about me.’ She wanted him to leave her alone. He shouldn’t be standing behind her, not where anyone could come upon them. She was about to step away when a gloved hand touched her back. The heat of his palm warmed her skin, and she jerked away out of instinct.
‘Don’t touch me,’ she pleaded.
‘Is that what you want?’
Her shoulders rose and fell, her breathing unsteady. Of course that’s what she wanted. A man like Michael Thorpe was nothing but trouble.
But before she could say another word, his hand moved to her shoulders. Caressing the skin, gently easing the tension in her nape.
Step away from him. Scream, her brain insisted. But it was as though her mouth were stuffed with cotton. Her limbs were frozen in place, unable to move.
Her breasts prickled beneath the ivory silk, becoming aroused. He’d removed a single glove, and the vibrant intimacy of his bare palm on her flesh made her tremble.
‘Don’t do this,’ she pleaded. Her voice was a slight whisper, barely audible. ‘You—you shouldn’t.’
Well-mannered ladies did not stand still while they were accosted by a soldier. She could only imagine what her mother would say. But she had never been touched by a man like this, and the sensation was a secret thrill.
The Lieutenant’s fingers slipped beneath the chain of her necklace, teasing her neck before winding into the strands of her coiffeur. ‘You’re right.’
His fingers were melting her resistance, making her feel alive. She was beginning to understand how a woman might cast off propriety, surrendering to a stranger’s seduction.
‘My apologies. You were too much temptation to resist.’
Her fingers clenched at her sides. ‘Sir, keep your hands to yourself. Or you’ll answer to my brother.’
‘I’ll try.’
Then she felt the lightest brush of his mouth upon her nape, a kiss he shouldn’t have stolen. Wicked heat poured through her, and she gasped at the sensation.
Hannah whirled around, prepared to chastise him. But he’d already gone. She stared out at the gardens, but there was not a trace that he’d been there. Only the gooseflesh on her arms and the storm of churning fire inside her skin.
‘Why are you out here alone, Hannah?’ The Marquess of Rothburne approached, having finished his conversation with her brothers. Her father frowned at her, as though she’d transgressed by avoiding a chaperone.
She prayed he didn’t see her flushed cheeks or suspect the improper thoughts racing through her head. ‘I would like permission to retire,’ she said calmly. ‘It’s been a long evening. My head hurts, and I need to lie down.’
‘Do you want me to send your maid with laudanum?’ he asked, becoming concerned.
Hannah shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think it’s going to be one of those headaches. But if you please, Papa, I’m very tired.’
Her father offered his arm. ‘Walk with me for a few minutes, if you will.’
Hannah was hesitant, but she suspected her father had something else to discuss with her. He led her outside the terrace and down the gravel walkway toward her mother’s rose garden. The canes held hints of new growth, though it would be early summer before the first blooms came. She raised her eyes to look out at the glittering stars, wishing she had brought a shawl.
Her skin was still sensitive from the Lieutenant’s touch, her mind in turmoil. He’d awakened a restless side to her, and she didn’t like it. Even while she walked, the shifting of her legs sent an uneasy ache within her body.
What had he done to her? And did that make her a wanton, for enjoying his fleeting touch?
Her father led her through the gardens toward the stables, their feet crunching upon the gravel as they walked. Hannah found herself comparing the two men. James Chesterfield was every inch a Marquess, displaying a haughty exterior that intimidated almost everyone except herself. Never did he stray from the rules of propriety. In contrast, Lieutenant Thorpe had a devil-may-care attitude, a man who did exactly as he pleased.
She shivered at the memory.
When her father’s silence stretched on, Hannah guessed at the reason. ‘You turned another proposal down, didn’t you?’
James paused. ‘Not yet. But the Baron of Belgrave asked for permission to call upon me tomorrow.’
It wasn’t a surprise, but she felt it best to make her feelings known. ‘I don’t want to marry him, Papa.’
‘He possesses a large estate, and comes from an excellent family,’ her father argued. ‘He seems to have a genuine interest in you.’ He escorted her back to the house.
‘Something about him bothers me.’ Hannah paused, trying to find the right words. ‘I can’t quite explain it.’
‘That isn’t a good enough reason to reject his suit,’ the Marquess protested.
She knew that, but was counting on her father to take her side. To change the subject, she asked, ‘What sort of man are you hoping I’ll wed? I do want to get married.’
The Marquess cleared his throat. ‘I’ll know him when I see him. Someone who will take care of you and make you happy.’ He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, though he didn’t smile. Streaks of grey marred his bearded face, his hair silvery in the moonlight.
He led her back to the house, where they passed the ballroom filled with people. Music crescendoed amidst the laughter of guests, but it only made her headache worsen. Finally, her father escorted her to her room, bidding her good night.
At the door he added gruffly, ‘Lady Whitmore brought over some ginger biscuits earlier this afternoon, when she visited. I had a servant place some in your room. Don’t tell your mother.’ Shaking his head in exasperation, he added, ‘You would think that a woman in her condition would know better than to work like a scullery maid. It’s ridiculous that she wants to bake treats, like a common servant.’
While most women rested in their final month of pregnancy, her sister-in-law Emily had gone into a flurry of baking during the past several weeks. Stephen humoured his wife, allowing her to do as she wished during her confinement.
Acting upon her father’s unspoken hint, Hannah slipped inside her room for a moment and returned with two of the ginger biscuits. She handed them to her father, who devoured them.
‘If I see Emily, I’ll tell her how much you liked them,’ she said.
He grimaced. ‘She shouldn’t be in the kitchens. Her ankles are swelling, so she said. If you see her, order her to put her feet up.’
‘I will,’ Hannah promised. Though he would never admit it, the Marquess thoroughly enjoyed his arguments with Stephen’s wife.
After her father left, Hannah rang for her maid. She sat down at her dressing table, wondering if she would need the laudanum after all. Her headache hadn’t abated and seemed to be worsening.
She massaged her temples in an attempt to block out the pain. It frustrated her, being unable to control this aspect of her life.
Then again, so much of her life was out of her hands. She should be accustomed to it by now. Her mother made every decision concerning her wardrobe and which balls and dinner parties she attended. Christine controlled what she ate, which calls she made…even when she was allowed to retire for the night.
Hannah ran her hands over a silver hairbrush, praying for the day when she could make those decisions for herself. Though she supposed it was her mother’s way of showing she cared about her welfare, as time went on, her home felt more and more like a prison.
Her gaze fell upon the list of reminders her mother had left behind. She’d received one every day since the age of nine, since, quite often, she didn’t see her mother until the evening.
1 Wear the white silk gown and the Rothburne diamonds.
2 Wait for your father and brothers to introduce suitors to you.
3 Do not refuse any invitation to dance.
4 Never argue with any gentleman. A true lady is agreeable.
Hannah could almost imagine instruction number five: Never allow strange gentlemen to touch you. Her eyes closed, her head pounding with pain.
Folding the list away, she rested her forehead upon her palm. A slow ache built up in her stomach when she saw a morning dress the colour of butter laid out for tomorrow. She had never cared for the gown, and would have been quite happy to see it burned. It made her feel as though she were six years old.
But she would never dream of arguing with Christine Chesterfield. Her mother alternated the colours of her dresses, selecting gowns of white, rose and yellow. When Hannah had tried to suggest another colour once, Christine had put her foot down. It wouldn’t surprise her if her mother measured each and every one of her necklines, to be sure that she wasn’t revealing too much skin.
Just once, Hannah wished to have a scarlet dress. Or amethyst. A wild burst of colour to liven up her wardrobe. But she supposed real ladies weren’t supposed to wear colours like that.
Hannah raised the hem of her gown, and at the glimpse of her petticoats, she thought of the man who would one day become her husband. Would he treat her with tenderness, bringing friendship and possibly love into their marriage?
Or was there…something more? Her mother had not breathed a word about the intimacy between a man and a woman. Only that she would learn of it, the night before her wedding. Any mention of the marriage bed made her mother blush and stammer.
The unexpected memory of Lieutenant’s Thorpe’s kiss made Hannah shiver. He never should have caressed her, especially with an ungloved hand, but then that was the sort of man he was. A man who made his own rules and broke them when he liked. The Lieutenant hadn’t offered tired compliments or begged her father for permission to call upon her. Instead, he’d touched her in the shadows, and she’d come alive.
Nothing you can give, sweet.
What had he meant by those words? Her hands moved to her shoulders, over the sensitised skin. Her mother would have a fit of the vapours if she knew the Lieutenant had stolen a kiss. His mouth had touched her here, on the nape. Almost like a lover’s kiss. A cold realisation dawned upon her when her fingers touched bare skin.
Her diamond necklace was gone. No. Oh, no. Panic shot through her, for the diamonds were worth nearly a thousand pounds.
Hannah threw open the door to her room and fled down the stairs. Keeping towards the wall, she tried to avoid notice.
She hid behind the doorway, searching the floor of the ballroom, but saw nothing. Nothing by the refreshment table, either.
Thoughts of the Lieutenant’s hands around her throat made her wonder. Had he unfastened the clasp? She didn’t want to believe that he’d taken the diamonds, but the last time she remembered wearing the necklace was in his presence.
With fear in her throat, she sought him out. The Lieutenant wasn’t among the ballroom guests, but instead stood alone on the edge of the terrace. Before him, the boxwood hedges rose tall, like silent sentries.
His arms were crossed in the ill-fitting formal wear, causing the seams of the coat to stretch against his shoulders.
‘I beg your pardon,’ she murmured, stepping towards him, ‘but may I speak with you a moment, Lieutenant?’
His gaze flicked across hers, but he shrugged. ‘Aren’t you afraid of your father? I believe it isn’t proper for a lady to be in the company of a soldier.’
She ignored his mocking tone. She knew well enough that what she was doing was highly improper. ‘I must ask you if you’ve seen my necklace. I’ve lost it, you see, and—’
‘You think I took it.’
His posture had changed, and she wished she hadn’t spoken. Just like her father, he was a man of pride. Soldiers valued their honour above all else, and she’d just insulted his.
Hannah chose her words carefully. ‘The clasp may have slipped when you—when you touched my neck. I thought it dropped where I was standing.’
That sounded reasonable enough, didn’t it? Surely he wouldn’t take offence—
‘I stole nothing from you.’ A hard edge accompanied his remark. ‘And there’s nothing of yours that I want.’
His harsh words stabbed her pride. He wasn’t merely speaking of the necklace any more. Hannah forced herself to nod, though her cheeks were burning. ‘I didn’t mean to imply anything.’
‘Yes, you did. I’m the only man here who would need diamonds. A man without a fortune.’
‘You aren’t the only one,’ she argued. ‘But that’s neither here nor there. You don’t have the necklace, and that’s that.’
She gathered her skirts and strode towards the rose garden without bidding him goodbye. Rude, yes, but she had no desire to speak to him any longer. It was possible that his wayward fingers had loosened the clasp, and the necklace had fallen on to the ground when she’d walked outside.
The idea of the Lieutenant being a thief didn’t sit well with her. He was her brother’s friend, and she wanted to believe that there was honour in him.
Her headache had intensified to an unbearable level, as though someone were bashing rocks against her temples. The sooner she found the necklace, the sooner she could rest.
Hurrying towards the rose canes, Hannah dashed back to where she’d spoken with her father last. She retraced her footsteps, searching everywhere. But there was nothing. She turned the corner, only to stumble into the Baron of Belgrave.
‘Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t expect to see you here,’ she apologised. The moonlight spilled a faint light over his face, and his gloved fingers withdrew something glittering from his pocket.
‘Were you looking for these?’
Belgrave held out the diamonds in his palm, and Hannah breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Yes, thank you.’
She reached for them, but he pulled his hand back. ‘I saw them lying on the ground after your father escorted you back to the house.’ He returned the necklace to his pocket and held out his arm for her to accompany him. ‘I thought you might come back for them.’
Hannah didn’t take his elbow, for she had no desire to walk alone with the baron. Her instincts prickled, for she had once again crossed the line of what was proper. If anyone saw them unchaperoned, the gossip tales would spread faster than a house fire.
But he had her necklace, and she needed it back. Reluctantly, she placed her hand upon his arm. Perhaps if she gave him a moment, he would return the jewels.
The baron led her away from the house, and with each step, her headache worsened. When they neared the stables, Hannah had endured enough. ‘Lord Belgrave, give me my diamond necklace, if you please.’
And go away. Where were her father and brothers when she needed them most?
Belgrave’s hawkish face appeared fierce in the moonlight. Diamonds or not, she’d made a terrible mistake in approaching him. She took a step backwards, wondering if she dared flee.
The baron retrieved the necklace from his pocket and held the diamonds in his hand, stroking the gems. ‘I overheard you speaking to your father about me.’
Hannah’s heartbeat quickened, and she cast a glance around the garden, searching for another escape. ‘Wh-what did you overhear?’
‘You lied to me.’ Cold anger edged his voice. ‘You led me to believe you wanted my courtship.’
‘I didn’t want to hurt your feelings,’ she explained. His anger made her uncomfortable, and she was ready to get away from him. The necklace be hanged. Her safety was far more important than a strand of diamonds. With an apologetic look, she added, ‘I’ll send a servant to collect my necklace from you.’
‘What’s the matter? Are you afraid of me?’ he murmured.
Hannah ignored the question and picked up her skirts, striding towards the house. Before she could reach the terrace, a firm hand clamped over her upper arm.
‘I haven’t finished our conversation.’
‘We weren’t having one,’ she corrected. ‘And I’ll ask you to remove your hand from my arm.’
‘You think you’re better than me, don’t you? Because your father is a Marquess and I a mere baron.’ He bent closer, and her stomach wrenched, the pressure in her head rising higher.
Dear heaven, she felt like fainting. The headache was like a dagger grinding into her skull.
She opened her mouth to call for help, but Lord Belgrave cut off her scream. She struggled against his grip, but he pinched her nose. With the lack of air, the headache roared into a fury. Dizzy and sick, she stopped fighting, and he dragged her across the gravel. Nausea gripped her, and the agony in her head was so intense, it nearly brought her to her knees. It couldn’t have come at a worse time.
The baron lowered his voice. ‘You said that any woman would be fortunate to wed me.’ He drew so close, Hannah could see the vengeance in his eyes. ‘It looks like you’re about to become very fortunate indeed.’
Chapter Two
Michael returned to the ballroom, his posture stiff with anger. Lady Hannah had all but accused him of stealing her diamonds. He might be poor, but he wasn’t a thief. Yet she wouldn’t believe that, would she? Her blush had revealed how she viewed him: as a lowborn man, a soldier who wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of a lady.
True, he had a weakness for beautiful women. But never if they were unwilling. And that was the curious part, wasn’t it? He’d dared to touch Lady Hannah…and she hadn’t protested. The aristocrat with impeccable manners hadn’t slapped him with her fan, nor called out for help. She’d leaned into his touch, as though she were thirsty for it.
God, she’d smelled good. Like seductive jasmine, haunting and sweet. He hadn’t been able to resist her. He’d wanted to run his mouth over her neck, sliding the ivory gown over those bare shoulders until he revealed more of her delicate skin, but then her brother would murder him where he stood.
Normally, Michael had no interest in husband-seeking innocents, but Lady Hannah captivated him. He didn’t for a moment believe she would cast him a second glance. Not only because of her suspicions about the necklace, but also because of his status. As a lieutenant, he wasn’t worthy of a woman like her.
He had no title, unlike the other officers who had bought their commissions. He’d been granted his own commission within the British Army as a gift from the Earl of Whitmore, after he’d saved the Earl’s life five years ago. And last October he’d learned what it meant to give a command, knowing that men would die because of it.
He’d tried to save whatever men he could, after his Captain had died at Balaclava. But he’d failed to protect the vast majority of his company. Of the six hundred, less than two hundred had returned. He’d been one of them.
Even now, he could still hear the bullets ripping through flesh, the moans that preceded death. He couldn’t erase the nightmares, no matter how hard he’d tried. A lump tightened in the back of his throat, and he went to get another drink. As he passed the entrance to the terrace, he wondered if he should check on Lady Hannah.
Though she wanted to find her diamonds, she was far too lovely to be venturing out alone. She needed someone to protect her from unsavoury men.
Before he could follow her, a gentleman stepped into his line of sight, clearing his throat. He was accompanied by Hannah’s brother Stephen Chesterfield, the Earl of Whitmore.
‘Forgive me, Thorpe, but there is someone whom I’d like you to meet.’
The older man wore a black cloth tailcoat, expertly tailored to his form. His salt-and-pepper beard and mustache were neatly groomed, while the rest of his head was bald. Gold glinted upon the handle of his cane, and every inch of the gentleman spoke of money. Idly, Michael wondered if the man wanted a personal guard.
‘This is a friend of my father’s,’ Stephen said. ‘Graf Heinrich von Reischor, the Lohenberg ambassador to England.’
Lohenberg. Uneasiness slipped over him like a gust of cold air. The mention of the country provoked a distant memory he couldn’t quite grasp. His mouth tightened, and he forced himself to concentrate on the gentleman standing in front of him.
Whitmore finished the introduction, and Michael wondered if he was expected to bow before an ambassador. He settled upon a polite nod.
Graf von Reischor leaned upon his cane. ‘Thank you, Lord Whitmore. I am most grateful for the introduction. If you will excuse us?’ The Earl nodded to both of them and departed.
Now what was this all about? Michael wondered. The Lohenberg Graf fixed his gaze upon him in an open stare, as though he were intrigued by what he saw. Then the man lowered his voice and spoke an unfamiliar language, one that sounded like a blend of German and Danish.
Michael wondered if he was supposed to understand the words, but he could do nothing but shake his head in ignorance.
Graf von Reischor’s interest never wavered. ‘Forgive me, Lieutenant Thorpe. I thought you might be from Lohenberg, given your appearance.’
‘My appearance?’
‘Yes.’ The man’s gaze was unrelenting, though there was a trace of surprise beneath it. ‘You look a great deal like someone I know. Enough that you could be his son.’
‘My father was a fishmonger. He lived in London all his life.’
The Graf didn’t appear convinced. ‘And your parents…they were both English?’
‘Yes.’ It didn’t sit well with him that the Graf von Reischor was implying anything about his parentage. He had been their only son, and though it had been four years since they’d died of cholera, he hadn’t forgotten Mary Thorpe dying in his arms. She’d been a saint, his mother. It shamed him that he’d never been able to provide more for them, though he’d done his best.
Graf von Reischor didn’t appear convinced. ‘It may be a coincidence. But I don’t know what to believe. You have no idea how strong the resemblance is.’
It was difficult to keep his anger in check. ‘Paul Thorpe was my father. No other man. You have no right to suggest otherwise.’
‘We should discuss this more in private,’ the Graf said. ‘Call upon me tomorrow at my private apartment at Number Fourteen, St James’s Street.’
‘I have no intention of calling upon you,’ Michael retorted. ‘I know who I am and where I come from.’ He started to leave, but a gold-handled cane blocked his path.
‘I’m not certain you understand, Lieutenant Thorpe,’ the Graf said quietly. ‘The man you resemble is our king.’
Michael pushed his way past the Graf, refusing to even acknowledge the man’s words. He had no desire to be the brunt of a nobleman’s joke. A Prince? Hardly. Von Reischor was trying to make sport of him; he wasn’t foolish enough to fall prey to such nonsense.
As he made his way through the room of people, his anger heated up. Who did the Graf think he was, implying that a common soldier could be royalty? It was ridiculous to even consider.
A coldness bled through his veins, for the encounter had opened up the dreams that sometimes haunted him. Dreams of a long journey, voices shouting at him and a woman’s tears.
He gripped his fists. It wasn’t real. None of it was. And he refused to believe false visions of a life that wasn’t his.
To take his mind off the ludicrous proposition, he decided to find Lady Hannah. She’d been gone a long time, and he hadn’t seen her return to the terrace.
He retraced her path toward the roses. She’d been wearing a white gown, so it shouldn’t be difficult to find her amidst the greenery. But after an extensive search of the shrubbery and rose beds, there was no sign of her.
She’d been here. He’d swear it on his life. Michael thought back to the direction she’d gone, and he knelt down near the walkway. It was an easy matter to slip back into his military training.
Light footprints had left an imprint upon the gravel. Michael tracked her path around the side of the house, when abruptly the footprints were joined by a heavier set. Then something…no, someone, had been dragged off.
His instincts slammed a warning into him—especially when he spied Lady Hannah’s diamond necklace lying in the grass.
Michael raced toward the stables, cursing that he hadn’t followed Lady Hannah immediately. There was no sign of her anywhere.
Michael clutched the diamonds, and near the end of the walkway, he spied a single landau and driver. Surely the driver would have seen anyone coming from the stables.
‘Lady Hannah Chesterfield,’ he demanded. ‘Where did she go?’
The man shrugged, his hands buried in his pockets. ‘Ain’t seen nothing.’
He was lying. Michael grabbed the driver by his coat and hauled him off the carriage. A handful of sovereigns spilled onto the ground, and the driver scuttled to pick them up.
A haze of red fury spread over him as he pressed the man up against the iron frame of the carriage. ‘Who took her?’
When the driver stubbornly kept silent, Michael tightened his grip on the man’s throat. ‘I’m not one of those titled gentlemen you’re used to,’ he warned. ‘I’m a soldier. They pay me to kill enemies of the Crown. And right now, I see you as one of my enemies.’ Holding fast, he waited long enough until the man started to choke.
Michael loosened his fingers, and the driver sputtered and coughed. ‘The—the B-Baron of Belgrave. Said they was runnin’ off t’be together. Paid me not to talk.’
‘What does his carriage look like?’
The driver described an elaborate black brougham with the baron’s crest. Michael stepped aboard the carriage. ‘I’ll be needing this.’
‘But—but you can’t steal his lordship’s landau! I’ll lose me post!’
Michael took the reins and nodded to the man. ‘And what do you think will happen when you explain to the Marquess of Rothburne that you allowed his daughter to be abducted for a few sovereigns? You had best alert him immediately, or you’ll face much worse than dismissal.’ Snapping the reins, Michael drew the landau around the circle and toward the London streets.
There were a thousand different places Belgrave might have taken her. As he struggled to make his way through the London traffic, Michael went through the possibilities. Was the baron trying to compromise her or wed her?
If the intent was to compromise her, then likely he would take Lady Hannah back to his town house where they would be caught together. Michael’s fist curled into the diamond necklace. No innocent young lady deserved this. By God, he wanted to kill the baron for what he’d done.
Luck was on his side, for when he reached a side street past Grosvenor Square, he spotted the baron’s brougham, which had pulled to a stop by the side of the road. Thank God.
Michael raced forward, urging the horses towards the vehicle. He barely waited for the landau to stop before he ran to Belgrave’s carriage and jerked the door open.
Lady Hannah was lying on the floor of the carriage, moaning with her eyes closed. Lord Belgrave appeared slightly panicked, his face pale.
Michael wasted no time and dragged the baron out, pushing him up against the black brougham. ‘I should kill you right now.’
Belgrave blanched, and Michael punched him hard, taking satisfaction when he broke the baron’s nose.
Blood streamed from the wound, and Belgrave snarled, trying to fight back. ‘I’ll see you hanged for assaulting me.’
Michael leaned in close, his grip closing over Belgrave’s throat. ‘I haven’t yet decided if I’m going to let you live. I’m sure Lady Hannah’s brother wouldn’t mind at all if I rid London of an insect such as yourself.’
He clipped the baron across the jaw, following it up with another punch to the man’s ear. The blow sent Belgrave reeling before he lost consciousness and slid to the ground. Michael glared at Belgrave’s driver, who hadn’t lifted a finger to help defend his master.
‘My lord, I had no choice,’ the driver apologised. ‘The baron insisted—’
Michael cut him off. ‘Take Belgrave back to Rothburne House in this landau. Tell the Marquess what happened, and I’ll bring Lady Hannah home.’
The driver didn’t argue, but took possession of the landau immediately, loading Belgrave’s slumped form inside. Michael waited until he’d gone, then climbed inside the brougham to Lady Hannah.
‘Are you all right? Did he harm you?’
Lady Hannah clutched her head, tears streaming down her face. ‘No. But my head hurts. The pain—it’s awful.’
Her eyes were closed, and she was holding herself so tightly, as if trying to block out the torment.
‘Just try to hold on, and I’ll bring you home to your father’s house.’ Gently, Michael placed her back into the carriage seat and closed the door. Taking control of the reins, he turned them back towards Rothburne House. The other driver had already departed with the Baron of Belgrave.
It had been tempting to leave Belgrave in the streets for thieves or cut-throats to find. A man like the baron didn’t deserve mercy.
Michael increased the pace, turning towards Hyde Park, when he heard Hannah call out, ‘Lieutenant Thorpe! Please, I need you to stop.’
Damn it. If she were ill, he needed to get her home. Get her a doctor. Stopping the carriage would only blemish her reputation even more.
He slowed the pace of the carriage and asked, ‘Can you hold on a little longer?’
‘I can’t. I’m sorry,’ she pleaded. ‘I’m going to be sick.’
Michael expelled another curse and pulled the brougham toward a more isolated part of the park. With any luck, no one would see them or ask what they were doing.
He opened the carriage door and found Hannah curled up into a ball, her face deathly pale. ‘What can I do to help you?’
‘Just…let me stay here for a bit. You don’t have any laudanum, do you?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. Do you want me to go and fetch some?’ But even as he offered, he knew it was a foolish thing to say. He couldn’t leave her here alone, not in this condition.
‘No.’ She kept her eyes closed, resting her face against the side of the carriage. ‘Just give me a few moments.’
‘Let me help you lie down,’ he suggested.
‘It hurts worse if I lean back.’ Her breathing was shaky, and Michael sat across from her. A gas lamp cast an amber glow across the carriage, and she winced. ‘The light hurts.’
He’d never felt so helpless, so unable to help her through this nightmare. She was fighting to breathe, her face grey with exertion.
And suddenly, his worry about her family and her reputation seemed ridiculous in light of her illness. This was about helping her to endure pain, and that was something he understood. He’d watched men suffering from bullet wounds, crying out in torment. On the battlefield, he’d done what he could to ease them. It was all he could do for her now.
Michael closed the carriage door, making it as dark as possible. He removed his jacket and covered up the window to keep out the light.
‘I can’t…can’t breathe.’ Her shoulders were hunched, her eyes turning glassy.
He didn’t ask permission, but unbuttoned the back of her gown in order to loosen her stays. Hannah didn’t protest, and she seemed to breathe easier once it was done. He held her upright in his arms, keeping silent.
An hour passed, and in time, he felt her body begin to relax. She slept in his arms, but Michael couldn’t release his own tension. Her father would be looking for them. He needed to get her out of here, take her home. But he was afraid of causing her more pain.
Her hair had fallen loose from its pins, and the dark honey locks rested against his cheek, smelling sweetly of jasmine. He’d heard that some women suffered from headaches as excruciating as this one, but he’d never witnessed it before. Nonetheless, her unexpected illness had probably saved her from Belgrave’s unwanted attentions. It was a blessing in that sense.
The night air was cold, but Hannah’s body heat kept him warm. His neck and shoulders were stiff, but that didn’t bother him. She was no longer in pain, and he was grateful for it.
It had been a gruelling experience, one he didn’t care to repeat. He was unbearably alert, attuned to Hannah in a way he’d never expected. Against his chest, he could feel the rise and fall of her breathing.
There would be hellish consequences. And yet he wouldn’t have changed what he’d done. He’d rescued her from that bastard Belgrave and protected her innocence. She could go into her future marriage as an untouched bride, the way she should. That is, if he could get her home without anyone realising where she’d spent the last hour or two.
He had his doubts.
Michael watched her sleeping, the strands of hair twining around her throat and spilling over the curve of her breasts. Her beauty stole his breath away.
Innocence and purity. Everything he didn’t deserve.
From his pocket, he withdrew the strand of diamonds and fastened them around her throat. Bare skin peeped from the open back of her dress where he’d loosened her corset. He wanted to kiss her, to run his mouth over that silken skin. Like forbidden fruit, she tempted him to taste.
Only a few hours ago, he’d touched her back, indulging himself in a bit of wickedness. She’d allowed him liberties he never should have taken.
Not for you, his brain warned.
An honourable man would leave her alone to sleep, taking the reins and driving her home again. He wouldn’t run his palms over her arms, watching her skin tighten with gooseflesh. A good man would ignore the seductive glimpses of female skin and set his baser urges under control.
But he wasn’t good. He wasn’t honourable. Right now, he’d been given a few stolen moments with this woman. And he intended to take them.
Michael lowered his mouth to her shoulder blade, tracing the fragile skin up to her nape. Hannah shivered, lifting her face towards his as she awakened from sleep. He took possession of her softened mouth, not asking for permission.
Hannah awoke with her body temperature rising, as though she were suffering from a fever. The Lieutenant was kissing her, and she was sitting in his lap.
She couldn’t move from the shock of feelings coursing through her. No man had ever kissed her before, and she trembled beneath the onslaught. It was as though he were starving for her, his mouth hot and hungry.
His tongue slid inside her mouth, caressing her intimately. Hannah had never imagined such a thing, and desire poured through her, making her skin hotter.
Push him away. Beg for him to stop.
But her mind was disconnected from her body, once again. She felt herself arching towards him, needing to be closer. His hands slipped beneath the open back of her gown, and dimly she remembered the Lieutenant unlacing her, to help her breathe easier.
The touch of his bare hands on her skin made her cry out, ‘No! Stop, please.’
The remnants of her headache pressed into her, and tears spilled out. Not because of his unexpected kiss, but because of her guilt. He’d evoked shameful feelings inside of her, arousing her. And though she wanted to lay the blame at his feet, she knew in her heart that she couldn’t. She’d allowed him to kiss her, to touch her in ways that no good girl would allow.
‘I’m not going to apologise for that.’ His voice was low and deep, a man who had seized what he’d wanted. ‘You kissed me back.’
‘I didn’t want to.’
Liar. An aching throbbed within her womb. She felt damp, restless. The touch of his hard body against her pliant flesh was almost too much to bear.
‘Yes, you did.’ The the Lieutenant broke away, his breathing harsh. He moved to the opposite side of the carriage, resting his wrists on his knees. His head hung down, dark hair shadowing his face. He looked as though he’d been in a fist fight. ‘I need to drive you home.’
‘Please.’ She tried to hold the back of her gown together, but the edges wouldn’t hold. Exposed to him, she wanted to die of embarrassment.
‘I’ll help you get dressed,’ he said. ‘You’ll never manage by yourself.’
‘I don’t want you to touch me,’ she snapped. ‘Take me back.’
‘What do you think your father will say when he sees you like this?’
‘You should be more worried about yourself,’ she countered. ‘He’ll want to kill you.’
The the Lieutenant sent her a patronising smile. ‘For saving your virtue?’
‘You’re the one who tried to attack me just now.’
‘Sweet, I’m not a man who has to attack anyone.’ He pulled his coat from the carriage door, and Hannah winced at the flash of light from one of the street lamps.
She said nothing, her thoughts drifting back and forth, trying to decide whether he was a rogue or a man of honour. Yes, he’d kissed her when he shouldn’t have. But he’d also taken care of her.
Though he should have brought her home immediately, he’d listened when she’d begged him to stop the carriage. The excruciating, jarring sensation from the horses had made each mile an unending torture.
Another man wouldn’t have done the same. He’d have ignored her needs, riding as fast as he dared, back to Rothburne House. But not the Lieutenant.
So many questions gathered up, needing to be asked. Hannah traced her swollen lips, wondering what had driven him to do such a thing.
‘You don’t need to be afraid of me,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m not going to kiss you again.’ His cravat was loosened from his collar, while he donned the ill-fitting jacket.
‘I should hope not.’
He raised his gaze to hers, and she caught a glimpse of green eyes with flecks of brown. His cheeks held a light stubble, and for a moment, she wondered why the texture hadn’t scratched her skin.
‘You really are an innocent, aren’t you?’ He glanced over her ivory silk gown, and the remark didn’t sound like a compliment.
‘I suppose. You speak of it as though it’s a bad thing.’
He glanced outside the carriage window, as if searching for someone. ‘It’s what most men want.’
‘But not you.’
A dark laugh escaped him. ‘I’m not a good man at all.’
She didn’t entirely believe that. ‘Please take me home,’ she reminded him. ‘My family will be worried.’
‘Turn around,’ he ordered.
She knew what he needed to do, but she hesitated to let him touch her corset. It didn’t matter that he’d already done so; she’d been half out of her mind with pain. ‘No, it isn’t proper.’
The Lieutenant didn’t listen to her argument, but forced her to turn around. His hands fumbled with the stays, pulling them tight before tying them. ‘Proper or not, I won’t let your father think I ravaged you in a carriage.’
He was right. Her father would be angry enough at both of them, without him drawing the wrong conclusions.
‘How long have we been gone, do you think?’ Her stomach didn’t feel right, and her head still ached.
‘Longer than an hour. Two or three, perhaps. It isn’t dawn yet.’ His large hands struggled with the tiny buttons, and she couldn’t help but be even more aware of him. He muttered, ‘I’m better at taking these off than buttoning them up.’
Hannah didn’t doubt that at all. When he’d finished, she rested her head against the side of the carriage, waiting for him to go back to the driver’s seat.
‘Are you feeling better?’ he asked.
‘I’ll manage.’ Thank heaven, it had been one of the shorter headaches, swift and furious. The after-effects would dwell with her for a while, but the worst was over.
‘What are you going to tell my father?’ she asked.
Michael opened the door to the carriage, leaving it slightly open. ‘The truth. Neither of us has done anything wrong.’
I have, Hannah thought. The kiss might not mean a thing to him, but it had shaken her. The sensation of his mouth upon hers had been the most sinful thing she’d ever experienced. She’d fallen under his spell, wanting to know his touch in a way she shouldn’t.
Michael opened the carriage door the rest of the way, about to disembark, when they heard the sounds of men shouting and the rumble of another carriage approaching. Her father’s voice broke through the stillness, and within moments, he was standing in front of the door.
‘Are you all right?’ the Marquess demanded of Hannah.
Hannah gripped her hands together, cold fear icing through her. For she suspected the truth was not going to be enough to pacify her father.
Chapter Three
‘Get away from my daughter,’ the Marquess of Rothburne ordered.
Hannah tried to rise from her seat, but the Lieutenant motioned her back. With a horrifying clarity, she realised what her father must think. With a pleading look she insisted, ‘Papa, this isn’t what it looks like. Lieutenant Thorpe rescued me from Lord Belgrave.’
Though she tried to find the right explanation, her father looked more interested in murder than the truth.
Hannah continued talking, though she knew how unlikely it must sound. ‘Lieutenant Thorpe tried to bring me home but…I had one of my headaches. I didn’t have any laudanum, and the pain was unbearable. He obeyed me when I ordered him to stop the carriage.’
Her father gave no indication that he’d even heard her speaking, but gave a nod to one of his footmen. The large servant reached to seize hold of the Lieutenant, but Michael’s hand shot out and stopped him. With a twist to the man’s wrist, the footman had no choice but to release him.
‘Enough.’ The Lieutenant climbed down from the carriage and regarded the Marquess. ‘Instead of having this conversation here in the park, I suggest we return to Rothburne House. Take Lady Hannah home with you, and see to her health. I will follow in this carriage.’
‘I should have the police drag you off to Newgate right now,’ the Marquess countered.
‘He didn’t dishonour me, Papa.’ Hannah moved forward, but when she exited the carriage, the world tipped. A rushing sound filled her ears, and Michael caught her elbow, steadying her. ‘I swear it. He protected me while I was ill.’
‘Because of him, you may be ruined.’ Her father stared at her as though she’d just run off with a chimney sweep. ‘You just spent the night with a common soldier.’
But she hadn’t. Not really. Heated tears sprung up in her eyes, for she didn’t know how to respond to her father’s accusations. Never could she have imagined he’d be this unreasonable.
A defence leapt to her lips, but Lieutenant Thorpe shook his head. ‘As I said before, this is not the place to talk. Take Lady Hannah home.’
Hannah had never heard anyone issue an order to her father before, but the Lieutenant didn’t appear intimidated by the Marquess.
‘No one knows about this,’ she whispered. ‘My reputation is still safe.’
‘Is it?’ Her father’s face was iron-cast. ‘The Baron of Belgrave knows all about what happened to you. Nonetheless, he has graciously offered to wed you.’
She’d rather die than wed Belgrave. ‘Papa, it isn’t as bad as all that. Lieutenant Thorpe did nothing wrong.’
‘Belgrave informed me that Thorpe assaulted him and took you away in a stolen carriage.’
‘That lying blackguard,’ Hannah blurted out, then clamped her hand over her mouth. Insults wouldn’t help her cause.
Horrified, she met her father’s infuriated expression, hoping he wouldn’t believe the lies. Surely he would trust her, after all the years she’d been an obedient daughter. One mistake wouldn’t eradicate everything, would it?
Thoughts of the Lieutenant’s forbidden kiss flayed her conscience. She could have fought him off, but instead, she’d kissed him back. It had been curiosity and shock, mingled together with the first stirrings of desire. She’d wanted to know what a real kiss would be like. But not at this terrible cost.
‘Harrison, take my daughter home,’ the Marquess commanded to his footman. ‘I will accompany Lieutenant Thorpe in this carriage.’
The Lieutenant gave an abrupt nod, and Hannah tried to fathom the man’s thoughts. His hazel eyes were shielded, his face expressionless.
She prayed that they could undo the mistake that had been made. Surely they could keep matters quiet. She’d been a victim and didn’t deserve to be punished like this. If anyone deserved to be drawn and quartered, it was Lord Belgrave.
As the footman closed the carriage door, Hannah twisted her hands together. Thank goodness the Lieutenant possessed no title. Were he an earl or a viscount, no doubt her father would demand that he marry her.
As a common officer in the British Army, that would never happen. She should feel relieved, but her nerves wound tighter. Her father was so angry right now, he might do something rash.
And she didn’t know what that might be.
‘You should know that the only thing that prevents me from killing you where you stand is the fact that I don’t want your blood staining my carpet.’ The Marquess of Rothburne pointed to a wingback chair in his study. ‘Sit.’
‘I am not your dog,’ Michael responded. He was well aware that he was only tossing oil upon the fire of James Chesterfield’s rage, but he refused to behave as if he’d seduced Lady Hannah.
Kissed her, yes. But that wasn’t a crime.
Michael rested his forearms upon the back of the chair and met the Marquess’s gaze squarely. ‘I don’t regret rescuing Lady Hannah from the Baron of Belgrave. You know as well as I that the man isn’t worthy of her.’
‘And neither are you.’
‘You’re right.’ There was no reason to take offence at the truth. He possessed enough to live comfortably on his army salary, but it wasn’t enough to support a Marquess’s daughter. He didn’t want a wife, or any family who would rely upon him.
‘Because of you, her reputation is destroyed.’
‘No.’ Michael drew closer to the desk, resting his hands upon the carved wood. ‘Because of Belgrave. Were it not for him, she’d never have been taken from Rothburne House.’
‘You should have brought her home immediately!’ The Marquess’s face was purple with wrath.
He knew it. But she’d been in such pain, he hadn’t wanted to make it worse. At the time, he’d thought it would only be for a short while—not hours. Perhaps he should have driven her home, despite the agony she would have endured. Still, it did no good to dwell upon events he couldn’t change.
‘She’s had headaches like that one before, hasn’t she?’ Michael said softly. ‘She told me she keeps laudanum in her reticule.’
‘That is beside the point.’
‘Is it? I presume you’ve seen how much she suffers? That any form of light or sound gives her pain beyond all understanding? I’ve seen men take a bullet through their shoulder and suffer less than what I saw her endure.’
He didn’t add that there were moments when he’d wondered if she was going to die. She’d been so pale, in such agony.
‘Even if what you say is true, it doesn’t change the fact that you stayed with her alone for hours.’ James reached out for a letter opener, running his finger along the edge. ‘She is my only daughter. My youngest child.’
‘This wasn’t her fault.’ Yet, Michael didn’t see a clear solution. It wasn’t fair for Hannah to endure the sly gossip of the society matrons, nor to be shunned if word got out.
‘No, it’s yours.’ The Marquess folded his arms, adding, ‘Don’t think that I would allow a man like you to wed her. You won’t touch a penny of her inheritance.’
Michael stepped back, his anger barely controlled. Keeping his voice steady, he said, ‘I don’t want anything from either of you. She was in trouble, and I went to help her. Nothing more.’
The Marquess set his pen down. ‘I want you to leave England. I don’t want her to ever set eyes upon you again.’ Picking up his pen, he began writing. ‘I am going to ask your commanding officer to see to it. I’ll contribute enough funds to the Army to make sure you stay far away from London.’
Michael didn’t doubt that the Marquess’s money would accomplish anything the man wanted. ‘And what will happen to Lady Hannah?’
The Marquess set down his pen. ‘Belgrave has offered to wed her.’
‘No. Not him.’ Michael clenched his fist. ‘You would offer her up to a man like that?’
‘There is nothing wrong with Belgrave. He’s going to keep Hannah’s reputation safe.’
‘You mean he’s going to reveal the scandal to everyone if she doesn’t wed him,’ Michael guessed.
The Marquess didn’t deny it. ‘I won’t let my daughter be hurt. Not if I can prevent it from happening.’
Hannah had seen her mother cry before, but never like this. Usually Christine Chesterfield used her tears to dramatic effect, whenever her husband wouldn’t let her opinion sway him.
This time, Christine simply covered her mouth with her hand while the tears ran down her cheeks. Hannah sat across from her, while two cups of tea went cold. The grandfather clock in the parlour chimed eight o’clock. Eight hours was all it had taken to change her life completely.
‘I promise you, Mother, I am fine,’ Hannah murmured. ‘Neither of them compromised me.’ She refused to cry, for the shock was still with her. ‘I don’t know what else to say, when you won’t accept the truth.’
‘This isn’t about truth.’ Christine dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. ‘It’s about appearances.’
‘It will be all right,’ Hannah insisted. ‘My friends will believe me, if they hear rumours. They know I would never do anything of that nature.’ She stood up, pacing across the carpet. ‘I don’t see why we cannot simply tell everyone what happened.’
Christine blew her nose. ‘You are far too naïve, my dear. We can’t risk any of this scandal leaking to anyone.’
‘I am not ruined.’
‘You are. Your only hope of salvaging what’s left of your honour is to marry Lord Belgrave and to do so quickly.’
‘I will not marry that horrid man. He’s the reason all of this happened!’ Hannah arranged her skirts, tucking her feet beneath them. ‘He kidnapped me from my own home, Mother! Why won’t you believe me?’
Her mother only shook her head sadly. ‘I believe you, Hannah. But the greater problem is that you spent hours alone in a carriage with a soldier. Lord Belgrave is right: nothing will cover up that scandal, if it gets out.’
But no one knew about it, except…
‘He’s threatening you,’ Hannah predicted, suddenly realising the truth. ‘Belgrave plans to tell everyone about the scandal unless I wed him. Is that it?’
Her mother’s face turned scarlet. ‘We won’t let that happen.’
Hannah couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her parents were allowing themselves to be manipulated for her sake.
Christine avoided looking at her. ‘You have nothing to fear from the baron, Hannah. I believe him when he says he has nothing but remorse for his actions. He wants to start again, and I think you should give him a second chance.’
‘I’d rather kiss a toad.’
‘He is coming to pay a call on you tomorrow. And you will see him and listen to what he has to say.’
Without meeting Hannah’s incredulous gaze, Christine retrieved a sheet of paper from a writing desk and chose a pen. Hannah clenched her fingers together, for she knew her mother was composing another list.
‘Mother, no,’ she pleaded. ‘There has to be another way. Perhaps I could go to Falkirk with Stephen and Emily.’ Her brother would offer her the sanctuary of his home without question.
‘They have already left, early this morning,’ her mother said. ‘And your brother has enough to worry about with Emily due to give birth in a few weeks. He doesn’t know what happened last night, and we are not going to tell him until it’s all sorted out.’
Her mother handed her the list, and walked her to the door. ‘Now. Go to your room and rest until eleven o’clock. When you rise, wear your rose silk gown with the high neck and pagoda sleeves. We will discuss your future over luncheon. The baron will come to call upon you tomorrow to discuss the arrangements.’
‘I don’t want to see that man again, much less marry him,’ Hannah insisted.
‘You no longer have a choice. You’d best get used to the idea, for your father is making the arrangements now. You’ll be married within a week.’
After her mother’s door closed, Hannah stormed down the stairs, her shawl falling loose from her shoulders. There was no hope of finding sleep, not now.
With a brief glance at the list, she saw her mother’s orders.
1 Rest until eleven o’clock.
2 Wear the rose silk gown.
3 Drink a cup of tea with cream, no sugar, to calm your nerves.
Hannah read the list three times, her hands shaking. Her entire life, she’d done everything her parents had asked. She had studied her lessons, listened to her governesses and done everything she could to please her family.
It made her stomach twist to see them turn against her this way. Her parents no longer cared about her future happiness—only their reputations.
Though she was supposed to return to her room, she kept moving towards the gardens. Tears of rage burned down her cheeks. All her years of being good meant nothing if she had to wed a man like Belgrave.
The list no longer held the familiarity of a mother’s love, helping her to remember the tasks at hand. Instead, it was a chain, tightening around her neck.
Hannah crumpled up the paper and threw it into the shrubbery. Rules, rules and more rules. Once, she’d thought that, by obeying the rules, her reward would come.
Did her mother truly expect her to wed the man who had caused her such misery? She’d sooner drown herself in the Thames than marry Belgrave.
She stumbled through the garden, the remnants of her headache rising up again. Why? Why did this have to happen to her? Only yesterday, she’d had so many choices before her. Now, she had nothing at all.
Hannah wrapped her arms around her waist, as if holding the pieces of herself together. With each step forward, she released the sobs, letting herself have a good cry. She wandered down the gravel pathway, to the place where she had lost her necklace last night.
Unexpectedly, her hand rose to her throat. The diamonds were there. The Lieutenant must have returned the necklace to her early this morning. She didn’t remember him wrapping the strand around her neck, for most of the night had been a blur of pain.
After she’d been abducted, the baron had grown flustered at her illness, demanding that she cease her tears. He’d cursed at her, but she’d been unable to stop weeping.
Then the Lieutenant had rescued her. He’d covered up all light, keeping her warm. Not speaking a sound. Holding her in the darkness.
Hannah pulled her shawl around her shoulders. She didn’t know what to think of him. One minute, he’d been her saving grace, and the next, he’d stolen a kiss.
Shielding her eyes against the morning sun, she saw him standing near the stables while a groom readied his horse. Almost against her will, Hannah’s feet moved forward, drawing her closer to the Lieutenant. She didn’t have the faintest idea what to say, or why she was even planning to speak to him.
The Lieutenant’s hazel eyes were tired, his cheeks covered in dark stubble. The white cravat hung open at his throat, and he held his hat in his hands.
Hannah dipped her head in greeting, and out of deference, the groom stepped away to let them talk. She kept her voice low, so the servant wouldn’t overhear their conversation. ‘I’m glad my father didn’t murder you.’
Michael shrugged and put on one of his riding gloves. ‘I’m a difficult man to kill.’
Hannah found her attention caught by his long fingers, and she remembered his bare hand caressing her nape. No one had ever made her feel that way before, her skin sparking with unfamiliar sensations.
She closed her eyes, clearing her thoughts. Then she reached for what she truly needed to say. ‘I never thanked you for rescuing me. It means a great deal to me. Even despite all of this.’
The Lieutenant gave a slight nod, as though he didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t acknowledge the words of gratitude, but instead glanced over at the house. ‘Lord Rothburne said you’re going to marry Belgrave.’
Hannah tensed. ‘My father is ready to marry me off to the next titled gentleman who walks through the gate.’ She stared him in the eyes. ‘I won’t do it. He’ll have to drag me to the altar.’
‘I thought you were the obedient sort.’
‘Not about this.’ She could hardly believe the words coming out of her mouth. It wasn’t like her, not at all, but then she felt like someone had taken a club to her life, smashing it into a thousand glass pieces.
Obedience had brought her nothing. And right now she wanted to voice her frustrations to someone who understood.
‘Why is this happening?’ she whispered. ‘What did I do that was so wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ the Lieutenant said. His hand started to reach for hers, but he drew back, as if remembering that it wasn’t proper. ‘Your only fault is being the daughter of a Marquess.’
‘I wish I weren’t.’ Hannah lowered her head. ‘I wish I were nothing but an ordinary woman. I would have more freedom.’
No lists, no rules to follow. She could make her own decisions and be mistress of her life.
‘You wouldn’t want that at all.’ The Lieutenant gestured toward her father’s house. ‘You were born to live in a world such as this.’
‘It’s a prison.’
‘A gilded prison.’
‘A prison, nonetheless.’ She raised her eyes to his. ‘And now I’ll be sentenced to marriage with Lord Belgrave. Unless I can find a way out.’
He didn’t respond, but she saw the way his mouth tightened, the sudden darkness in his eyes. ‘You will.’
‘And what about you?’ She realised she’d never asked what had happened to him. Surely the Lieutenant had faced his own lion’s den, courtesy of the Marquess. ‘What happened between you and my father?’
He hesitated before answering, ‘My commanding officer will see to it that I stay on the Crimean Peninsula.’
‘What exactly…does that mean?’ A shiver of foreboding passed through her.
‘I’ll be sent to fight. Possibly on the front lines.’ He shrugged, as if it were to be expected. But she understood what he wouldn’t say. Men who fought on the front lines had essentially been issued a death sentence without a court-martial. Certainly it was no place for an officer.
She stared at him, her skin growing cold. Though he might be an unmannered rogue who had taken unfair advantage of her, he didn’t deserve to die.
This is your fault. Her conscience drove the truth home like an arrow striking its target. If it weren’t for her, he’d be returning to his former duties.
‘You were wounded before,’ she said slowly. ‘With the Light Brigade.’
He gave a nod. ‘I would have been returning to duty anyway. I’ve made a full recovery.’ He spoke as if it didn’t matter, that this was of no concern.
She looked into his eyes, her heart suddenly trembling. ‘It’s not right for you to be sent away again.’
‘I’ve no ties to London, sweet. I always expected to return. It doesn’t matter.’ He started towards his horse, but Hannah stopped him.
He was going to lose everything because of her. Because he’d rescued her and taken care of her that night.
‘It matters.’ She touched the sleeve of his coat, feeling obligated to do something for him. There had to be some way she could intervene with her father’s unnecessary punishment.
‘Stop looking at me like that,’ he murmured, his eyes centering directly on hers.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Like you’re trying to rescue me.’
‘I’m not.’ She lifted her face to his, studying those deep hazel eyes. He was a soldier, trained to strike down his enemies. Right now, he looked tired, but no less dangerous.
‘Trust me, sweet. I’m not a man worth saving.’ He took her hand in his and, despite the gloves, she felt the heat of his skin. ‘You’d do well to stay away from me.’
The evocative memory of his stolen kiss conjured gooseflesh on her arms. The Lieutenant never took his eyes from her, and Hannah held herself motionless.
It went against everything she’d been taught, to hold an unmarried man’s hand while standing in the garden where anyone could see. He was so close, the barest breath hung between them.
Something wanton and unbidden unfurled from within her, making her understand that Michael Thorpe was no ordinary man. He fascinated her. Tempted her.
And the daughter of a Marquess could never, never be with a man like him. He was right.
At last, she took her hand from his, ignoring the pang of disappointment. It was better for her to stay away from him. He was entirely the wrong sort of man.
Yet he was the only man who had noticed her absence at the ball. He hadn’t stopped to notify her father and brothers, but had come after her straight away. An unexpected hero.
The Lieutenant’s ill-fitting coat had a tear in the elbow. Shabby and worn, he didn’t fit into the polished world in which she lived. But beneath his rebellious air was a man who had fought to save her.
Would he do so again, if she asked it of him?
‘Lieutenant Thorpe, I have a favour to ask.’
He eyed her with wariness. ‘What is it?’
It felt so awkward to ask this of him. She dug her nails into her palms, gathering up her courage. ‘If I am forced into marriage with Lord Belgrave, would you…put a stop to the wedding?’
A lazy smile perked at his mouth. ‘You’re asking me to kidnap you from your own wedding?’
‘If it comes to that—yes.’ She squared her shoulders, pretending as though she hadn’t voiced an inappropriate request. ‘I shall try to avoid it, of course. You would be my last resort.’
He expelled a harsh laugh and went over to his horse, bringing the animal between them. Grasping the reins in one hand, he tilted his head to study her. ‘You’re serious.’
‘Nothing could be more serious.’ It was an arrangement, a practical way of preventing the worst tragedy of her life. And though it might cause an even greater scandal, she would do anything to escape marriage to Belgrave.
‘I have to report to duty,’ the Lieutenant warned. ‘It’s likely I would be gone within the week.’
She gave a brisk nod, well aware of that. ‘Believe me, my parents want to see me married as soon as possible. It’s likely a wedding will be arranged in a few days. I simply refuse to wed Belgrave. Any other man will do.’
‘Even me?’ He sent her a sidelong smile, as though he, too, couldn’t believe what she was asking.
‘Well, no.’ She pinched her lips together, realising that she’d led him to believe something she’d never intended. ‘I couldn’t possibly—’
‘Don’t worry, sweet.’ His voice grew low, tempting her once again. ‘I’ll stop your wedding, if it’s in my power.’
She breathed once again, her shoulders falling in relief. ‘I would be most grateful.’ Knowing that he would be there in the background, to steal her away from an unwanted wedding, gave her the sense that somehow everything would be all right. She held out her gloved palm, intending to shake his hand on the bargain.
The Lieutenant took her gloved hand in his. Instead of a firm handshake, he raised her palm to his face. ‘If I steal the bride away,’ he murmured, pressing his lips to her hand, ‘what will I get in return?’
Chapter Four
‘What do you want?’
Michael’s response was a slow smile, letting her imagine all the things he might do to a stolen bride, if they were alone.
Hannah’s expression appeared shocked. ‘I would never do such a thing. This is an arrangement, nothing more.’
Her face had gone pale, and Michael pulled back, putting physical distance between them. ‘Don’t you recognise teasing when you hear it, sweet?’
She looked bewildered, but shook her head. ‘Don’t make fun of me, please. This is about Belgrave. I simply can’t marry him.’
‘Then don’t.’
‘It’s not that simple. Already my mother has decided it would be the best future for me.’ Hannah rubbed at her temples absently. ‘I don’t know what I can do to convince her otherwise.’
‘It’s very simple. Tell her no.’
She was already shaking her head, making excuses to herself. ‘I can’t. She won’t listen to a thing I say.’
‘You’ve never disobeyed them, have you?’
‘No.’ She seemed lost, so vulnerable that he half-wished there was someone who could take care of her. Not him. There was no hope of that. She was far better off away from a man like himself.
‘No one can force you to marry. Not even your father.’ He adjusted her shawl so it fully covered her shoulders. ‘Hold your ground and endure what you must.’
Visions flooded his mind, of the battle at Balaclava where his men had obeyed that same command. They’d tried valiantly to stand firm before the enemy. A hailstorm of enemy bullets had rained down upon them, men dying by the hundreds.
Was he asking her to do the same? To stand up to her father, knowing that the Marquess would strike her down? Perhaps it was the wrong course of action.
‘I don’t think I can,’ Hannah confessed. She tugged at a finger of her glove, worrying the fabric. ‘Papa can make my life a misery. And I’ll be ruined if I don’t marry.’
Though she was undoubtedly right, he could not allow himself to think about her future. They were worlds apart from one another. She would have to live with whatever choices she made.
‘Time to make your own fortune. If you’re already ruined, you’ve nothing left to lose. Do as you please.’
Hannah stared at him, as though she hadn’t the faintest idea of how a ruined woman should behave. ‘I don’t know. I’ve always…done what I should.’
She took a step towards the house, away from him. He suddenly understood that she’d asked him to rescue her, not because of her parents, but because the need to obey was so deeply ingrained in her. If he kidnapped her from the wedding, she could lay the blame at his feet, not hers.
She’s not your concern, his brain reminded him. Let her make her own choices. Tell her no.
But he didn’t. Though he shouldn’t interfere, neither would he let her marry a man like Belgrave. He let out a breath, and said, ‘Send word to me if anything changes. Your brothers know where I can be found.’
‘Will you be all right?’ she asked in a small voice. ‘What if my father—?’
‘He can do nothing to me,’ Michael interrupted. Within a week or two, there would be hundreds of miles between them. He’d be back with the Army, fighting the enemy and obeying orders until he met his own end. Men like him weren’t good for much else.
The troubled expression on her face hadn’t dimmed. Instead, a bright flush warmed her cheeks. ‘Thank you for agreeing to help me.’ Hannah reached up to her neck and unfastened the diamond necklace. ‘I want you to have this.’
‘Keep it.’ He closed her fingers back over the glittering stones. An innocent like her could never conceive of the consequences, if he were to accept. Her father would accuse him of stealing, no matter that it had been a gift.
‘If you’re planning to keep watch over me, then you’ll need a reason to return.’ She placed it back in his palm.
He hadn’t considered it in that light. ‘You’re right.’ The necklace did give him a legitimate reason to return, and so he hid the jewellery within his pocket.
‘Return in a day or two,’ she ordered. ‘And I’ll see to it that you’re rewarded for your assistance, whether or not it’s needed.’
He wouldn’t accept any compensation from her, though his funds were running out. ‘It’s not necessary.’
‘It is.’
In her green eyes, Michael saw the loss of innocence, the devastating blow to her future. Yet beneath the pain, there was determination.
She crossed her arms, as if gathering her courage. ‘I won’t let my father destroy my future.’ Her expression shifted into a stubborn set. ‘And I won’t let him destroy yours, either.’
The older woman wandered through the streets, her crimson bonnet vivid in the sea of dark brown and black. Michael pushed his way past the fishmongers and vendors, minding his step through Fleet Street.
Mrs Turner was lost again. He quickened his step, moving amid sailors, drovers and butchers. At last, he reached her side.
‘Good morning,’ he greeted her, tipping his hat.
No recognition dawned in her silver-grey eyes, but she offered a faint nod and continued on her path.
Damn. It wasn’t going to be one of her better days. Mrs Turner had been his neighbour and friend for as long as he could remember, but recently she’d begun to suffer spells of forgetfulness from time to time.
He hadn’t known about her condition until he’d returned to London last November. At first, the widow had brought him food and drink, looking after him while he recovered from the gunshot wounds. He’d broken the devastating news of her son Henry’s death at Balaclava.
And as the weeks passed, she began to withdraw, her mind clouding over. There were times when she only remembered things from the past.
Today she didn’t recognise him at all.
Michael tried to think of a way to break through to her lost memory. ‘You’re Mrs Turner, aren’t you?’ he commented, keeping up with her pace. ‘Of Number Eight, Newton Street?’
She stopped walking, fear rising on her face. ‘I don’t know you.’
‘No, no, you probably don’t remember me,’ he said quickly. ‘But I’m a friend of Henry’s.’
The mention of her son’s name made her eyes narrow. ‘I’ve never seen you before.’
‘Henry sent me to fetch you home,’ he said gently. ‘Will you let me walk with you? I’m certain he’s left a pot of whisky and tea for you. Perhaps some marmalade and bread.’
The mention of her favourite foods made her lower lip tremble. Wrinkles edged her eyes, and tears spilled over them. ‘I’m lost, aren’t I?’
He took her hand in his, leading her in the proper direction. ‘No, Mrs Turner.’
As he guided her through the busy streets, her frail hand gripped his with a surprising strength. They drew closer to her home at Peabody Square, and her face began to relax. Whether or not she recognised her surroundings, she seemed more at ease.
Michael helped her inside, and saw that she was out of coal. ‘I’ll just be a moment getting a fire started for you.’ Handing her a crocheted blanket, he settled her upon a rocking chair to wait.
After purchasing a bucket of coal for her, he returned to her dwelling and soon had a fire burning.
Mrs Turner huddled close to it, still wearing her bright red bonnet. He’d given it to her this Christmas, both from her love of the outrageous colour, and because it made it easier to locate her within a crowd of people.
‘Why, Michael,’ she said suddenly, her mouth curving in a warm smile. ‘I didn’t realise you’d come to visit. Make a pot of tea for us, won’t you?’
He exhaled, glad to see that she was starting to remember him. When he brought out the kettle, he saw that she had hardly any water remaining. There was enough to make a pot of tea, though, and he put the kettle on to boil.
‘You’re looking devilishly handsome, I must say.’ She beamed. ‘Where did you get those clothes?’
He didn’t tell her that she’d loaned them to him last night, from her son’s clothing. Bringing up the memory of Henry’s death would only make her cry again.
‘A good friend let me borrow them,’ was all he said. When her tea was ready, he brought her the cup, lacing it heavily with whisky.
She drank heartily, smacking her lips. ‘Ah, now you’re a fine lad, Michael. Tell me about the ball last night. Did you meet any young ladies to marry?’
‘I might have.’ The vision of Lady Hannah’s lovely face came to mind. ‘But they tossed me out on my ear.’
She gave a loud laugh. ‘Oh, they did no such thing, you wretch.’ She drained the mug, and he refilled it with more tea. ‘I’m certain you made all the women swoon. Now, tell me what they were wearing.’ She wrapped the blanket around herself, moving the rocking chair closer to the fire.
While he answered her questions about the Marquess and his vague memory of the women’s gowns, he tried to locate food for her. Scouring her cupboards, he found only a stale loaf of bread. Beside it, he saw a candle, a glove and all of the spoons.
He searched everywhere for marmalade, finally locating it among her undergarments in a drawer. He was afraid to look any further, for fear of what else he might find. Ever since she’d begun having the spells, he’d found all manner of disorganisation in her home.
He cut her a thick slice of bread and slathered it with marmalade. God only knew when she’d eaten last.
Mrs Turner bit into it, sighing happily. ‘Now, then. Who else did you meet at the ball, Michael?’ She lifted her tea up and took another hearty swallow.
‘A foreign gentleman was there,’ he added. ‘Someone from Lohenberg.’
The cup slid from Mrs Turner’s hand, shattering on the floor. Tea spilled everywhere, and her face had gone white.
Michael grabbed a rag and soaked up the spill, cleaning up the broken pieces. ‘It’s all right. I’ll take care of it.’
But when he looked into Mrs Turner’s grey eyes, he saw consummate fear. ‘Who—who was he?’
‘Graf von Reischor,’ he said. ‘The ambassador, I believe. It was nothing.’
He said not a word about the man’s impossible claim, that he looked like their king. But Mrs Turner gripped his hand, her face bone white. ‘No. Oh, no.’
‘What is the matter?’ He stared into her silver eyes, wondering why the mention of Lohenberg would frighten her so. Neither of them had ever left England before.
A few minutes later, Mrs Turner’s face turned distant. She whispered to herself about her son Henry, as though he were a young child toddling toward her.
It was useless to ask her anything now. The madness had descended once more.
Hannah wasn’t entirely certain what a ruined woman should wear, but she felt confident that it wouldn’t be a gown the colour of cream. This morning, Christine Chesterfield had inspected every inch of her attire, fussing over her as if she were about to meet the Queen.
‘Now remember,’ her mother warned, ‘be on your very best behaviour. Pretend that nothing happened the other night.’
Nothing did happen, she wanted to retort, but she feigned subservience. ‘Yes, Mother.’
Christine reached out and adjusted a hairpin, ensuring that not a single strand was out of place. ‘Did you read my list?’
‘Of course.’ Hannah offered the slip of paper, and her mother found a pen, hastily scratching notes.
‘I’ve made changes for tonight. At dinner, you are to wear the white silk gown with the rose embroidery and your pearls. Estelle will fix your hair, and you should be there by eight o’clock.’
Her mother handed her the new list. ‘I have advised Manning not to serve you any blanc mange or pudding. And no wine. You have been indulging far more than you should, my dear. Estelle tells me that your figure is a halfinch larger than it should be.’
Her throat clenched, but Hannah said nothing. She stared down at the list, the words blurring upon the page. Never before had she questioned her mother’s orders. If she couldn’t have sweets, then that was because Christine wanted her to have an excellent figure. It was love, not control. Wasn’t it?
But she felt herself straining against the invisible bonds, wanting to escape. Her mother was worried about the size of her waistline, when her entire future had been turned upside down? It seemed ridiculous, in light of the scandal.
With each passing moment, Hannah’s discomfort worsened. ‘Mother, honestly, I don’t feel up to receiving visitors. I’d rather wait a few days.’ She hadn’t slept well last night, and her mind was preoccupied with the uncertain future.
‘You will do as you’re told, Hannah. The sooner you are married, the sooner you can put this nightmare behind you.’ Her mother stood and guided her to the parlour. ‘Now wait here until Lord Belgrave arrives. He told your father he would come to call at two o’clock.’
Hannah realised she might as well have been speaking to a stone wall. In her mind, she envisioned her parents chaining her ankle to the church pew, her mouth stuffed with a handkerchief while they wedded her off to Belgrave.
At least she had an hour left, before the true torment began. She contemplated escaping the house, but what good would it do to run away? Nothing, except make her parents angrier than they already were.
No, if she had to face Lord Belgrave again, she would tell him exactly what she thought of him. Perhaps he would call off his plans.
Her father, the Marquess, stood beside the fireplace, his pocket watch in his hands. Disappointment and sadness cloaked his features as he put the watch in his waistcoat. He paced towards the sofa and sat down, his wrists resting upon his knees.
Hannah went and sat down beside her father. She reached out and took his hand. Anger would never win a battle against her father. But he had a soft spot for obedience.
‘I know that you are trying to protect me,’ she said gently. ‘And as your only daughter, I know that you want someone to take care of me.’
His grey eyes were stormy with unspoken fury, but he was listening.
‘I beg of you, Papa, don’t ask me to marry Lord Belgrave,’ she pleaded. ‘I don’t care if he reveals the scandal to everyone.’
‘I do.’ Her father’s grip tightened around her knuckles. ‘I won’t allow our family name to be degraded, simply because you lost your judgement one night.’
Hannah pulled her hand away. ‘I will marry no one.’ Rising to her feet, she added, ‘Most especially not the Baron of Belgrave.’
‘It won’t be Michael Thorpe. God help me, you will not wed a soldier.’
The thought had never entered her mind, but at the reminder of the Lieutenant, a caress of heat erupted over her body. Sensual and rebellious, a man like Michael Thorpe would never treat her with the polite distance so typical of marriage. No, she suspected he was the sort of man who would possess her, stealing her breath away in forbidden pleasure.
Hannah shook her head. ‘Of course not.’
Plunging forward, she revealed an alternate plan. ‘Send me somewhere far away from London until the talk dies down. We have cousins elsewhere in Europe, don’t we?’
‘Germany,’ he admitted. His countenance turned grim, but she though she detected a softening in his demeanour. Please, God, let him listen to me, she prayed.
At that moment, the footman Phillips gave a quiet knock. ‘Forgive me, my lord, but the Baron of Belgrave has come to call upon Lady Hannah.’
The Marquess hesitated a moment before speaking. Hannah gripped her fingers together so hard, her knuckles turned white. She shook her head, pleading with her father.
‘Give him another chance, Hannah,’ the Marquess said quietly. ‘Despite his reproachable actions, the man does come from an excellent family. He can provide you with anything you’d ever need.’
She couldn’t believe the words had come from her father’s mouth. She’d known that he cared about appearances, that upholding model behaviour was important to him. But she’d never thought it was more important than her own well-being.
‘Papa, please,’ she whispered again. ‘Don’t ask this of me.’
Her father’s face tensed, but his tone was unyielding when he spoke. ‘Tell the baron my daughter will await him in the drawing room.’
Chapter Five
Michael stood at attention when Colonel Hammond entered the room. He’d been summoned to the War Office this morning, but it wasn’t the commander-in-chief who’d prepared his new orders. Instead, he’d been shown into a smaller sitting room. ‘Colonel, you asked to see me?’
‘Yes. I’m afraid there’s been a change in your assignment,’ the Colonel admitted. The senior officer’s red jacket gleamed with brass buttons, the gold epaulettes resting upon his shoulders. Michael felt ill at ease in his own slate-blue uniform, which still bore the bloodstains he hadn’t been able to wash clean.
The Colonel gestured towards a wooden chair, and Michael took a seat. ‘You won’t be returning to the front, after all.’
‘I’ve made a full recovery,’ Michael felt compelled to point out. ‘I’m ready to fight again.’
Colonel Hammond looked uncomfortable. ‘That will have to wait, I’m afraid. Though I should like to see you return to battle as well—we can always use men of your fortitude—I’m afraid the Army has other plans for you.’
An uncomfortable suspicion settled in his gut. Had the Marquess used his powers of influence so soon? He’d known that he would probably be sent away from England, but he’d expected to return to duty.
‘What are my orders?’
The Colonel sat across from him, a large mahogany desk as a barrier between them. ‘You will accompany the ambassador from Lohenberg, the Graf von Reischor, to his homeland. He has proposed to send supplies to the Crimean Peninsula, offering aid from their country to our troops. You will assist the Commissariat by choosing what is most needed for the men.’
Michael’s hand clenched into a fist. He didn’t believe for a moment that the Graf was acting out of concern for the British troops. This was nothing but a stranger meddling in his military career, all because he’d ignored the summons. Why should he care whether or not he resembled the King of some tiny, forgotten country?
He’d given years of service to the Army, obeying orders and doing his best to keep his men alive. And with a single stroke of the pen, the Lohenberg Graf had turned his military career from a soldier into an errand boy.
‘You honour me, Colonel,’ he lied, ‘but I’m nothing but a lieutenant. Why not one of my commanding officers?’
‘The ambassador requested you. I suggested another officer as a liaison, but he insisted that it must be you, or he would reconsider the offer.’ There was a questioning note in the Colonel’s voice, but Michael gave no response. He couldn’t tell his commander why the Graf wanted him to travel to Lohenberg, when he didn’t know the man’s intent.
‘I’d rather be back with my men,’ he said quietly. ‘I owe it to them, after what happened at Balaclava.’ He’d tried to save whatever lives he could until he’d fallen, shot and bleeding on the field.
‘I understand Nolan spoke well of you and your bravery before the battle.’ The Colonel’s voice was also quiet, as though remembering those soldiers who had not returned.
He turned his attention to pouring a cup of tea. ‘While we would welcome you back on the Peninsula, Lieutenant Thorpe, this alliance is far too important. I’m afraid your orders are clear. The Graf has requested you, and it is our hope that you can convince the Lohenberg Army to join in our cause.’
Bitter silence permeated the room, and Michael rose from his seat. Damned if he was going to allow the Graf to ruin everything he’d worked for. He would go and try to convince the man to choose another officer. Then, perhaps he could rejoin what was left of the 17th Lancers.
Michael bowed and offered a polite farewell to Colonel Hammond, who shook his hand afterwards and wished him well.
‘I will give your regards to the men, upon my return to Balaclava, Lieutenant. You will report to Graf von Reischor at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.’
His heart filled with anger; numb to all else, Michael gripped the Colonel’s hand and murmured another farewell.
It was becoming quite clear that Graf von Reischor believed himself to be a puppet master, jerking his strings toward a path that was not his.
As he left the War Office, Michael shoved his hands inside his pockets, only to find the tangled strand of diamonds Hannah had given him.
He slid his hands over the hard stones, feeling the chain warm beneath his fingertips. Although Hannah believed the diamonds would grant him an excuse to return to Rothburne House, that wasn’t a wise idea. The Marquess would murder him if he so much as set foot upon a blade of Rothburne grass.
It’s not your battle to fight.
He knew he shouldn’t be involved. Their lives were too distant from one another, and despite the night they’d spent in the carriage, she was better off if he left her alone. Most likely Hannah would be all right, with her father and brothers to protect her.
The way they had on the night Belgrave took her? his conscience reminded him. His trouble instincts were rising up again.
He expelled a foul curse and continued walking through the streets. An hour. He could spend that much time ensuring for himself that she hadn’t been dragged off by Belgrave.
Hackney cab drivers called out, offering to drive him, but he ignored them. It wasn’t such a long walk, and he didn’t have the money for it anyway.
The thin soles of his shoes were worn down, and as he continued on the walk to Rothburne House, he felt the cobbled stones more than he’d have liked. He hadn’t broken his fast this morning, and the thought of food made his stomach hurt. It didn’t help matters to see a vendor selling meat pies and iced raisin buns.
After half an hour, he finally reached Rothburne House. He recognised Lord Belgrave’s carriage waiting outside. A grim resolution took root inside him, to get rid of Belgrave.
He couldn’t approach the front entrance, however. Rothburne’s footmen would throw him out. His military uniform also made it impossible to reconnoitre without being easily noticed.
Quickly, Michael stripped off his jacket and shako, hiding the plumed military cap and outer coat beneath a trimmed boxwood hedge. Beside it, he placed his officer’s sword. He removed Hannah’s necklace from the jacket and placed it in his pocket.
Traversing the perimeter of the house, he spied an open window on the first floor. Time to discover exactly what Belgrave was up to.
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Michelle Willingham
From dutiful debutante…Lieutenant Michael Thorpe is a forbidden temptation for Lady Hannah Chesterfield. Etiquette demands Hannah ignore the shivers of desire his wicked gaze provokes, but he’s the only man to recognise her restless spirit, and her unawakened body is clamouring for his touch… …to passionate princess!They are thrown together by scandal, and a defiant Hannah joins Michael on an adventure to uncover the secret of his birth – is this common soldier really a prince? If so, will the ordinary man who has taught Hannah the meaning of pleasure now make her his royal bride?
‘Tell me to stop.’
But she didn’t. She had broken so many rules today.
His gaze was heated, his eyes burning with a warning she couldn’t heed. Something about this man drew her in, tantalising her with the promise of physical pleasure.
‘Don’t stop. I need this…’ Hannah didn’t even understand what she was asking for.
‘So innocent.’ His mouth moved over her skin, caressing her with his warm breath. As before, her body came alive, needing him to touch. To taste.
Michael pulled her against him, though he didn’t hold her tight. ‘This is your last chance to run away. I’m not above taking what’s offered.’
‘Show me what it’s supposed to be like,’ she murmured.
The words were all the encouragement he needed, and he covered her breathless mouth with his own. Instinct took over and Hannah kissed him back, ignoring every warning that flew into her mind. She didn’t care. Soon enough, she’d never see him again.
And, by Heaven, if she was going to be ruined after today she might as well have a memory to show for it.
The Accidental Princess
Michelle Willingham
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
About the Author
MICHELLE WILLINGHAM grew up living in places all over the world, including Germany, England and Thailand. When her parents hauled her to antiques shows in manor houses and castles Michelle entertained herself by making up stories and pondering whether she could afford a broadsword with her allowance. She graduated summa cum laude from the University of Notre Dame, with a degree in English, and received her master’s degree in Education from George Mason University. Currently she teaches American History and English. She lives in south-eastern Virginia with her husband and children. She still doesn’t have her broadsword.
Visit her website at: www.michellewillingham.com, or e-mail her at michelle@michellewillingham.com
Previous novels by this author:
HER IRISH WARRIOR
(#ulink_755209d6-b1b6-545d-9145-ace319b3adb1)
THE WARRIOR’S TOUCH
(#ulink_755209d6-b1b6-545d-9145-ace319b3adb1)
HER WARRIOR KING
(#ulink_755209d6-b1b6-545d-9145-ace319b3adb1)
HER WARRIOR SLAVE
(#ulink_31a58c85-102c-5421-94f7-2b8545667a7f)
THE ACCIDENTAL COUNTESS
(#ulink_ccda03db-525b-5493-8e6f-4bdf0cb5cdb5)
Also available in eBook format inMills & Boon® Historical Undone:
THE VIKING’S FORBIDDEN LOVE-SLAVE
THE WARRIOR’S FORBIDDEN VIRGIN
AN ACCIDENTAL SEDUCTION
(#ulink_ccda03db-525b-5493-8e6f-4bdf0cb5cdb5)
(#ulink_be08b411-b598-595d-bd7e-d026d57444d8)The MacEgan Brothers
(#ulink_582d6aec-09fc-56a8-a22a-294636367410) prequel to The MacEgan Brothers trilogy
(#ulink_96d732ab-be33-590f-a2fd-60d9e0a3a043) linked by character
Author Note
I’ve always loved princess stories, ever since I was a little girl. I devoured Grimm’s fairytales and other classics such as A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett and The Prince and the Pauper by Mark Twain. I wanted to explore the idea of a soldier hero, Michael Thorpe, who looks nearly identical to a crown prince. Throughout the book Michael must question his past and discover whether he was an illegitimate son or the true prince.
Lady Hannah Chesterfield, the daughter of a marquess, is drawn to Lieutenant Thorpe, though she knows she can never wed a soldier. As Michael’s secrets unfold, Hannah is forced into a fascinating world of intrigue and royalty. Ultimately she must decide whether or not to face her greatest fear: surrendering to her hidden desires.
I hope you enjoy THE ACCIDENTAL PRINCESS, and I invite you to try its companion book, THE ACCIDENTAL COUNTESS, about Hannah’s older brother Stephen Chesterfield, the Earl of Whitmore. You can also find behind-the-scenes information about my books on my website: www.michellewillingham.com.
I love to hear from readers, and you may e-mail me at michelle@michellewillingham.com, or write to me at: PO Box 2242 Poquoson, VA 23662, United States.
Warmest wishes.
To Elizabeth, my own special princess.
Acknowledgements
I’d like to thank the library staff of the Mariner’s Museum in Newport News, Virginia, for their invaluable help in researching the interior of a steamship. In particular, thanks to Library Researcher Bill Edwards-Bodmer, who guided me in choosing the best steamship to use as a model for my own ship. I had a great time poring over old photographs and I was very inspired by the luxurious interiors of these historic vessels.
Chapter One
London, 1855
She could feel his eyes watching her from across the room. Like an invisible protector, warning away anyone who would bother her. Lady Hannah Chesterfield smiled at one of the ballroom guests, but she hadn’t heard a word the woman had said. Instead, she was all too aware of Lieutenant Thorpe’s gaze and the forbidden nature of his thoughts.
Though she’d only met him a few weeks ago, she hadn’t forgotten his intensity. Nor the way he’d stared at her like a delectable sweet he wanted but couldn’t have.
He’d brushed his lips upon the back of her hand when her brother had introduced them. The unexpected kiss had made her skin flush, awakening the strange desire to move closer to him. He looked as though he wanted to kiss every inch of her, and the thought made her body tremble. His interest had been undeniable.
It was nearing midnight, the hour of secret liaisons. More than a few ladies had disappeared into the garden with a companion, only to return with twigs in their hair and swollen lips.
Hannah wondered what it would be like to indulge in such wickedness, feeling a man’s mouth against her lips, his hands touching her the way a lover would. There was something about the Lieutenant that was dangerous. Unpredictable. He didn’t belong here among London’s elite, and yet he fascinated her.
She risked a glance and saw him leaning against the back wall, a glass of lemonade in one hand. His black tailcoat was too snug across his broad shoulders, as though he couldn’t afford one that fit. His matching waistcoat accentuated his lean form, while the white cravat he wore had a careless tilt to it. His dark hair was too long, and he was clean-shaven, unlike the current fashion.
His mouth gave a slight lift, as though daring her to come and speak to him. She couldn’t possibly do such a thing.
Why was he here tonight? It wasn’t as if Lieutenant Thorpe could seek a wife from among the ladies. He might be an officer, but he did not possess a title. Furthermore, if it weren’t for his unlikely friendship with her brother Stephen, the Lieutenant wouldn’t have been allowed inside Rothburne House.
‘Hannah!’ A hand waved in front of her face, and she forced herself to pay heed to her mother, who had crossed the room to speak with her.
‘You’re woolgathering again, my dear. Stand up straight and smile. The Baron of Belgrave is coming to claim his dance with you.’ With a slight titter, Christine Chesterfield added, ‘Oh, I do hope the two of you get on. He would make such a dashing husband for you. He’s so handsome and well-mannered.’
An unsettled feeling rose up in her stomach. ‘Mother, I don’t want to wed the baron.’
‘Why? Whatever is wrong with Lord Belgrave?’ Christine demanded.
‘I don’t know. Something. It feels wrong.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake.’ Her mother rolled her eyes. ‘Hannah, you’re imagining things. There is absolutely nothing wrong with the baron, and I have little doubt that he would make an excellent husband.’
A sour feeling caught up in her stomach, but Hannah didn’t protest. She’d learned, long ago, that her mother and father had carved-in-stone ideas about the man she would marry. The gentleman had to be well-bred, wealthy and titled. A saint who had never transgressed against anyone, who treated women with the utmost respect.
And likely rescued kittens in his spare time, she thought sourly. Men of that nature didn’t exist. She knew it for a fact, being cursed with two older brothers.
Though she wanted to get married more than anything, Hannah was beginning to wonder if she’d ever find the right man. Having her own home and a husband was her dream, for she could finally have the freedom she wanted.
She craved the moment when she could make her own choices without having to ask permission or worry about whether or not she was behaving like a proper lady. Although she was twenty years old, she might as well have been a girl of five, for all that she’d been sheltered from the world.
‘Now, Hannah,’ her mother chided. ‘The baron has been nothing but the soul of kindness this entire week. He’s brought you flowers every day.’
It was true that Lord Belgrave had made his courtship intentions clear. But despite his outward courtesy, Hannah couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. He was almost too perfect.
‘I’m not feeling up to a dance just now,’ she said, though she knew the excuse would never hold.
‘You are perfectly well,’ her mother insisted. ‘And you cannot turn down an invitation to dance. It would be rude.’
Hannah clamped her lips together, suppressing the urge to argue. Her mother would never bend when it came to appropriate behaviour. With any luck, the dance would be over in three minutes.
‘Smile, for the love of heaven,’ her mother repeated. ‘You look as though you’re about to faint.’
Without waiting for her reply, Lady Rothburne flounced away, just as the Baron of Belgrave arrived to claim his dance.
Hannah forced a smile upon her face and prayed that the remaining hours would pass quickly. And as the baron swept her into the next dance, she caught a glimpse of the Lieutenant watching them, an unreadable darkness upon his face.
Michael Thorpe had a sixth sense for trouble. He often perceived it before it struck, which had served him well on the battlefield.
It was happening again. Intuition pricked at his conscience, when he saw Lady Hannah about to dance with the Baron of Belgrave. Whether she knew it or not, the suitors were circling her like sharks. There wasn’t a man among them who didn’t want to claim her.
Including himself.
She was an untouched angel. Innocent of the world, and yet he recognised the weariness in her green eyes. Her caramel-brown hair had been artfully arranged with sprigs of jasmine, while her gown was purest white. It irritated him that her parents treated her as a marital offering to be served out to debauched males.
Like the dog that he was, he wanted to snarl at her suitors, warning them to stay the hell away. But what good would come of it, except to embarrass her among her family and friends?
No. Better to remain in the shadows and keep watch over her. He’d seen so much death and war in the past few months, he felt the need to protect something fragile and good. Soon enough, he’d have to go back to the Crimean Peninsula. He’d have to face the demons and ghosts he’d left behind, and, more than likely, a bullet would end his life.
For now, he would savour this last taste of freedom before the Army ordered him back to the battleground. He glared at Belgrave, watching the pair of them on the dance floor. For a brief moment he imagined himself holding a woman like Hannah in his arms.
His good friend, the Earl of Whitmore, approached with an intent glare upon his face. A moment later, Whitmore’s younger brother, Lord Quentin Chesterfield, joined them.
‘I hope, for your sake, Thorpe, that you weren’t eyeing my sister.’ The Earl spoke the words in a calm, deliberate fashion. ‘Otherwise, I’ll have to kill you.’
Lord Quentin leaned in, a mischievous smile on his face. ‘I’ll help.’
Michael ignored their threats, though he didn’t doubt that they meant them. ‘Your sister shouldn’t be dancing with Belgrave. I don’t trust him.’
‘He might be a baron, but he looks a bit too polished, doesn’t he?’ Lord Quentin agreed. ‘Like he’s trying too hard to impress the women.’
‘You could try a bit harder with your own attire.’ Whitmore grimaced at his younger brother’s dark purple jacket and yellow waistcoat.
‘I like colourful clothing.’ Lord Quentin shrugged and turned his attention back to the dancing couple. ‘I suppose we shouldn’t worry. Our father isn’t going to allow Hannah to wed a man like Belgrave, even if he does propose.’
Glancing at the ceiling as if calculating a vast number, Lord Quentin thought to himself. ‘Now how many proposals does that make for her this Season…seventeen? Or was it twenty-seven?’
‘Five,’ Whitmore replied. ‘Thankfully, from no one appropriate. But I’ll agree with you that Belgrave wouldn’t be my first choice.’ Crossing his arms, the Earl added, ‘I’ll be glad when she finds a husband. One less matter to worry about.’
From the tension in Whitmore’s face, Michael suspected that impending fatherhood was his greater fear. ‘How is the Countess?’ he asked.
‘One more month of confinement, and then, pray God, we’ll have this child. Emily begged me to take her to Falkirk for the birth. We’re leaving at dawn. Still, I’m not certain I want her to travel in her condition. Our last baby arrived weeks earlier than we’d expected.’
‘Emily is approaching the size of a small carriage,’ Lord Quentin interjected.
Whitmore sent his brother a blistering look, and Michael offered, ‘I’ll hold him down while you break his nose.’
A smile cracked over the Earl’s face. ‘Excellent idea, Thorpe.’
Changing the subject, Michael studied Lady Hannah once more. ‘Do you think the Marquess will choose a husband for her this Season?’
‘It’s doubtful,’ Whitmore replied. ‘Hannah might as well have a note upon her forehead, telling the unmarried gentleman: “Don’t Even Bother Asking.”’
‘Or, “The Marquess Will Kill You If You Ogle His Daughter”,’ Quentin added.
The brothers continued to joke about their sister, but Michael ignored their banter. Beneath it all, he understood their fierce desire to protect her. In that, they held common ground.
But regardless of what he might desire, he knew the truth. A Marquess’s daughter could never be with a soldier.
No matter how badly he might want her.
‘Lady Hannah, you are truly the loveliest woman in this room.’ Robert Mortmain, the Baron of Belgrave, led her in the steps of the polka, his smile broad.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured without looking at him.
She couldn’t deny that Lord Belgrave was indeed charming and handsome, with dark brown hair and blue eyes. Born into wealth, nearly every unmarried woman had cast her snare for him—all except herself. There was something about him, a haughtiness that made Hannah uncomfortable.
Don’t worry about it, she told herself. Papa isn’t going to force you to marry him, so there’s no need to be rude. The problem of Lord Belgrave would solve itself.
Hannah’s skin crawled when the baron touched the small of her back, even with gloved hands. As they moved across the floor, she tensed. The smug air upon his face was of a man boasting to his friends. He didn’t want to be with her; he wanted to show her off. A subtle ache began to swell through her temples.
Just a few minutes more, and the dance will be over, Hannah consoled herself. Then she could escape to the comfort of her room. It was nearly midnight, and though she was expected to remain until after two o’clock, she might be able to convince her father that she didn’t feel well.
Lord Belgrave scowled when they danced past the refreshment table. ‘I didn’t realise he would be here tonight.’
He was speaking of Lieutenant Thorpe, who was now openly staring at them. Displeasure lined the Lieutenant’s face and he gripped the lemonade glass as though he intended to hurl it towards the Baron.
‘Why did your father invite him, I wonder?’ Lord Belgrave asked.
‘Lieutenant Thorpe saved my brother Stephen’s life a few years ago,’ she admitted. ‘They are friends.’
Though how Stephen had even encountered such a man, she’d never understand. Despite his military rank, Thorpe was a commoner—not the second son of a viscount or earl, as was customary for officers in the Army. And were it not for her brother’s insistence, she knew the Lieutenant would never have been invited.
There was nothing humble or uncertain about the way he was watching them. Anger ridged his features, and though the Lieutenant kept himself in control, he looked like he wanted to drag her away from Belgrave.
‘He’s trying to better himself, isn’t he?’ Belgrave remarked. ‘A man of his poor breeding only poisons his surroundings.’
From his intensity and defensive stance, the Lieutenant appeared as though he were still standing on a battlefield. Likely he’d be more comfortable holding a gun instead of a glass of lemonade.
‘I don’t want you near a man like him.’ The baron scowled.
Lord Belgrave’s possessive tone didn’t sit well with her, but Hannah said nothing. It wasn’t as if she intended to go anywhere near the Lieutenant. Even so, what right did Belgrave have to dictate her actions?
None whatsoever. The dance was nearly finished, and she was grateful for that. Her headache was growing worse, and she longed for an escape to her room. When the music ended, she thanked Lord Belgrave, but he held her hands a moment longer.
‘Lady Hannah, I would be honoured if you’d consent to becoming my wife.’
She couldn’t believe he’d asked it of her. Here? In the middle of a ballroom? Hannah’s smile grew strained, but she simply answered, ‘You’ll have to speak with my father.’
No. No. A thousand times, no.
The baron’s fingers tightened when she tried to pull away. ‘But what of your wishes? If you did not require the Marquess’s permission, what would you say?’
I would say absolutely not.
Hannah kept her face completely neutral. She didn’t like the look in his eyes. There was a desperate glint in them, and she wondered if Belgrave’s fortunes were as secure as he’d claimed. Forcing a laugh she didn’t feel, Hannah managed, ‘You flatter me, my lord. Any woman would be glad to call you her husband.’
Just not me. But then, a word to her father would take care of that. Although the Marquess presented an autocratic façade to his peers, he was softer towards her, probably because she’d never embarrassed him in public, or even hinted at rebellion. Obedient and demure, she’d made him proud.
Or at least, that’s what she hoped.
Hannah managed to pry her hand free. Even so, she could feel the baron’s eyes boring into the back of her gown. She walked towards her father and brothers, who were standing near the entrance to the terrace. From the serious expressions on their faces, she didn’t want to interrupt the conversation. She took a glass of lemonade and waited outside the ballroom, in the darkened shadows near the terrace. It wasn’t good to be standing alone, but she hoped she was near enough to her brothers that no one would bother her.
Everyone else was still inside, dancing and mingling with one another. Her head was aching even more, a dreadful pressure that seemed to spread.
Oh, please, not tonight, Hannah prayed. She’d suffered headaches such as these before, and they were wretched, attacking her until she was bedridden for a full day or longer.
‘You don’t look well,’ came a male voice from behind her.
Without turning around, she knew it was Lieutenant Thorpe. His voice lacked the cultured tones of the upper class, making his identity obvious. Hannah contemplated ignoring him and approaching her father, but then that would be rude. And whether or not she wanted to speak to him, good manners were ingrained within her.
‘I am fine, Lieutenant Thorpe. Thank you for asking.’
Despite her unspoken dismissal, he didn’t move away. She could feel him watching her, and, beneath his attention, her body began to respond. It felt too hot, even outside on the terrace. The silk of her dress felt confining. She fanned herself, not knowing why his very presence seemed to unnerve her so.
She didn’t turn around, for it wasn’t proper for her to be speaking with him alone. Even if he was completely hidden behind her, she didn’t want to take a chance of someone seeing them. ‘Was there something you wanted?’
He gave a low laugh, a husky sound that was far too intimate. ‘Nothing you can give, sweet.’
Her face flushed scarlet, not knowing what he’d meant by that. She took a hesitant step closer to her father, sensing the Lieutenant’s presence like a warm breeze upon her nape. Her gown rested off her shoulders, baring her skin before him. The strand of diamonds she wore grew heavy, and she forgot about her aching head. Instead, she was intensely conscious of the man standing behind her.
‘You look tired.’
It was so true. She was tired of attending balls and dinner parties. Tired of being paraded around like a porcelain doll, waiting for the right marriage offer.
‘I’m all right,’ she insisted. ‘You needn’t worry about me.’ She wanted him to leave her alone. He shouldn’t be standing behind her, not where anyone could come upon them. She was about to step away when a gloved hand touched her back. The heat of his palm warmed her skin, and she jerked away out of instinct.
‘Don’t touch me,’ she pleaded.
‘Is that what you want?’
Her shoulders rose and fell, her breathing unsteady. Of course that’s what she wanted. A man like Michael Thorpe was nothing but trouble.
But before she could say another word, his hand moved to her shoulders. Caressing the skin, gently easing the tension in her nape.
Step away from him. Scream, her brain insisted. But it was as though her mouth were stuffed with cotton. Her limbs were frozen in place, unable to move.
Her breasts prickled beneath the ivory silk, becoming aroused. He’d removed a single glove, and the vibrant intimacy of his bare palm on her flesh made her tremble.
‘Don’t do this,’ she pleaded. Her voice was a slight whisper, barely audible. ‘You—you shouldn’t.’
Well-mannered ladies did not stand still while they were accosted by a soldier. She could only imagine what her mother would say. But she had never been touched by a man like this, and the sensation was a secret thrill.
The Lieutenant’s fingers slipped beneath the chain of her necklace, teasing her neck before winding into the strands of her coiffeur. ‘You’re right.’
His fingers were melting her resistance, making her feel alive. She was beginning to understand how a woman might cast off propriety, surrendering to a stranger’s seduction.
‘My apologies. You were too much temptation to resist.’
Her fingers clenched at her sides. ‘Sir, keep your hands to yourself. Or you’ll answer to my brother.’
‘I’ll try.’
Then she felt the lightest brush of his mouth upon her nape, a kiss he shouldn’t have stolen. Wicked heat poured through her, and she gasped at the sensation.
Hannah whirled around, prepared to chastise him. But he’d already gone. She stared out at the gardens, but there was not a trace that he’d been there. Only the gooseflesh on her arms and the storm of churning fire inside her skin.
‘Why are you out here alone, Hannah?’ The Marquess of Rothburne approached, having finished his conversation with her brothers. Her father frowned at her, as though she’d transgressed by avoiding a chaperone.
She prayed he didn’t see her flushed cheeks or suspect the improper thoughts racing through her head. ‘I would like permission to retire,’ she said calmly. ‘It’s been a long evening. My head hurts, and I need to lie down.’
‘Do you want me to send your maid with laudanum?’ he asked, becoming concerned.
Hannah shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think it’s going to be one of those headaches. But if you please, Papa, I’m very tired.’
Her father offered his arm. ‘Walk with me for a few minutes, if you will.’
Hannah was hesitant, but she suspected her father had something else to discuss with her. He led her outside the terrace and down the gravel walkway toward her mother’s rose garden. The canes held hints of new growth, though it would be early summer before the first blooms came. She raised her eyes to look out at the glittering stars, wishing she had brought a shawl.
Her skin was still sensitive from the Lieutenant’s touch, her mind in turmoil. He’d awakened a restless side to her, and she didn’t like it. Even while she walked, the shifting of her legs sent an uneasy ache within her body.
What had he done to her? And did that make her a wanton, for enjoying his fleeting touch?
Her father led her through the gardens toward the stables, their feet crunching upon the gravel as they walked. Hannah found herself comparing the two men. James Chesterfield was every inch a Marquess, displaying a haughty exterior that intimidated almost everyone except herself. Never did he stray from the rules of propriety. In contrast, Lieutenant Thorpe had a devil-may-care attitude, a man who did exactly as he pleased.
She shivered at the memory.
When her father’s silence stretched on, Hannah guessed at the reason. ‘You turned another proposal down, didn’t you?’
James paused. ‘Not yet. But the Baron of Belgrave asked for permission to call upon me tomorrow.’
It wasn’t a surprise, but she felt it best to make her feelings known. ‘I don’t want to marry him, Papa.’
‘He possesses a large estate, and comes from an excellent family,’ her father argued. ‘He seems to have a genuine interest in you.’ He escorted her back to the house.
‘Something about him bothers me.’ Hannah paused, trying to find the right words. ‘I can’t quite explain it.’
‘That isn’t a good enough reason to reject his suit,’ the Marquess protested.
She knew that, but was counting on her father to take her side. To change the subject, she asked, ‘What sort of man are you hoping I’ll wed? I do want to get married.’
The Marquess cleared his throat. ‘I’ll know him when I see him. Someone who will take care of you and make you happy.’ He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, though he didn’t smile. Streaks of grey marred his bearded face, his hair silvery in the moonlight.
He led her back to the house, where they passed the ballroom filled with people. Music crescendoed amidst the laughter of guests, but it only made her headache worsen. Finally, her father escorted her to her room, bidding her good night.
At the door he added gruffly, ‘Lady Whitmore brought over some ginger biscuits earlier this afternoon, when she visited. I had a servant place some in your room. Don’t tell your mother.’ Shaking his head in exasperation, he added, ‘You would think that a woman in her condition would know better than to work like a scullery maid. It’s ridiculous that she wants to bake treats, like a common servant.’
While most women rested in their final month of pregnancy, her sister-in-law Emily had gone into a flurry of baking during the past several weeks. Stephen humoured his wife, allowing her to do as she wished during her confinement.
Acting upon her father’s unspoken hint, Hannah slipped inside her room for a moment and returned with two of the ginger biscuits. She handed them to her father, who devoured them.
‘If I see Emily, I’ll tell her how much you liked them,’ she said.
He grimaced. ‘She shouldn’t be in the kitchens. Her ankles are swelling, so she said. If you see her, order her to put her feet up.’
‘I will,’ Hannah promised. Though he would never admit it, the Marquess thoroughly enjoyed his arguments with Stephen’s wife.
After her father left, Hannah rang for her maid. She sat down at her dressing table, wondering if she would need the laudanum after all. Her headache hadn’t abated and seemed to be worsening.
She massaged her temples in an attempt to block out the pain. It frustrated her, being unable to control this aspect of her life.
Then again, so much of her life was out of her hands. She should be accustomed to it by now. Her mother made every decision concerning her wardrobe and which balls and dinner parties she attended. Christine controlled what she ate, which calls she made…even when she was allowed to retire for the night.
Hannah ran her hands over a silver hairbrush, praying for the day when she could make those decisions for herself. Though she supposed it was her mother’s way of showing she cared about her welfare, as time went on, her home felt more and more like a prison.
Her gaze fell upon the list of reminders her mother had left behind. She’d received one every day since the age of nine, since, quite often, she didn’t see her mother until the evening.
1 Wear the white silk gown and the Rothburne diamonds.
2 Wait for your father and brothers to introduce suitors to you.
3 Do not refuse any invitation to dance.
4 Never argue with any gentleman. A true lady is agreeable.
Hannah could almost imagine instruction number five: Never allow strange gentlemen to touch you. Her eyes closed, her head pounding with pain.
Folding the list away, she rested her forehead upon her palm. A slow ache built up in her stomach when she saw a morning dress the colour of butter laid out for tomorrow. She had never cared for the gown, and would have been quite happy to see it burned. It made her feel as though she were six years old.
But she would never dream of arguing with Christine Chesterfield. Her mother alternated the colours of her dresses, selecting gowns of white, rose and yellow. When Hannah had tried to suggest another colour once, Christine had put her foot down. It wouldn’t surprise her if her mother measured each and every one of her necklines, to be sure that she wasn’t revealing too much skin.
Just once, Hannah wished to have a scarlet dress. Or amethyst. A wild burst of colour to liven up her wardrobe. But she supposed real ladies weren’t supposed to wear colours like that.
Hannah raised the hem of her gown, and at the glimpse of her petticoats, she thought of the man who would one day become her husband. Would he treat her with tenderness, bringing friendship and possibly love into their marriage?
Or was there…something more? Her mother had not breathed a word about the intimacy between a man and a woman. Only that she would learn of it, the night before her wedding. Any mention of the marriage bed made her mother blush and stammer.
The unexpected memory of Lieutenant’s Thorpe’s kiss made Hannah shiver. He never should have caressed her, especially with an ungloved hand, but then that was the sort of man he was. A man who made his own rules and broke them when he liked. The Lieutenant hadn’t offered tired compliments or begged her father for permission to call upon her. Instead, he’d touched her in the shadows, and she’d come alive.
Nothing you can give, sweet.
What had he meant by those words? Her hands moved to her shoulders, over the sensitised skin. Her mother would have a fit of the vapours if she knew the Lieutenant had stolen a kiss. His mouth had touched her here, on the nape. Almost like a lover’s kiss. A cold realisation dawned upon her when her fingers touched bare skin.
Her diamond necklace was gone. No. Oh, no. Panic shot through her, for the diamonds were worth nearly a thousand pounds.
Hannah threw open the door to her room and fled down the stairs. Keeping towards the wall, she tried to avoid notice.
She hid behind the doorway, searching the floor of the ballroom, but saw nothing. Nothing by the refreshment table, either.
Thoughts of the Lieutenant’s hands around her throat made her wonder. Had he unfastened the clasp? She didn’t want to believe that he’d taken the diamonds, but the last time she remembered wearing the necklace was in his presence.
With fear in her throat, she sought him out. The Lieutenant wasn’t among the ballroom guests, but instead stood alone on the edge of the terrace. Before him, the boxwood hedges rose tall, like silent sentries.
His arms were crossed in the ill-fitting formal wear, causing the seams of the coat to stretch against his shoulders.
‘I beg your pardon,’ she murmured, stepping towards him, ‘but may I speak with you a moment, Lieutenant?’
His gaze flicked across hers, but he shrugged. ‘Aren’t you afraid of your father? I believe it isn’t proper for a lady to be in the company of a soldier.’
She ignored his mocking tone. She knew well enough that what she was doing was highly improper. ‘I must ask you if you’ve seen my necklace. I’ve lost it, you see, and—’
‘You think I took it.’
His posture had changed, and she wished she hadn’t spoken. Just like her father, he was a man of pride. Soldiers valued their honour above all else, and she’d just insulted his.
Hannah chose her words carefully. ‘The clasp may have slipped when you—when you touched my neck. I thought it dropped where I was standing.’
That sounded reasonable enough, didn’t it? Surely he wouldn’t take offence—
‘I stole nothing from you.’ A hard edge accompanied his remark. ‘And there’s nothing of yours that I want.’
His harsh words stabbed her pride. He wasn’t merely speaking of the necklace any more. Hannah forced herself to nod, though her cheeks were burning. ‘I didn’t mean to imply anything.’
‘Yes, you did. I’m the only man here who would need diamonds. A man without a fortune.’
‘You aren’t the only one,’ she argued. ‘But that’s neither here nor there. You don’t have the necklace, and that’s that.’
She gathered her skirts and strode towards the rose garden without bidding him goodbye. Rude, yes, but she had no desire to speak to him any longer. It was possible that his wayward fingers had loosened the clasp, and the necklace had fallen on to the ground when she’d walked outside.
The idea of the Lieutenant being a thief didn’t sit well with her. He was her brother’s friend, and she wanted to believe that there was honour in him.
Her headache had intensified to an unbearable level, as though someone were bashing rocks against her temples. The sooner she found the necklace, the sooner she could rest.
Hurrying towards the rose canes, Hannah dashed back to where she’d spoken with her father last. She retraced her footsteps, searching everywhere. But there was nothing. She turned the corner, only to stumble into the Baron of Belgrave.
‘Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t expect to see you here,’ she apologised. The moonlight spilled a faint light over his face, and his gloved fingers withdrew something glittering from his pocket.
‘Were you looking for these?’
Belgrave held out the diamonds in his palm, and Hannah breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Yes, thank you.’
She reached for them, but he pulled his hand back. ‘I saw them lying on the ground after your father escorted you back to the house.’ He returned the necklace to his pocket and held out his arm for her to accompany him. ‘I thought you might come back for them.’
Hannah didn’t take his elbow, for she had no desire to walk alone with the baron. Her instincts prickled, for she had once again crossed the line of what was proper. If anyone saw them unchaperoned, the gossip tales would spread faster than a house fire.
But he had her necklace, and she needed it back. Reluctantly, she placed her hand upon his arm. Perhaps if she gave him a moment, he would return the jewels.
The baron led her away from the house, and with each step, her headache worsened. When they neared the stables, Hannah had endured enough. ‘Lord Belgrave, give me my diamond necklace, if you please.’
And go away. Where were her father and brothers when she needed them most?
Belgrave’s hawkish face appeared fierce in the moonlight. Diamonds or not, she’d made a terrible mistake in approaching him. She took a step backwards, wondering if she dared flee.
The baron retrieved the necklace from his pocket and held the diamonds in his hand, stroking the gems. ‘I overheard you speaking to your father about me.’
Hannah’s heartbeat quickened, and she cast a glance around the garden, searching for another escape. ‘Wh-what did you overhear?’
‘You lied to me.’ Cold anger edged his voice. ‘You led me to believe you wanted my courtship.’
‘I didn’t want to hurt your feelings,’ she explained. His anger made her uncomfortable, and she was ready to get away from him. The necklace be hanged. Her safety was far more important than a strand of diamonds. With an apologetic look, she added, ‘I’ll send a servant to collect my necklace from you.’
‘What’s the matter? Are you afraid of me?’ he murmured.
Hannah ignored the question and picked up her skirts, striding towards the house. Before she could reach the terrace, a firm hand clamped over her upper arm.
‘I haven’t finished our conversation.’
‘We weren’t having one,’ she corrected. ‘And I’ll ask you to remove your hand from my arm.’
‘You think you’re better than me, don’t you? Because your father is a Marquess and I a mere baron.’ He bent closer, and her stomach wrenched, the pressure in her head rising higher.
Dear heaven, she felt like fainting. The headache was like a dagger grinding into her skull.
She opened her mouth to call for help, but Lord Belgrave cut off her scream. She struggled against his grip, but he pinched her nose. With the lack of air, the headache roared into a fury. Dizzy and sick, she stopped fighting, and he dragged her across the gravel. Nausea gripped her, and the agony in her head was so intense, it nearly brought her to her knees. It couldn’t have come at a worse time.
The baron lowered his voice. ‘You said that any woman would be fortunate to wed me.’ He drew so close, Hannah could see the vengeance in his eyes. ‘It looks like you’re about to become very fortunate indeed.’
Chapter Two
Michael returned to the ballroom, his posture stiff with anger. Lady Hannah had all but accused him of stealing her diamonds. He might be poor, but he wasn’t a thief. Yet she wouldn’t believe that, would she? Her blush had revealed how she viewed him: as a lowborn man, a soldier who wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of a lady.
True, he had a weakness for beautiful women. But never if they were unwilling. And that was the curious part, wasn’t it? He’d dared to touch Lady Hannah…and she hadn’t protested. The aristocrat with impeccable manners hadn’t slapped him with her fan, nor called out for help. She’d leaned into his touch, as though she were thirsty for it.
God, she’d smelled good. Like seductive jasmine, haunting and sweet. He hadn’t been able to resist her. He’d wanted to run his mouth over her neck, sliding the ivory gown over those bare shoulders until he revealed more of her delicate skin, but then her brother would murder him where he stood.
Normally, Michael had no interest in husband-seeking innocents, but Lady Hannah captivated him. He didn’t for a moment believe she would cast him a second glance. Not only because of her suspicions about the necklace, but also because of his status. As a lieutenant, he wasn’t worthy of a woman like her.
He had no title, unlike the other officers who had bought their commissions. He’d been granted his own commission within the British Army as a gift from the Earl of Whitmore, after he’d saved the Earl’s life five years ago. And last October he’d learned what it meant to give a command, knowing that men would die because of it.
He’d tried to save whatever men he could, after his Captain had died at Balaclava. But he’d failed to protect the vast majority of his company. Of the six hundred, less than two hundred had returned. He’d been one of them.
Even now, he could still hear the bullets ripping through flesh, the moans that preceded death. He couldn’t erase the nightmares, no matter how hard he’d tried. A lump tightened in the back of his throat, and he went to get another drink. As he passed the entrance to the terrace, he wondered if he should check on Lady Hannah.
Though she wanted to find her diamonds, she was far too lovely to be venturing out alone. She needed someone to protect her from unsavoury men.
Before he could follow her, a gentleman stepped into his line of sight, clearing his throat. He was accompanied by Hannah’s brother Stephen Chesterfield, the Earl of Whitmore.
‘Forgive me, Thorpe, but there is someone whom I’d like you to meet.’
The older man wore a black cloth tailcoat, expertly tailored to his form. His salt-and-pepper beard and mustache were neatly groomed, while the rest of his head was bald. Gold glinted upon the handle of his cane, and every inch of the gentleman spoke of money. Idly, Michael wondered if the man wanted a personal guard.
‘This is a friend of my father’s,’ Stephen said. ‘Graf Heinrich von Reischor, the Lohenberg ambassador to England.’
Lohenberg. Uneasiness slipped over him like a gust of cold air. The mention of the country provoked a distant memory he couldn’t quite grasp. His mouth tightened, and he forced himself to concentrate on the gentleman standing in front of him.
Whitmore finished the introduction, and Michael wondered if he was expected to bow before an ambassador. He settled upon a polite nod.
Graf von Reischor leaned upon his cane. ‘Thank you, Lord Whitmore. I am most grateful for the introduction. If you will excuse us?’ The Earl nodded to both of them and departed.
Now what was this all about? Michael wondered. The Lohenberg Graf fixed his gaze upon him in an open stare, as though he were intrigued by what he saw. Then the man lowered his voice and spoke an unfamiliar language, one that sounded like a blend of German and Danish.
Michael wondered if he was supposed to understand the words, but he could do nothing but shake his head in ignorance.
Graf von Reischor’s interest never wavered. ‘Forgive me, Lieutenant Thorpe. I thought you might be from Lohenberg, given your appearance.’
‘My appearance?’
‘Yes.’ The man’s gaze was unrelenting, though there was a trace of surprise beneath it. ‘You look a great deal like someone I know. Enough that you could be his son.’
‘My father was a fishmonger. He lived in London all his life.’
The Graf didn’t appear convinced. ‘And your parents…they were both English?’
‘Yes.’ It didn’t sit well with him that the Graf von Reischor was implying anything about his parentage. He had been their only son, and though it had been four years since they’d died of cholera, he hadn’t forgotten Mary Thorpe dying in his arms. She’d been a saint, his mother. It shamed him that he’d never been able to provide more for them, though he’d done his best.
Graf von Reischor didn’t appear convinced. ‘It may be a coincidence. But I don’t know what to believe. You have no idea how strong the resemblance is.’
It was difficult to keep his anger in check. ‘Paul Thorpe was my father. No other man. You have no right to suggest otherwise.’
‘We should discuss this more in private,’ the Graf said. ‘Call upon me tomorrow at my private apartment at Number Fourteen, St James’s Street.’
‘I have no intention of calling upon you,’ Michael retorted. ‘I know who I am and where I come from.’ He started to leave, but a gold-handled cane blocked his path.
‘I’m not certain you understand, Lieutenant Thorpe,’ the Graf said quietly. ‘The man you resemble is our king.’
Michael pushed his way past the Graf, refusing to even acknowledge the man’s words. He had no desire to be the brunt of a nobleman’s joke. A Prince? Hardly. Von Reischor was trying to make sport of him; he wasn’t foolish enough to fall prey to such nonsense.
As he made his way through the room of people, his anger heated up. Who did the Graf think he was, implying that a common soldier could be royalty? It was ridiculous to even consider.
A coldness bled through his veins, for the encounter had opened up the dreams that sometimes haunted him. Dreams of a long journey, voices shouting at him and a woman’s tears.
He gripped his fists. It wasn’t real. None of it was. And he refused to believe false visions of a life that wasn’t his.
To take his mind off the ludicrous proposition, he decided to find Lady Hannah. She’d been gone a long time, and he hadn’t seen her return to the terrace.
He retraced her path toward the roses. She’d been wearing a white gown, so it shouldn’t be difficult to find her amidst the greenery. But after an extensive search of the shrubbery and rose beds, there was no sign of her.
She’d been here. He’d swear it on his life. Michael thought back to the direction she’d gone, and he knelt down near the walkway. It was an easy matter to slip back into his military training.
Light footprints had left an imprint upon the gravel. Michael tracked her path around the side of the house, when abruptly the footprints were joined by a heavier set. Then something…no, someone, had been dragged off.
His instincts slammed a warning into him—especially when he spied Lady Hannah’s diamond necklace lying in the grass.
Michael raced toward the stables, cursing that he hadn’t followed Lady Hannah immediately. There was no sign of her anywhere.
Michael clutched the diamonds, and near the end of the walkway, he spied a single landau and driver. Surely the driver would have seen anyone coming from the stables.
‘Lady Hannah Chesterfield,’ he demanded. ‘Where did she go?’
The man shrugged, his hands buried in his pockets. ‘Ain’t seen nothing.’
He was lying. Michael grabbed the driver by his coat and hauled him off the carriage. A handful of sovereigns spilled onto the ground, and the driver scuttled to pick them up.
A haze of red fury spread over him as he pressed the man up against the iron frame of the carriage. ‘Who took her?’
When the driver stubbornly kept silent, Michael tightened his grip on the man’s throat. ‘I’m not one of those titled gentlemen you’re used to,’ he warned. ‘I’m a soldier. They pay me to kill enemies of the Crown. And right now, I see you as one of my enemies.’ Holding fast, he waited long enough until the man started to choke.
Michael loosened his fingers, and the driver sputtered and coughed. ‘The—the B-Baron of Belgrave. Said they was runnin’ off t’be together. Paid me not to talk.’
‘What does his carriage look like?’
The driver described an elaborate black brougham with the baron’s crest. Michael stepped aboard the carriage. ‘I’ll be needing this.’
‘But—but you can’t steal his lordship’s landau! I’ll lose me post!’
Michael took the reins and nodded to the man. ‘And what do you think will happen when you explain to the Marquess of Rothburne that you allowed his daughter to be abducted for a few sovereigns? You had best alert him immediately, or you’ll face much worse than dismissal.’ Snapping the reins, Michael drew the landau around the circle and toward the London streets.
There were a thousand different places Belgrave might have taken her. As he struggled to make his way through the London traffic, Michael went through the possibilities. Was the baron trying to compromise her or wed her?
If the intent was to compromise her, then likely he would take Lady Hannah back to his town house where they would be caught together. Michael’s fist curled into the diamond necklace. No innocent young lady deserved this. By God, he wanted to kill the baron for what he’d done.
Luck was on his side, for when he reached a side street past Grosvenor Square, he spotted the baron’s brougham, which had pulled to a stop by the side of the road. Thank God.
Michael raced forward, urging the horses towards the vehicle. He barely waited for the landau to stop before he ran to Belgrave’s carriage and jerked the door open.
Lady Hannah was lying on the floor of the carriage, moaning with her eyes closed. Lord Belgrave appeared slightly panicked, his face pale.
Michael wasted no time and dragged the baron out, pushing him up against the black brougham. ‘I should kill you right now.’
Belgrave blanched, and Michael punched him hard, taking satisfaction when he broke the baron’s nose.
Blood streamed from the wound, and Belgrave snarled, trying to fight back. ‘I’ll see you hanged for assaulting me.’
Michael leaned in close, his grip closing over Belgrave’s throat. ‘I haven’t yet decided if I’m going to let you live. I’m sure Lady Hannah’s brother wouldn’t mind at all if I rid London of an insect such as yourself.’
He clipped the baron across the jaw, following it up with another punch to the man’s ear. The blow sent Belgrave reeling before he lost consciousness and slid to the ground. Michael glared at Belgrave’s driver, who hadn’t lifted a finger to help defend his master.
‘My lord, I had no choice,’ the driver apologised. ‘The baron insisted—’
Michael cut him off. ‘Take Belgrave back to Rothburne House in this landau. Tell the Marquess what happened, and I’ll bring Lady Hannah home.’
The driver didn’t argue, but took possession of the landau immediately, loading Belgrave’s slumped form inside. Michael waited until he’d gone, then climbed inside the brougham to Lady Hannah.
‘Are you all right? Did he harm you?’
Lady Hannah clutched her head, tears streaming down her face. ‘No. But my head hurts. The pain—it’s awful.’
Her eyes were closed, and she was holding herself so tightly, as if trying to block out the torment.
‘Just try to hold on, and I’ll bring you home to your father’s house.’ Gently, Michael placed her back into the carriage seat and closed the door. Taking control of the reins, he turned them back towards Rothburne House. The other driver had already departed with the Baron of Belgrave.
It had been tempting to leave Belgrave in the streets for thieves or cut-throats to find. A man like the baron didn’t deserve mercy.
Michael increased the pace, turning towards Hyde Park, when he heard Hannah call out, ‘Lieutenant Thorpe! Please, I need you to stop.’
Damn it. If she were ill, he needed to get her home. Get her a doctor. Stopping the carriage would only blemish her reputation even more.
He slowed the pace of the carriage and asked, ‘Can you hold on a little longer?’
‘I can’t. I’m sorry,’ she pleaded. ‘I’m going to be sick.’
Michael expelled another curse and pulled the brougham toward a more isolated part of the park. With any luck, no one would see them or ask what they were doing.
He opened the carriage door and found Hannah curled up into a ball, her face deathly pale. ‘What can I do to help you?’
‘Just…let me stay here for a bit. You don’t have any laudanum, do you?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. Do you want me to go and fetch some?’ But even as he offered, he knew it was a foolish thing to say. He couldn’t leave her here alone, not in this condition.
‘No.’ She kept her eyes closed, resting her face against the side of the carriage. ‘Just give me a few moments.’
‘Let me help you lie down,’ he suggested.
‘It hurts worse if I lean back.’ Her breathing was shaky, and Michael sat across from her. A gas lamp cast an amber glow across the carriage, and she winced. ‘The light hurts.’
He’d never felt so helpless, so unable to help her through this nightmare. She was fighting to breathe, her face grey with exertion.
And suddenly, his worry about her family and her reputation seemed ridiculous in light of her illness. This was about helping her to endure pain, and that was something he understood. He’d watched men suffering from bullet wounds, crying out in torment. On the battlefield, he’d done what he could to ease them. It was all he could do for her now.
Michael closed the carriage door, making it as dark as possible. He removed his jacket and covered up the window to keep out the light.
‘I can’t…can’t breathe.’ Her shoulders were hunched, her eyes turning glassy.
He didn’t ask permission, but unbuttoned the back of her gown in order to loosen her stays. Hannah didn’t protest, and she seemed to breathe easier once it was done. He held her upright in his arms, keeping silent.
An hour passed, and in time, he felt her body begin to relax. She slept in his arms, but Michael couldn’t release his own tension. Her father would be looking for them. He needed to get her out of here, take her home. But he was afraid of causing her more pain.
Her hair had fallen loose from its pins, and the dark honey locks rested against his cheek, smelling sweetly of jasmine. He’d heard that some women suffered from headaches as excruciating as this one, but he’d never witnessed it before. Nonetheless, her unexpected illness had probably saved her from Belgrave’s unwanted attentions. It was a blessing in that sense.
The night air was cold, but Hannah’s body heat kept him warm. His neck and shoulders were stiff, but that didn’t bother him. She was no longer in pain, and he was grateful for it.
It had been a gruelling experience, one he didn’t care to repeat. He was unbearably alert, attuned to Hannah in a way he’d never expected. Against his chest, he could feel the rise and fall of her breathing.
There would be hellish consequences. And yet he wouldn’t have changed what he’d done. He’d rescued her from that bastard Belgrave and protected her innocence. She could go into her future marriage as an untouched bride, the way she should. That is, if he could get her home without anyone realising where she’d spent the last hour or two.
He had his doubts.
Michael watched her sleeping, the strands of hair twining around her throat and spilling over the curve of her breasts. Her beauty stole his breath away.
Innocence and purity. Everything he didn’t deserve.
From his pocket, he withdrew the strand of diamonds and fastened them around her throat. Bare skin peeped from the open back of her dress where he’d loosened her corset. He wanted to kiss her, to run his mouth over that silken skin. Like forbidden fruit, she tempted him to taste.
Only a few hours ago, he’d touched her back, indulging himself in a bit of wickedness. She’d allowed him liberties he never should have taken.
Not for you, his brain warned.
An honourable man would leave her alone to sleep, taking the reins and driving her home again. He wouldn’t run his palms over her arms, watching her skin tighten with gooseflesh. A good man would ignore the seductive glimpses of female skin and set his baser urges under control.
But he wasn’t good. He wasn’t honourable. Right now, he’d been given a few stolen moments with this woman. And he intended to take them.
Michael lowered his mouth to her shoulder blade, tracing the fragile skin up to her nape. Hannah shivered, lifting her face towards his as she awakened from sleep. He took possession of her softened mouth, not asking for permission.
Hannah awoke with her body temperature rising, as though she were suffering from a fever. The Lieutenant was kissing her, and she was sitting in his lap.
She couldn’t move from the shock of feelings coursing through her. No man had ever kissed her before, and she trembled beneath the onslaught. It was as though he were starving for her, his mouth hot and hungry.
His tongue slid inside her mouth, caressing her intimately. Hannah had never imagined such a thing, and desire poured through her, making her skin hotter.
Push him away. Beg for him to stop.
But her mind was disconnected from her body, once again. She felt herself arching towards him, needing to be closer. His hands slipped beneath the open back of her gown, and dimly she remembered the Lieutenant unlacing her, to help her breathe easier.
The touch of his bare hands on her skin made her cry out, ‘No! Stop, please.’
The remnants of her headache pressed into her, and tears spilled out. Not because of his unexpected kiss, but because of her guilt. He’d evoked shameful feelings inside of her, arousing her. And though she wanted to lay the blame at his feet, she knew in her heart that she couldn’t. She’d allowed him to kiss her, to touch her in ways that no good girl would allow.
‘I’m not going to apologise for that.’ His voice was low and deep, a man who had seized what he’d wanted. ‘You kissed me back.’
‘I didn’t want to.’
Liar. An aching throbbed within her womb. She felt damp, restless. The touch of his hard body against her pliant flesh was almost too much to bear.
‘Yes, you did.’ The the Lieutenant broke away, his breathing harsh. He moved to the opposite side of the carriage, resting his wrists on his knees. His head hung down, dark hair shadowing his face. He looked as though he’d been in a fist fight. ‘I need to drive you home.’
‘Please.’ She tried to hold the back of her gown together, but the edges wouldn’t hold. Exposed to him, she wanted to die of embarrassment.
‘I’ll help you get dressed,’ he said. ‘You’ll never manage by yourself.’
‘I don’t want you to touch me,’ she snapped. ‘Take me back.’
‘What do you think your father will say when he sees you like this?’
‘You should be more worried about yourself,’ she countered. ‘He’ll want to kill you.’
The the Lieutenant sent her a patronising smile. ‘For saving your virtue?’
‘You’re the one who tried to attack me just now.’
‘Sweet, I’m not a man who has to attack anyone.’ He pulled his coat from the carriage door, and Hannah winced at the flash of light from one of the street lamps.
She said nothing, her thoughts drifting back and forth, trying to decide whether he was a rogue or a man of honour. Yes, he’d kissed her when he shouldn’t have. But he’d also taken care of her.
Though he should have brought her home immediately, he’d listened when she’d begged him to stop the carriage. The excruciating, jarring sensation from the horses had made each mile an unending torture.
Another man wouldn’t have done the same. He’d have ignored her needs, riding as fast as he dared, back to Rothburne House. But not the Lieutenant.
So many questions gathered up, needing to be asked. Hannah traced her swollen lips, wondering what had driven him to do such a thing.
‘You don’t need to be afraid of me,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m not going to kiss you again.’ His cravat was loosened from his collar, while he donned the ill-fitting jacket.
‘I should hope not.’
He raised his gaze to hers, and she caught a glimpse of green eyes with flecks of brown. His cheeks held a light stubble, and for a moment, she wondered why the texture hadn’t scratched her skin.
‘You really are an innocent, aren’t you?’ He glanced over her ivory silk gown, and the remark didn’t sound like a compliment.
‘I suppose. You speak of it as though it’s a bad thing.’
He glanced outside the carriage window, as if searching for someone. ‘It’s what most men want.’
‘But not you.’
A dark laugh escaped him. ‘I’m not a good man at all.’
She didn’t entirely believe that. ‘Please take me home,’ she reminded him. ‘My family will be worried.’
‘Turn around,’ he ordered.
She knew what he needed to do, but she hesitated to let him touch her corset. It didn’t matter that he’d already done so; she’d been half out of her mind with pain. ‘No, it isn’t proper.’
The Lieutenant didn’t listen to her argument, but forced her to turn around. His hands fumbled with the stays, pulling them tight before tying them. ‘Proper or not, I won’t let your father think I ravaged you in a carriage.’
He was right. Her father would be angry enough at both of them, without him drawing the wrong conclusions.
‘How long have we been gone, do you think?’ Her stomach didn’t feel right, and her head still ached.
‘Longer than an hour. Two or three, perhaps. It isn’t dawn yet.’ His large hands struggled with the tiny buttons, and she couldn’t help but be even more aware of him. He muttered, ‘I’m better at taking these off than buttoning them up.’
Hannah didn’t doubt that at all. When he’d finished, she rested her head against the side of the carriage, waiting for him to go back to the driver’s seat.
‘Are you feeling better?’ he asked.
‘I’ll manage.’ Thank heaven, it had been one of the shorter headaches, swift and furious. The after-effects would dwell with her for a while, but the worst was over.
‘What are you going to tell my father?’ she asked.
Michael opened the door to the carriage, leaving it slightly open. ‘The truth. Neither of us has done anything wrong.’
I have, Hannah thought. The kiss might not mean a thing to him, but it had shaken her. The sensation of his mouth upon hers had been the most sinful thing she’d ever experienced. She’d fallen under his spell, wanting to know his touch in a way she shouldn’t.
Michael opened the carriage door the rest of the way, about to disembark, when they heard the sounds of men shouting and the rumble of another carriage approaching. Her father’s voice broke through the stillness, and within moments, he was standing in front of the door.
‘Are you all right?’ the Marquess demanded of Hannah.
Hannah gripped her hands together, cold fear icing through her. For she suspected the truth was not going to be enough to pacify her father.
Chapter Three
‘Get away from my daughter,’ the Marquess of Rothburne ordered.
Hannah tried to rise from her seat, but the Lieutenant motioned her back. With a horrifying clarity, she realised what her father must think. With a pleading look she insisted, ‘Papa, this isn’t what it looks like. Lieutenant Thorpe rescued me from Lord Belgrave.’
Though she tried to find the right explanation, her father looked more interested in murder than the truth.
Hannah continued talking, though she knew how unlikely it must sound. ‘Lieutenant Thorpe tried to bring me home but…I had one of my headaches. I didn’t have any laudanum, and the pain was unbearable. He obeyed me when I ordered him to stop the carriage.’
Her father gave no indication that he’d even heard her speaking, but gave a nod to one of his footmen. The large servant reached to seize hold of the Lieutenant, but Michael’s hand shot out and stopped him. With a twist to the man’s wrist, the footman had no choice but to release him.
‘Enough.’ The Lieutenant climbed down from the carriage and regarded the Marquess. ‘Instead of having this conversation here in the park, I suggest we return to Rothburne House. Take Lady Hannah home with you, and see to her health. I will follow in this carriage.’
‘I should have the police drag you off to Newgate right now,’ the Marquess countered.
‘He didn’t dishonour me, Papa.’ Hannah moved forward, but when she exited the carriage, the world tipped. A rushing sound filled her ears, and Michael caught her elbow, steadying her. ‘I swear it. He protected me while I was ill.’
‘Because of him, you may be ruined.’ Her father stared at her as though she’d just run off with a chimney sweep. ‘You just spent the night with a common soldier.’
But she hadn’t. Not really. Heated tears sprung up in her eyes, for she didn’t know how to respond to her father’s accusations. Never could she have imagined he’d be this unreasonable.
A defence leapt to her lips, but Lieutenant Thorpe shook his head. ‘As I said before, this is not the place to talk. Take Lady Hannah home.’
Hannah had never heard anyone issue an order to her father before, but the Lieutenant didn’t appear intimidated by the Marquess.
‘No one knows about this,’ she whispered. ‘My reputation is still safe.’
‘Is it?’ Her father’s face was iron-cast. ‘The Baron of Belgrave knows all about what happened to you. Nonetheless, he has graciously offered to wed you.’
She’d rather die than wed Belgrave. ‘Papa, it isn’t as bad as all that. Lieutenant Thorpe did nothing wrong.’
‘Belgrave informed me that Thorpe assaulted him and took you away in a stolen carriage.’
‘That lying blackguard,’ Hannah blurted out, then clamped her hand over her mouth. Insults wouldn’t help her cause.
Horrified, she met her father’s infuriated expression, hoping he wouldn’t believe the lies. Surely he would trust her, after all the years she’d been an obedient daughter. One mistake wouldn’t eradicate everything, would it?
Thoughts of the Lieutenant’s forbidden kiss flayed her conscience. She could have fought him off, but instead, she’d kissed him back. It had been curiosity and shock, mingled together with the first stirrings of desire. She’d wanted to know what a real kiss would be like. But not at this terrible cost.
‘Harrison, take my daughter home,’ the Marquess commanded to his footman. ‘I will accompany Lieutenant Thorpe in this carriage.’
The Lieutenant gave an abrupt nod, and Hannah tried to fathom the man’s thoughts. His hazel eyes were shielded, his face expressionless.
She prayed that they could undo the mistake that had been made. Surely they could keep matters quiet. She’d been a victim and didn’t deserve to be punished like this. If anyone deserved to be drawn and quartered, it was Lord Belgrave.
As the footman closed the carriage door, Hannah twisted her hands together. Thank goodness the Lieutenant possessed no title. Were he an earl or a viscount, no doubt her father would demand that he marry her.
As a common officer in the British Army, that would never happen. She should feel relieved, but her nerves wound tighter. Her father was so angry right now, he might do something rash.
And she didn’t know what that might be.
‘You should know that the only thing that prevents me from killing you where you stand is the fact that I don’t want your blood staining my carpet.’ The Marquess of Rothburne pointed to a wingback chair in his study. ‘Sit.’
‘I am not your dog,’ Michael responded. He was well aware that he was only tossing oil upon the fire of James Chesterfield’s rage, but he refused to behave as if he’d seduced Lady Hannah.
Kissed her, yes. But that wasn’t a crime.
Michael rested his forearms upon the back of the chair and met the Marquess’s gaze squarely. ‘I don’t regret rescuing Lady Hannah from the Baron of Belgrave. You know as well as I that the man isn’t worthy of her.’
‘And neither are you.’
‘You’re right.’ There was no reason to take offence at the truth. He possessed enough to live comfortably on his army salary, but it wasn’t enough to support a Marquess’s daughter. He didn’t want a wife, or any family who would rely upon him.
‘Because of you, her reputation is destroyed.’
‘No.’ Michael drew closer to the desk, resting his hands upon the carved wood. ‘Because of Belgrave. Were it not for him, she’d never have been taken from Rothburne House.’
‘You should have brought her home immediately!’ The Marquess’s face was purple with wrath.
He knew it. But she’d been in such pain, he hadn’t wanted to make it worse. At the time, he’d thought it would only be for a short while—not hours. Perhaps he should have driven her home, despite the agony she would have endured. Still, it did no good to dwell upon events he couldn’t change.
‘She’s had headaches like that one before, hasn’t she?’ Michael said softly. ‘She told me she keeps laudanum in her reticule.’
‘That is beside the point.’
‘Is it? I presume you’ve seen how much she suffers? That any form of light or sound gives her pain beyond all understanding? I’ve seen men take a bullet through their shoulder and suffer less than what I saw her endure.’
He didn’t add that there were moments when he’d wondered if she was going to die. She’d been so pale, in such agony.
‘Even if what you say is true, it doesn’t change the fact that you stayed with her alone for hours.’ James reached out for a letter opener, running his finger along the edge. ‘She is my only daughter. My youngest child.’
‘This wasn’t her fault.’ Yet, Michael didn’t see a clear solution. It wasn’t fair for Hannah to endure the sly gossip of the society matrons, nor to be shunned if word got out.
‘No, it’s yours.’ The Marquess folded his arms, adding, ‘Don’t think that I would allow a man like you to wed her. You won’t touch a penny of her inheritance.’
Michael stepped back, his anger barely controlled. Keeping his voice steady, he said, ‘I don’t want anything from either of you. She was in trouble, and I went to help her. Nothing more.’
The Marquess set his pen down. ‘I want you to leave England. I don’t want her to ever set eyes upon you again.’ Picking up his pen, he began writing. ‘I am going to ask your commanding officer to see to it. I’ll contribute enough funds to the Army to make sure you stay far away from London.’
Michael didn’t doubt that the Marquess’s money would accomplish anything the man wanted. ‘And what will happen to Lady Hannah?’
The Marquess set down his pen. ‘Belgrave has offered to wed her.’
‘No. Not him.’ Michael clenched his fist. ‘You would offer her up to a man like that?’
‘There is nothing wrong with Belgrave. He’s going to keep Hannah’s reputation safe.’
‘You mean he’s going to reveal the scandal to everyone if she doesn’t wed him,’ Michael guessed.
The Marquess didn’t deny it. ‘I won’t let my daughter be hurt. Not if I can prevent it from happening.’
Hannah had seen her mother cry before, but never like this. Usually Christine Chesterfield used her tears to dramatic effect, whenever her husband wouldn’t let her opinion sway him.
This time, Christine simply covered her mouth with her hand while the tears ran down her cheeks. Hannah sat across from her, while two cups of tea went cold. The grandfather clock in the parlour chimed eight o’clock. Eight hours was all it had taken to change her life completely.
‘I promise you, Mother, I am fine,’ Hannah murmured. ‘Neither of them compromised me.’ She refused to cry, for the shock was still with her. ‘I don’t know what else to say, when you won’t accept the truth.’
‘This isn’t about truth.’ Christine dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. ‘It’s about appearances.’
‘It will be all right,’ Hannah insisted. ‘My friends will believe me, if they hear rumours. They know I would never do anything of that nature.’ She stood up, pacing across the carpet. ‘I don’t see why we cannot simply tell everyone what happened.’
Christine blew her nose. ‘You are far too naïve, my dear. We can’t risk any of this scandal leaking to anyone.’
‘I am not ruined.’
‘You are. Your only hope of salvaging what’s left of your honour is to marry Lord Belgrave and to do so quickly.’
‘I will not marry that horrid man. He’s the reason all of this happened!’ Hannah arranged her skirts, tucking her feet beneath them. ‘He kidnapped me from my own home, Mother! Why won’t you believe me?’
Her mother only shook her head sadly. ‘I believe you, Hannah. But the greater problem is that you spent hours alone in a carriage with a soldier. Lord Belgrave is right: nothing will cover up that scandal, if it gets out.’
But no one knew about it, except…
‘He’s threatening you,’ Hannah predicted, suddenly realising the truth. ‘Belgrave plans to tell everyone about the scandal unless I wed him. Is that it?’
Her mother’s face turned scarlet. ‘We won’t let that happen.’
Hannah couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her parents were allowing themselves to be manipulated for her sake.
Christine avoided looking at her. ‘You have nothing to fear from the baron, Hannah. I believe him when he says he has nothing but remorse for his actions. He wants to start again, and I think you should give him a second chance.’
‘I’d rather kiss a toad.’
‘He is coming to pay a call on you tomorrow. And you will see him and listen to what he has to say.’
Without meeting Hannah’s incredulous gaze, Christine retrieved a sheet of paper from a writing desk and chose a pen. Hannah clenched her fingers together, for she knew her mother was composing another list.
‘Mother, no,’ she pleaded. ‘There has to be another way. Perhaps I could go to Falkirk with Stephen and Emily.’ Her brother would offer her the sanctuary of his home without question.
‘They have already left, early this morning,’ her mother said. ‘And your brother has enough to worry about with Emily due to give birth in a few weeks. He doesn’t know what happened last night, and we are not going to tell him until it’s all sorted out.’
Her mother handed her the list, and walked her to the door. ‘Now. Go to your room and rest until eleven o’clock. When you rise, wear your rose silk gown with the high neck and pagoda sleeves. We will discuss your future over luncheon. The baron will come to call upon you tomorrow to discuss the arrangements.’
‘I don’t want to see that man again, much less marry him,’ Hannah insisted.
‘You no longer have a choice. You’d best get used to the idea, for your father is making the arrangements now. You’ll be married within a week.’
After her mother’s door closed, Hannah stormed down the stairs, her shawl falling loose from her shoulders. There was no hope of finding sleep, not now.
With a brief glance at the list, she saw her mother’s orders.
1 Rest until eleven o’clock.
2 Wear the rose silk gown.
3 Drink a cup of tea with cream, no sugar, to calm your nerves.
Hannah read the list three times, her hands shaking. Her entire life, she’d done everything her parents had asked. She had studied her lessons, listened to her governesses and done everything she could to please her family.
It made her stomach twist to see them turn against her this way. Her parents no longer cared about her future happiness—only their reputations.
Though she was supposed to return to her room, she kept moving towards the gardens. Tears of rage burned down her cheeks. All her years of being good meant nothing if she had to wed a man like Belgrave.
The list no longer held the familiarity of a mother’s love, helping her to remember the tasks at hand. Instead, it was a chain, tightening around her neck.
Hannah crumpled up the paper and threw it into the shrubbery. Rules, rules and more rules. Once, she’d thought that, by obeying the rules, her reward would come.
Did her mother truly expect her to wed the man who had caused her such misery? She’d sooner drown herself in the Thames than marry Belgrave.
She stumbled through the garden, the remnants of her headache rising up again. Why? Why did this have to happen to her? Only yesterday, she’d had so many choices before her. Now, she had nothing at all.
Hannah wrapped her arms around her waist, as if holding the pieces of herself together. With each step forward, she released the sobs, letting herself have a good cry. She wandered down the gravel pathway, to the place where she had lost her necklace last night.
Unexpectedly, her hand rose to her throat. The diamonds were there. The Lieutenant must have returned the necklace to her early this morning. She didn’t remember him wrapping the strand around her neck, for most of the night had been a blur of pain.
After she’d been abducted, the baron had grown flustered at her illness, demanding that she cease her tears. He’d cursed at her, but she’d been unable to stop weeping.
Then the Lieutenant had rescued her. He’d covered up all light, keeping her warm. Not speaking a sound. Holding her in the darkness.
Hannah pulled her shawl around her shoulders. She didn’t know what to think of him. One minute, he’d been her saving grace, and the next, he’d stolen a kiss.
Shielding her eyes against the morning sun, she saw him standing near the stables while a groom readied his horse. Almost against her will, Hannah’s feet moved forward, drawing her closer to the Lieutenant. She didn’t have the faintest idea what to say, or why she was even planning to speak to him.
The Lieutenant’s hazel eyes were tired, his cheeks covered in dark stubble. The white cravat hung open at his throat, and he held his hat in his hands.
Hannah dipped her head in greeting, and out of deference, the groom stepped away to let them talk. She kept her voice low, so the servant wouldn’t overhear their conversation. ‘I’m glad my father didn’t murder you.’
Michael shrugged and put on one of his riding gloves. ‘I’m a difficult man to kill.’
Hannah found her attention caught by his long fingers, and she remembered his bare hand caressing her nape. No one had ever made her feel that way before, her skin sparking with unfamiliar sensations.
She closed her eyes, clearing her thoughts. Then she reached for what she truly needed to say. ‘I never thanked you for rescuing me. It means a great deal to me. Even despite all of this.’
The Lieutenant gave a slight nod, as though he didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t acknowledge the words of gratitude, but instead glanced over at the house. ‘Lord Rothburne said you’re going to marry Belgrave.’
Hannah tensed. ‘My father is ready to marry me off to the next titled gentleman who walks through the gate.’ She stared him in the eyes. ‘I won’t do it. He’ll have to drag me to the altar.’
‘I thought you were the obedient sort.’
‘Not about this.’ She could hardly believe the words coming out of her mouth. It wasn’t like her, not at all, but then she felt like someone had taken a club to her life, smashing it into a thousand glass pieces.
Obedience had brought her nothing. And right now she wanted to voice her frustrations to someone who understood.
‘Why is this happening?’ she whispered. ‘What did I do that was so wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ the Lieutenant said. His hand started to reach for hers, but he drew back, as if remembering that it wasn’t proper. ‘Your only fault is being the daughter of a Marquess.’
‘I wish I weren’t.’ Hannah lowered her head. ‘I wish I were nothing but an ordinary woman. I would have more freedom.’
No lists, no rules to follow. She could make her own decisions and be mistress of her life.
‘You wouldn’t want that at all.’ The Lieutenant gestured toward her father’s house. ‘You were born to live in a world such as this.’
‘It’s a prison.’
‘A gilded prison.’
‘A prison, nonetheless.’ She raised her eyes to his. ‘And now I’ll be sentenced to marriage with Lord Belgrave. Unless I can find a way out.’
He didn’t respond, but she saw the way his mouth tightened, the sudden darkness in his eyes. ‘You will.’
‘And what about you?’ She realised she’d never asked what had happened to him. Surely the Lieutenant had faced his own lion’s den, courtesy of the Marquess. ‘What happened between you and my father?’
He hesitated before answering, ‘My commanding officer will see to it that I stay on the Crimean Peninsula.’
‘What exactly…does that mean?’ A shiver of foreboding passed through her.
‘I’ll be sent to fight. Possibly on the front lines.’ He shrugged, as if it were to be expected. But she understood what he wouldn’t say. Men who fought on the front lines had essentially been issued a death sentence without a court-martial. Certainly it was no place for an officer.
She stared at him, her skin growing cold. Though he might be an unmannered rogue who had taken unfair advantage of her, he didn’t deserve to die.
This is your fault. Her conscience drove the truth home like an arrow striking its target. If it weren’t for her, he’d be returning to his former duties.
‘You were wounded before,’ she said slowly. ‘With the Light Brigade.’
He gave a nod. ‘I would have been returning to duty anyway. I’ve made a full recovery.’ He spoke as if it didn’t matter, that this was of no concern.
She looked into his eyes, her heart suddenly trembling. ‘It’s not right for you to be sent away again.’
‘I’ve no ties to London, sweet. I always expected to return. It doesn’t matter.’ He started towards his horse, but Hannah stopped him.
He was going to lose everything because of her. Because he’d rescued her and taken care of her that night.
‘It matters.’ She touched the sleeve of his coat, feeling obligated to do something for him. There had to be some way she could intervene with her father’s unnecessary punishment.
‘Stop looking at me like that,’ he murmured, his eyes centering directly on hers.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Like you’re trying to rescue me.’
‘I’m not.’ She lifted her face to his, studying those deep hazel eyes. He was a soldier, trained to strike down his enemies. Right now, he looked tired, but no less dangerous.
‘Trust me, sweet. I’m not a man worth saving.’ He took her hand in his and, despite the gloves, she felt the heat of his skin. ‘You’d do well to stay away from me.’
The evocative memory of his stolen kiss conjured gooseflesh on her arms. The Lieutenant never took his eyes from her, and Hannah held herself motionless.
It went against everything she’d been taught, to hold an unmarried man’s hand while standing in the garden where anyone could see. He was so close, the barest breath hung between them.
Something wanton and unbidden unfurled from within her, making her understand that Michael Thorpe was no ordinary man. He fascinated her. Tempted her.
And the daughter of a Marquess could never, never be with a man like him. He was right.
At last, she took her hand from his, ignoring the pang of disappointment. It was better for her to stay away from him. He was entirely the wrong sort of man.
Yet he was the only man who had noticed her absence at the ball. He hadn’t stopped to notify her father and brothers, but had come after her straight away. An unexpected hero.
The Lieutenant’s ill-fitting coat had a tear in the elbow. Shabby and worn, he didn’t fit into the polished world in which she lived. But beneath his rebellious air was a man who had fought to save her.
Would he do so again, if she asked it of him?
‘Lieutenant Thorpe, I have a favour to ask.’
He eyed her with wariness. ‘What is it?’
It felt so awkward to ask this of him. She dug her nails into her palms, gathering up her courage. ‘If I am forced into marriage with Lord Belgrave, would you…put a stop to the wedding?’
A lazy smile perked at his mouth. ‘You’re asking me to kidnap you from your own wedding?’
‘If it comes to that—yes.’ She squared her shoulders, pretending as though she hadn’t voiced an inappropriate request. ‘I shall try to avoid it, of course. You would be my last resort.’
He expelled a harsh laugh and went over to his horse, bringing the animal between them. Grasping the reins in one hand, he tilted his head to study her. ‘You’re serious.’
‘Nothing could be more serious.’ It was an arrangement, a practical way of preventing the worst tragedy of her life. And though it might cause an even greater scandal, she would do anything to escape marriage to Belgrave.
‘I have to report to duty,’ the Lieutenant warned. ‘It’s likely I would be gone within the week.’
She gave a brisk nod, well aware of that. ‘Believe me, my parents want to see me married as soon as possible. It’s likely a wedding will be arranged in a few days. I simply refuse to wed Belgrave. Any other man will do.’
‘Even me?’ He sent her a sidelong smile, as though he, too, couldn’t believe what she was asking.
‘Well, no.’ She pinched her lips together, realising that she’d led him to believe something she’d never intended. ‘I couldn’t possibly—’
‘Don’t worry, sweet.’ His voice grew low, tempting her once again. ‘I’ll stop your wedding, if it’s in my power.’
She breathed once again, her shoulders falling in relief. ‘I would be most grateful.’ Knowing that he would be there in the background, to steal her away from an unwanted wedding, gave her the sense that somehow everything would be all right. She held out her gloved palm, intending to shake his hand on the bargain.
The Lieutenant took her gloved hand in his. Instead of a firm handshake, he raised her palm to his face. ‘If I steal the bride away,’ he murmured, pressing his lips to her hand, ‘what will I get in return?’
Chapter Four
‘What do you want?’
Michael’s response was a slow smile, letting her imagine all the things he might do to a stolen bride, if they were alone.
Hannah’s expression appeared shocked. ‘I would never do such a thing. This is an arrangement, nothing more.’
Her face had gone pale, and Michael pulled back, putting physical distance between them. ‘Don’t you recognise teasing when you hear it, sweet?’
She looked bewildered, but shook her head. ‘Don’t make fun of me, please. This is about Belgrave. I simply can’t marry him.’
‘Then don’t.’
‘It’s not that simple. Already my mother has decided it would be the best future for me.’ Hannah rubbed at her temples absently. ‘I don’t know what I can do to convince her otherwise.’
‘It’s very simple. Tell her no.’
She was already shaking her head, making excuses to herself. ‘I can’t. She won’t listen to a thing I say.’
‘You’ve never disobeyed them, have you?’
‘No.’ She seemed lost, so vulnerable that he half-wished there was someone who could take care of her. Not him. There was no hope of that. She was far better off away from a man like himself.
‘No one can force you to marry. Not even your father.’ He adjusted her shawl so it fully covered her shoulders. ‘Hold your ground and endure what you must.’
Visions flooded his mind, of the battle at Balaclava where his men had obeyed that same command. They’d tried valiantly to stand firm before the enemy. A hailstorm of enemy bullets had rained down upon them, men dying by the hundreds.
Was he asking her to do the same? To stand up to her father, knowing that the Marquess would strike her down? Perhaps it was the wrong course of action.
‘I don’t think I can,’ Hannah confessed. She tugged at a finger of her glove, worrying the fabric. ‘Papa can make my life a misery. And I’ll be ruined if I don’t marry.’
Though she was undoubtedly right, he could not allow himself to think about her future. They were worlds apart from one another. She would have to live with whatever choices she made.
‘Time to make your own fortune. If you’re already ruined, you’ve nothing left to lose. Do as you please.’
Hannah stared at him, as though she hadn’t the faintest idea of how a ruined woman should behave. ‘I don’t know. I’ve always…done what I should.’
She took a step towards the house, away from him. He suddenly understood that she’d asked him to rescue her, not because of her parents, but because the need to obey was so deeply ingrained in her. If he kidnapped her from the wedding, she could lay the blame at his feet, not hers.
She’s not your concern, his brain reminded him. Let her make her own choices. Tell her no.
But he didn’t. Though he shouldn’t interfere, neither would he let her marry a man like Belgrave. He let out a breath, and said, ‘Send word to me if anything changes. Your brothers know where I can be found.’
‘Will you be all right?’ she asked in a small voice. ‘What if my father—?’
‘He can do nothing to me,’ Michael interrupted. Within a week or two, there would be hundreds of miles between them. He’d be back with the Army, fighting the enemy and obeying orders until he met his own end. Men like him weren’t good for much else.
The troubled expression on her face hadn’t dimmed. Instead, a bright flush warmed her cheeks. ‘Thank you for agreeing to help me.’ Hannah reached up to her neck and unfastened the diamond necklace. ‘I want you to have this.’
‘Keep it.’ He closed her fingers back over the glittering stones. An innocent like her could never conceive of the consequences, if he were to accept. Her father would accuse him of stealing, no matter that it had been a gift.
‘If you’re planning to keep watch over me, then you’ll need a reason to return.’ She placed it back in his palm.
He hadn’t considered it in that light. ‘You’re right.’ The necklace did give him a legitimate reason to return, and so he hid the jewellery within his pocket.
‘Return in a day or two,’ she ordered. ‘And I’ll see to it that you’re rewarded for your assistance, whether or not it’s needed.’
He wouldn’t accept any compensation from her, though his funds were running out. ‘It’s not necessary.’
‘It is.’
In her green eyes, Michael saw the loss of innocence, the devastating blow to her future. Yet beneath the pain, there was determination.
She crossed her arms, as if gathering her courage. ‘I won’t let my father destroy my future.’ Her expression shifted into a stubborn set. ‘And I won’t let him destroy yours, either.’
The older woman wandered through the streets, her crimson bonnet vivid in the sea of dark brown and black. Michael pushed his way past the fishmongers and vendors, minding his step through Fleet Street.
Mrs Turner was lost again. He quickened his step, moving amid sailors, drovers and butchers. At last, he reached her side.
‘Good morning,’ he greeted her, tipping his hat.
No recognition dawned in her silver-grey eyes, but she offered a faint nod and continued on her path.
Damn. It wasn’t going to be one of her better days. Mrs Turner had been his neighbour and friend for as long as he could remember, but recently she’d begun to suffer spells of forgetfulness from time to time.
He hadn’t known about her condition until he’d returned to London last November. At first, the widow had brought him food and drink, looking after him while he recovered from the gunshot wounds. He’d broken the devastating news of her son Henry’s death at Balaclava.
And as the weeks passed, she began to withdraw, her mind clouding over. There were times when she only remembered things from the past.
Today she didn’t recognise him at all.
Michael tried to think of a way to break through to her lost memory. ‘You’re Mrs Turner, aren’t you?’ he commented, keeping up with her pace. ‘Of Number Eight, Newton Street?’
She stopped walking, fear rising on her face. ‘I don’t know you.’
‘No, no, you probably don’t remember me,’ he said quickly. ‘But I’m a friend of Henry’s.’
The mention of her son’s name made her eyes narrow. ‘I’ve never seen you before.’
‘Henry sent me to fetch you home,’ he said gently. ‘Will you let me walk with you? I’m certain he’s left a pot of whisky and tea for you. Perhaps some marmalade and bread.’
The mention of her favourite foods made her lower lip tremble. Wrinkles edged her eyes, and tears spilled over them. ‘I’m lost, aren’t I?’
He took her hand in his, leading her in the proper direction. ‘No, Mrs Turner.’
As he guided her through the busy streets, her frail hand gripped his with a surprising strength. They drew closer to her home at Peabody Square, and her face began to relax. Whether or not she recognised her surroundings, she seemed more at ease.
Michael helped her inside, and saw that she was out of coal. ‘I’ll just be a moment getting a fire started for you.’ Handing her a crocheted blanket, he settled her upon a rocking chair to wait.
After purchasing a bucket of coal for her, he returned to her dwelling and soon had a fire burning.
Mrs Turner huddled close to it, still wearing her bright red bonnet. He’d given it to her this Christmas, both from her love of the outrageous colour, and because it made it easier to locate her within a crowd of people.
‘Why, Michael,’ she said suddenly, her mouth curving in a warm smile. ‘I didn’t realise you’d come to visit. Make a pot of tea for us, won’t you?’
He exhaled, glad to see that she was starting to remember him. When he brought out the kettle, he saw that she had hardly any water remaining. There was enough to make a pot of tea, though, and he put the kettle on to boil.
‘You’re looking devilishly handsome, I must say.’ She beamed. ‘Where did you get those clothes?’
He didn’t tell her that she’d loaned them to him last night, from her son’s clothing. Bringing up the memory of Henry’s death would only make her cry again.
‘A good friend let me borrow them,’ was all he said. When her tea was ready, he brought her the cup, lacing it heavily with whisky.
She drank heartily, smacking her lips. ‘Ah, now you’re a fine lad, Michael. Tell me about the ball last night. Did you meet any young ladies to marry?’
‘I might have.’ The vision of Lady Hannah’s lovely face came to mind. ‘But they tossed me out on my ear.’
She gave a loud laugh. ‘Oh, they did no such thing, you wretch.’ She drained the mug, and he refilled it with more tea. ‘I’m certain you made all the women swoon. Now, tell me what they were wearing.’ She wrapped the blanket around herself, moving the rocking chair closer to the fire.
While he answered her questions about the Marquess and his vague memory of the women’s gowns, he tried to locate food for her. Scouring her cupboards, he found only a stale loaf of bread. Beside it, he saw a candle, a glove and all of the spoons.
He searched everywhere for marmalade, finally locating it among her undergarments in a drawer. He was afraid to look any further, for fear of what else he might find. Ever since she’d begun having the spells, he’d found all manner of disorganisation in her home.
He cut her a thick slice of bread and slathered it with marmalade. God only knew when she’d eaten last.
Mrs Turner bit into it, sighing happily. ‘Now, then. Who else did you meet at the ball, Michael?’ She lifted her tea up and took another hearty swallow.
‘A foreign gentleman was there,’ he added. ‘Someone from Lohenberg.’
The cup slid from Mrs Turner’s hand, shattering on the floor. Tea spilled everywhere, and her face had gone white.
Michael grabbed a rag and soaked up the spill, cleaning up the broken pieces. ‘It’s all right. I’ll take care of it.’
But when he looked into Mrs Turner’s grey eyes, he saw consummate fear. ‘Who—who was he?’
‘Graf von Reischor,’ he said. ‘The ambassador, I believe. It was nothing.’
He said not a word about the man’s impossible claim, that he looked like their king. But Mrs Turner gripped his hand, her face bone white. ‘No. Oh, no.’
‘What is the matter?’ He stared into her silver eyes, wondering why the mention of Lohenberg would frighten her so. Neither of them had ever left England before.
A few minutes later, Mrs Turner’s face turned distant. She whispered to herself about her son Henry, as though he were a young child toddling toward her.
It was useless to ask her anything now. The madness had descended once more.
Hannah wasn’t entirely certain what a ruined woman should wear, but she felt confident that it wouldn’t be a gown the colour of cream. This morning, Christine Chesterfield had inspected every inch of her attire, fussing over her as if she were about to meet the Queen.
‘Now remember,’ her mother warned, ‘be on your very best behaviour. Pretend that nothing happened the other night.’
Nothing did happen, she wanted to retort, but she feigned subservience. ‘Yes, Mother.’
Christine reached out and adjusted a hairpin, ensuring that not a single strand was out of place. ‘Did you read my list?’
‘Of course.’ Hannah offered the slip of paper, and her mother found a pen, hastily scratching notes.
‘I’ve made changes for tonight. At dinner, you are to wear the white silk gown with the rose embroidery and your pearls. Estelle will fix your hair, and you should be there by eight o’clock.’
Her mother handed her the new list. ‘I have advised Manning not to serve you any blanc mange or pudding. And no wine. You have been indulging far more than you should, my dear. Estelle tells me that your figure is a halfinch larger than it should be.’
Her throat clenched, but Hannah said nothing. She stared down at the list, the words blurring upon the page. Never before had she questioned her mother’s orders. If she couldn’t have sweets, then that was because Christine wanted her to have an excellent figure. It was love, not control. Wasn’t it?
But she felt herself straining against the invisible bonds, wanting to escape. Her mother was worried about the size of her waistline, when her entire future had been turned upside down? It seemed ridiculous, in light of the scandal.
With each passing moment, Hannah’s discomfort worsened. ‘Mother, honestly, I don’t feel up to receiving visitors. I’d rather wait a few days.’ She hadn’t slept well last night, and her mind was preoccupied with the uncertain future.
‘You will do as you’re told, Hannah. The sooner you are married, the sooner you can put this nightmare behind you.’ Her mother stood and guided her to the parlour. ‘Now wait here until Lord Belgrave arrives. He told your father he would come to call at two o’clock.’
Hannah realised she might as well have been speaking to a stone wall. In her mind, she envisioned her parents chaining her ankle to the church pew, her mouth stuffed with a handkerchief while they wedded her off to Belgrave.
At least she had an hour left, before the true torment began. She contemplated escaping the house, but what good would it do to run away? Nothing, except make her parents angrier than they already were.
No, if she had to face Lord Belgrave again, she would tell him exactly what she thought of him. Perhaps he would call off his plans.
Her father, the Marquess, stood beside the fireplace, his pocket watch in his hands. Disappointment and sadness cloaked his features as he put the watch in his waistcoat. He paced towards the sofa and sat down, his wrists resting upon his knees.
Hannah went and sat down beside her father. She reached out and took his hand. Anger would never win a battle against her father. But he had a soft spot for obedience.
‘I know that you are trying to protect me,’ she said gently. ‘And as your only daughter, I know that you want someone to take care of me.’
His grey eyes were stormy with unspoken fury, but he was listening.
‘I beg of you, Papa, don’t ask me to marry Lord Belgrave,’ she pleaded. ‘I don’t care if he reveals the scandal to everyone.’
‘I do.’ Her father’s grip tightened around her knuckles. ‘I won’t allow our family name to be degraded, simply because you lost your judgement one night.’
Hannah pulled her hand away. ‘I will marry no one.’ Rising to her feet, she added, ‘Most especially not the Baron of Belgrave.’
‘It won’t be Michael Thorpe. God help me, you will not wed a soldier.’
The thought had never entered her mind, but at the reminder of the Lieutenant, a caress of heat erupted over her body. Sensual and rebellious, a man like Michael Thorpe would never treat her with the polite distance so typical of marriage. No, she suspected he was the sort of man who would possess her, stealing her breath away in forbidden pleasure.
Hannah shook her head. ‘Of course not.’
Plunging forward, she revealed an alternate plan. ‘Send me somewhere far away from London until the talk dies down. We have cousins elsewhere in Europe, don’t we?’
‘Germany,’ he admitted. His countenance turned grim, but she though she detected a softening in his demeanour. Please, God, let him listen to me, she prayed.
At that moment, the footman Phillips gave a quiet knock. ‘Forgive me, my lord, but the Baron of Belgrave has come to call upon Lady Hannah.’
The Marquess hesitated a moment before speaking. Hannah gripped her fingers together so hard, her knuckles turned white. She shook her head, pleading with her father.
‘Give him another chance, Hannah,’ the Marquess said quietly. ‘Despite his reproachable actions, the man does come from an excellent family. He can provide you with anything you’d ever need.’
She couldn’t believe the words had come from her father’s mouth. She’d known that he cared about appearances, that upholding model behaviour was important to him. But she’d never thought it was more important than her own well-being.
‘Papa, please,’ she whispered again. ‘Don’t ask this of me.’
Her father’s face tensed, but his tone was unyielding when he spoke. ‘Tell the baron my daughter will await him in the drawing room.’
Chapter Five
Michael stood at attention when Colonel Hammond entered the room. He’d been summoned to the War Office this morning, but it wasn’t the commander-in-chief who’d prepared his new orders. Instead, he’d been shown into a smaller sitting room. ‘Colonel, you asked to see me?’
‘Yes. I’m afraid there’s been a change in your assignment,’ the Colonel admitted. The senior officer’s red jacket gleamed with brass buttons, the gold epaulettes resting upon his shoulders. Michael felt ill at ease in his own slate-blue uniform, which still bore the bloodstains he hadn’t been able to wash clean.
The Colonel gestured towards a wooden chair, and Michael took a seat. ‘You won’t be returning to the front, after all.’
‘I’ve made a full recovery,’ Michael felt compelled to point out. ‘I’m ready to fight again.’
Colonel Hammond looked uncomfortable. ‘That will have to wait, I’m afraid. Though I should like to see you return to battle as well—we can always use men of your fortitude—I’m afraid the Army has other plans for you.’
An uncomfortable suspicion settled in his gut. Had the Marquess used his powers of influence so soon? He’d known that he would probably be sent away from England, but he’d expected to return to duty.
‘What are my orders?’
The Colonel sat across from him, a large mahogany desk as a barrier between them. ‘You will accompany the ambassador from Lohenberg, the Graf von Reischor, to his homeland. He has proposed to send supplies to the Crimean Peninsula, offering aid from their country to our troops. You will assist the Commissariat by choosing what is most needed for the men.’
Michael’s hand clenched into a fist. He didn’t believe for a moment that the Graf was acting out of concern for the British troops. This was nothing but a stranger meddling in his military career, all because he’d ignored the summons. Why should he care whether or not he resembled the King of some tiny, forgotten country?
He’d given years of service to the Army, obeying orders and doing his best to keep his men alive. And with a single stroke of the pen, the Lohenberg Graf had turned his military career from a soldier into an errand boy.
‘You honour me, Colonel,’ he lied, ‘but I’m nothing but a lieutenant. Why not one of my commanding officers?’
‘The ambassador requested you. I suggested another officer as a liaison, but he insisted that it must be you, or he would reconsider the offer.’ There was a questioning note in the Colonel’s voice, but Michael gave no response. He couldn’t tell his commander why the Graf wanted him to travel to Lohenberg, when he didn’t know the man’s intent.
‘I’d rather be back with my men,’ he said quietly. ‘I owe it to them, after what happened at Balaclava.’ He’d tried to save whatever lives he could until he’d fallen, shot and bleeding on the field.
‘I understand Nolan spoke well of you and your bravery before the battle.’ The Colonel’s voice was also quiet, as though remembering those soldiers who had not returned.
He turned his attention to pouring a cup of tea. ‘While we would welcome you back on the Peninsula, Lieutenant Thorpe, this alliance is far too important. I’m afraid your orders are clear. The Graf has requested you, and it is our hope that you can convince the Lohenberg Army to join in our cause.’
Bitter silence permeated the room, and Michael rose from his seat. Damned if he was going to allow the Graf to ruin everything he’d worked for. He would go and try to convince the man to choose another officer. Then, perhaps he could rejoin what was left of the 17th Lancers.
Michael bowed and offered a polite farewell to Colonel Hammond, who shook his hand afterwards and wished him well.
‘I will give your regards to the men, upon my return to Balaclava, Lieutenant. You will report to Graf von Reischor at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.’
His heart filled with anger; numb to all else, Michael gripped the Colonel’s hand and murmured another farewell.
It was becoming quite clear that Graf von Reischor believed himself to be a puppet master, jerking his strings toward a path that was not his.
As he left the War Office, Michael shoved his hands inside his pockets, only to find the tangled strand of diamonds Hannah had given him.
He slid his hands over the hard stones, feeling the chain warm beneath his fingertips. Although Hannah believed the diamonds would grant him an excuse to return to Rothburne House, that wasn’t a wise idea. The Marquess would murder him if he so much as set foot upon a blade of Rothburne grass.
It’s not your battle to fight.
He knew he shouldn’t be involved. Their lives were too distant from one another, and despite the night they’d spent in the carriage, she was better off if he left her alone. Most likely Hannah would be all right, with her father and brothers to protect her.
The way they had on the night Belgrave took her? his conscience reminded him. His trouble instincts were rising up again.
He expelled a foul curse and continued walking through the streets. An hour. He could spend that much time ensuring for himself that she hadn’t been dragged off by Belgrave.
Hackney cab drivers called out, offering to drive him, but he ignored them. It wasn’t such a long walk, and he didn’t have the money for it anyway.
The thin soles of his shoes were worn down, and as he continued on the walk to Rothburne House, he felt the cobbled stones more than he’d have liked. He hadn’t broken his fast this morning, and the thought of food made his stomach hurt. It didn’t help matters to see a vendor selling meat pies and iced raisin buns.
After half an hour, he finally reached Rothburne House. He recognised Lord Belgrave’s carriage waiting outside. A grim resolution took root inside him, to get rid of Belgrave.
He couldn’t approach the front entrance, however. Rothburne’s footmen would throw him out. His military uniform also made it impossible to reconnoitre without being easily noticed.
Quickly, Michael stripped off his jacket and shako, hiding the plumed military cap and outer coat beneath a trimmed boxwood hedge. Beside it, he placed his officer’s sword. He removed Hannah’s necklace from the jacket and placed it in his pocket.
Traversing the perimeter of the house, he spied an open window on the first floor. Time to discover exactly what Belgrave was up to.
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Michelle Willingham
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: From dutiful debutante…Lieutenant Michael Thorpe is a forbidden temptation for Lady Hannah Chesterfield. Etiquette demands Hannah ignore the shivers of desire his wicked gaze provokes, but he’s the only man to recognise her restless spirit, and her unawakened body is clamouring for his touch… …to passionate princess!They are thrown together by scandal, and a defiant Hannah joins Michael on an adventure to uncover the secret of his birth – is this common soldier really a prince? If so, will the ordinary man who has taught Hannah the meaning of pleasure now make her his royal bride?