‘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.
Wear the white silk gown and the Rothburne diamonds.
Wait for your father and brothers to introduce suitors to you.
Do not refuse any invitation to dance.
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 postur
e 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.’
The Accidental Princess Page 2