The Accidental Princess

by Michelle Willingham

  She dried her tears, extricating herself from his arms. Though she’d expected to feel abashed at being in his embrace, strangely, she didn’t.

  Afterwards, she sat down upon one of the sacks, keeping a respectful, proper distance. Across from him, she felt small, almost fragile. He remained alert, as though he expected to leave at any moment.

  ‘I am grateful for your help today. Tell me, did anyone else see you?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ His eyes held a glint of mischief. ‘It’s a good thing your father opened the window earlier.’

  Smoothing her skirts, she straightened her posture. ‘I do appreciate your help.’

  ‘I suspect, after you struck Belgrave with the candlestick, Lord Rothburne will be less likely to force you into marriage.’

  Hannah nodded, hoping that was true. ‘When do you have to leave for the Crimean Peninsula?’

  The Lieutenant tensed, and he busied himself with finishing the ham sandwich. After a moment, he replied, ‘My orders were changed. I’ve been asked to go to Lohenberg instead.’

  Lohenberg? Hannah frowned, wondering what the Army would possibly want with the tiny country, nestled between Germany and Denmark. In school, she’d learned Lohenisch, among her studies of European languages, but it was hardly an important principality.

  Hannah stared at him, unable to comprehend what he’d just informed her. ‘Do you mean you’re not going to fight any more?’ Before he could answer, she plunged on. ‘This is my fault, isn’t it? My father—’

  ‘—had nothing to do with it,’ he finished. ‘Another man is involved.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The Graf von Reischor.’ He shook his head, stabbing at a bite of creamed spinach. ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘He was at Papa’s ball the other night, wasn’t he?’ Hannah mused. Her father was good friends with the Lohenberg ambassador, but she’d hardly spoken with the man beyond an introduction, over a year ago. ‘What would the Graf want with you?’

  She bit her tongue as soon as she spoke, for it sounded as though she’d denigrated the Lieutenant’s rank. ‘I mean, why would he interfere with your orders?’

  ‘I presume he will tell me that tomorrow morning.’ His stiff posture made it clear he had no desire to discuss it further.

  He was about to leave, but Hannah stopped him with a hand. ‘Wait. You haven’t finished everything.’

  She removed a covered container and offered it to him, along with a spoon. ‘It’s Cook’s newest dessert. She copied it after the Sacher Torte, which my parents tasted in Vienna. You’ll want to try it.’

  She’d never been allowed to partake of the rich dessert, but there was no reason why the Lieutenant should not enjoy the rare delicacy. Setting the container into his hands, she made him accept it.

  Hannah lifted the lid, and against her will, her mouth watered. Rich chocolate covered the cake, while the inner layers were filled with apricot jam. What would it be like to taste such decadence?

  The Lieutenant dipped his fork into the cake, and Hannah stared at the forbidden dessert.

  Was it as good as it appeared to be? The soft icing looked so tempting, she forced herself to look away.

  ‘You look as though you’re ready to snatch my cake away,’ he observed. ‘Did you want some?’

  ‘No, that’s all right.’ Lies. All lies. She breathed in the scent, wishing for just the tiniest taste. ‘I’m not allowed to have sweets very often,’ she admitted. ‘Mother has my waist measured every day.’

  The Lieutenant set his fork down, studying her as though she were a foreign creature. ‘What do you do when you attend the dinner parties and balls? Surely you would offend the hostess if you refused to eat the dessert.’

  She gave a reluctant smile. ‘There are ways to play with your food, so it appears that you’ve eaten it. Don’t tell me you never tried it, when you were a boy.’

  ‘I ate everything my parents gave me. I was glad if it wasn’t rancid.’

  Hannah rested her hands in her lap. She’d never worried about where her food came from. It was always there, in endless variety. Only the best cuisine would meet her mother’s impossible standards.

  It was sobering to remember that most people worried about whether or not they had enough to eat. She should be grateful for her circumstances, despite the lack of freedom.

  ‘Close your eyes,’ the Lieutenant said suddenly.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Do it.’

  She obeyed, wondering what he intended. A moment later, she felt the light brush of metal tines against her lips. His thumb urged her mouth to open, and the fork slid inside.

  The sweetness hit her tongue first, then the bittersweet chocolate icing of the cake. Hannah breathed in as she held the unbelievable flavours against the roof of her mouth. She almost didn’t want to swallow, it tasted so good.

  When at last she did, she opened her eyes. The Lieutenant was staring at her, his gaze filled with heat. ‘Don’t ever look at a man like that,’ he murmured. ‘Else you’ll find yourself in his bed.’ There was wickedness in his tone, as if he wanted to be that man.

  She returned the fork to him, suddenly conscious of the intimacy of sharing it. Michael set the plate aside, rising to his feet. ‘I’m going to go now. Thank you for the food.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ She held the taste of the torte against the roof of her mouth, savouring the last remnants. And despite the terrible temptation, she would not lick the plate after he’d gone away.

  ‘Wait here for a few moments, then go and sit in the garden,’ he suggested. ‘They’ll find Belgrave and come looking for you.’

  ‘Heaven help me when I’m found.’

  He took her shoulders, looking her straight in the eye. ‘You were brave enough to defeat Belgrave once before. You’ll manage it again.’

  She wished she felt the same confidence. Even so, it wasn’t as if she had any choice. Lifting her gaze to his, she saw the faith in his eyes. And suddenly, she grew aware that he hadn’t pulled his hands back.

  His palms dominated her narrow shoulders, while hazel eyes bore into hers. He seemed to struggle with an invisible decision, but his hands remained where they were. She was caught by the memory of his fingers caressing her skin, and the unexpected brush of his mouth on her nape. The stolen kiss in the carriage…all of it made Hannah’s sensibilities drift away.

  If it had been the Lieutenant whom her parents wanted her to marry, she might have had a very different response. There was something forbidden about him. Something tempting.

  ‘I’m not brave at all,’ she whispered. ‘I’m nothing but a foolish girl.’ She lifted her hands to his shoulders, knowing that she was provoking him. Knowing that he wasn’t safe at all, nor was he a gentleman.

  The effect of her hands upon him was instantaneous. His hands stilled, and he leaned in, his cheek resting against hers. ‘Tell me to stop.’

  But she didn’t. She had broken so many rules today, shaming her family and behaving like the worst sort of daughter.

  ‘Push me away, Hannah. Take a damned spade and strike me over the head.’ His gaze was heated, his eyes burning with a warning she couldn’t possibly heed.

  She couldn’t have moved if she’d wanted to. Something about this man drew her in, tantalising her with the promise of physical pleasure.

  ‘Don’t stop. I need this…for a moment.’ She didn’t even understand what she was asking for.

  ‘So innocent.’ His mouth moved over her skin, caressing her with his warm breath. Like before, her body came alive, needing him to touch. To taste.

  No matter how many books she’d read or how many languages she spoke, in physical matters she was completely ignorant. A secret part of her thirsted for the knowledge.

  Michael pulled her against the shed, 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. He trapped her against the wood, covering 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.

  His tongue slid inside her mouth, evoking a shocking sensation. Her breasts ached against the fabric of her gown, her nipples rising. Michael slipped his hands around her waist, his wide palms resting upon her ribs. His kiss grew more fierce, his mouth conquering hers. She opened to him, and raw desire pummelled her senses, making it impossible to stop, even if she’d wanted him to.

  And God help her, she didn’t. He pulled her close and she felt the hard length of his body nestled against her. Something unexpected blossomed inside, and she shifted her thighs, not understanding what was happening.

  His mouth moved over her throat in a forbidden caress. ‘You shouldn’t have started this. I was going to let you go untouched.’

  ‘I know.’ She shuddered as his tongue flicked over her pulse. The secret longings made it impossible to think clearly, and she couldn’t bring herself to pull away. ‘But there’s no harm in a kiss, is there?’ When he didn’t answer, she prompted, ‘Lieutenant?’

  ‘Michael,’ he corrected. ‘And you’re wrong, if you think that’s all I want from you.’ His hands moved over her bodice, resting just beneath her breasts. Hannah grew feverish, her skin blazing with wanton needs.

  ‘I don’t know what you want.’ Or what I want, she thought.

  With his thumbs, he stroked her nipples, tantalising her. His breathing had grown harsh, and she cradled his head, kissing him deeply.

  ‘Are you trying to punish yourself?’ he asked, his lips resting upon her skin. ‘By kissing a man like me?’

  ‘You’re not a punishment,’ she whispered. ‘It’s just that—I wanted to know what it was like. To be desired.’ She lowered her head. ‘Not for my fortune, not for my hand in marriage. But for me.’

  He took her lips again, this time softly. A lover’s kiss, one that made her tremble. Michael broke away, resting his face against hers. ‘I should never have come here. You’re a complication I don’t need right now.’

  Her throat was burning, but she managed an apology. ‘I’m sorry.’

  He cupped her cheek then pulled away. ‘Be well, Lady Hannah.’ The door clattered shut behind him.

  Hannah stayed inside the shed, the privacy cooling her unexpected desire. Regardless of what he said about himself, Michael was no ordinary soldier. He didn’t let any man intimidate or threaten him. Instead, he carried himself with self-assurance, a man accustomed to guarding others.

  And yet, there was no one protecting him. Her spirits dimmed at the thought of the Lieutenant enduring hardships he’d never admit. Like hunger.

  Her mother had always cautioned her to think of the poor, to put others before her own needs. The Lieutenant needed someone to look after him.

  But it could never be her.

  Chapter Seven

  The following morning, Michael stood in front of Number Fourteen, St James’s Street, the Graf von Reischor’s residence. All night, he’d thought of Lady Hannah.

  He’d never intended to kiss her again. It had been a monumental mistake, and one he wouldn’t repeat. She’d been distraught after the events of the afternoon, and he’d taken unfair advantage. Again.

  But when she’d clung to him, kissing him back, he hadn’t been able to stop the rush of desire. Like a train, crashing through him with unstoppable force, he’d touched her the way he’d wanted to. Like the bastard he was.

  She was well rid of him. Though he intended to keep his promise of ensuring that she didn’t have to wed Belgrave, the sooner he was free of Lady Hannah, the better.

  He had his own mess to unravel. The Lohenberg ambassador had left him no other choice but to see this through. Michael intended to get his answers today, no matter how long it took.

  A sense of uneasiness rippled inside. Last night, he’d had the nightmare again. In his dream, he’d seen pieces of images, one after the other. Falling from a high distance, wounding his leg. A hand gripping his, dragging him down the street. Frigid waves, striking against a ship’s hull. He’d woken up shaking, his body cold with fear. But whenever he tried to recall the details, the dreams faded into nothingness.

  Though he wanted to pretend that this was nothing but a distorted trick, that these were nothing but idle visions, he wasn’t convinced. As he stood before the door, he quelled the anxiety in his stomach, steeling himself for whatever confrontation lay ahead.

  Michael removed his shako when the footman led him into the drawing room, tucking the hat beneath one arm. The ambassador’s residence held a deceptive opulence. At first glance, the room appeared no different than the others he’d been inside. But the mahogany side table was polished to a sheen, the wood almost warm in its deep color. Inlaid wood formed a geometric pattern of shapes, like a fine mosaic.

  The silver tea service was polished and gleaming, and the tray probably cost more than his yearly salary. Two porcelain cups painted with blue flowers rested upon the tray. The butler offered to pour him a cup, but Michael refused.

  He waited for a full half-hour in the drawing room, ignoring the refreshments. His frustration mounted with each passing minute, until finally, he rose from his seat.

  ‘I see you’ve had enough of waiting,’ a cultured voice spoke. The Graf von Reischor entered the drawing room, leaning upon his gold-handled cane. The man’s bald head gleamed, his salt-and-pepper beard framing a gnarled face. ‘Have you finally decided to confront your past?’

  ‘No. Only the present.’ Michael strode forward, standing directly in front of the Graf. At the sight of the ambassador’s smug expression, his anger sparked. ‘You had no right to interfere with my orders.’

  A faint smile tipped at the Graf’s mouth. ‘You enjoyed being shot, did you?’

  ‘I need to return to my men and finish the campaign. I owe it to them.’

  The Graf’s expression grew solemn. ‘Yes, I suppose you must feel an obligation. I apologise for that, but it couldn’t be helped.’ He gestured for Michael to sit, and withdrew a cloth-wrapped parcel.

  ‘I made some enquiries, after you refused my initial invitation to come and discuss this mysterious resemblance. I learned from your commanding officer that you had an anonymous benefactor who ordered you brought back from Malta.’

  Michael’s gaze narrowed, not understanding what the Graf meant. ‘I was sent back because of my gunshot wounds.’

  ‘Did you never wonder why your return to service was delayed for so long? Or why none of the others were brought back to London?’

  He hadn’t, not really. But then, he’d been in and out of consciousness, fighting for his life. He doubted if he’d have been aware of anything, not after nearly losing his leg. ‘I thought other soldiers had returned with me.’

  ‘None but you.’ The Graf held out the cloth-wrapped package. ‘I find that rather curious, don’t you? It must have cost a great deal, both to locate your whereabouts and to bring you back to London. Someone obviously wanted to keep you alive. But who?’

  Michael took the cloth package and unwrapped an oval miniature. He didn’t know what he expected to see in the painting, but it wasn’t an aged version of himself. The resemblance was so strong, he couldn’t find any words to respond.

  ‘You see?’ The Graf held out his palm, and Michael returned the miniature to him.

  Right now, he felt as if the ground had cracked open beneath him, sending him into a darkened chasm of uncertainty. Though he’d successfully ignored the frequent nightmares, now he could no longer be sure.

  ‘It could be a coincidence.’ But even as he spoke the words, he knew it wasn’t.

  The ambassador levelled a piercing stare at him. ‘That, Lieutenant Thorpe, is what we must f
ind out.’ He poured two cups of tea, but Michael refused the hot drink. The ambassador added milk and sugar to his own cup.

  ‘There is a legend in Lohenberg. One that has persisted for nearly twenty-three years, of a Changeling Prince.’

  ‘Changeling?’

  ‘Only a fairy tale, perhaps. You know how rumours spread.’

  Michael waited for the Graf to continue. The ambassador rubbed his beard, lost in thought. ‘Some believe the true Prince was stolen away, switched with another child on All Hallows Eve.’

  ‘Wouldn’t the King or Queen have noticed, if the boy was different?’

  ‘The King saw the child for himself and proclaimed that Karl was indeed his son. He silenced the rumours.’ The Graf sipped his tea.

  ‘Do you think the King was telling the truth?’

  ‘I don’t know. But I want to be sure that the right man is crowned.’ The Graf finished his tea and set down the cup. ‘Forgive me for interfering with your orders, but I saw no other choice.’

  Michael preferred to face enemy bullets, rather than unlock a past that might or might not belong to him. He knew, deep down, that he was the very last sort of man capable of leading a country.

  ‘If I am wrong,’ the Graf offered, ‘you may return to the Army with no further interference from me. I will repay you handsomely for your co-operation, and I will see to it that Lohenberg provides several ships full of supplies and clothing for your fighting men.’

  ‘In the meantime,’ Reischor continued, ‘you’ll want to pack. I’ve arranged for your passage upon a steam packet, and we sail for Lohenberg at the end of the week.’

  A full day passed before Hannah’s parents addressed the subject of Lord Belgrave. She heard not a word of gossip from the servants, only that the baron had returned home with a headache.

  An understatement, that.

  After dinner, her parents awaited her in the parlour. The silence was so grim, Hannah wondered if they could see the guilt she was feeling right now. Did they know she had kissed the Lieutenant in the shed yesterday? Had any of the servants seen her after she’d gone out the window?