Whether it was a list of reminders or a list of orders, Hannah didn’t care. She tore the paper into tiny pieces, ripping apart all the expectations.
This was her life, was it not? If she wished to wear violet, she could. If she wanted to wear her hair down, who were the servants to tell her otherwise?
The years of fettered isolation were drowning her. She didn’t know if she could stand living in this isolated, rigid palace of rules. But there was one thing she wanted more than anything in the world, one man worth fighting for.
She slid the aquamarine-and-diamond ring upon her finger and threw open the door to her room. Picking up her skirts, she raced down the hall. When she rounded the corner, she nearly crashed into Michael.
He caught her before she fell, his hazel eyes questioning. Hannah didn’t speak a word, but took his hand in hers, leading him back to her bedchamber. Once they were inside, she turned the key in the lock.
‘What do you want?’ he asked. His eyes stared hard at the ring upon her hand.
‘I don’t want to wear this gown tonight,’ she answered. ‘Nor these pearls.’ She reached behind her neck, fumbling with the clasp. Her hands were shaking, her heart pounding in her chest.
Michael came up behind her, his warm hands resting on her nape. With the flick of his thumb, he unfastened the necklace.
‘Now the dress,’ she ordered. ‘Help me. Please.’ She wanted his hands upon her, removing all the layers between them.
I don’t care that this is wrong. I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care.
But Michael took his time unfastening the dozens of buttons, his fingers touching her with unbearable slowness. With each release, her skin erupted with goose bumps. She was waiting for him to kiss her, but he held himself back.
Hannah removed her petticoats, standing before him in her corset and undergarments.
‘Am I to play your lady’s maid?’ he murmured.
‘No. You’re going to play my husband.’ She reached up to kiss him, and their mouths came together in a heated frenzy. He stripped off his coat, and she helped him with his waistcoat and shirt until his chest was bared to her. Hannah kissed his skin, moving her mouth over his pectoral muscles, the marbled skin that was everything she wanted.
He unfastened her corset, turning her to the wall as he unlaced her stays. His hands cupped her breasts, pushing away more clothing until both of them were naked. Her palms pressed against the wallpaper and behind her, he moved close so that his erect shaft slid between her open thighs.
With his fingertips, he teased her breasts. His mouth moved over her shoulders and down her spine until he eased the tip of himself inside her, from behind.
She bloomed with moisture, aching for him. As he slid deeper, he murmured, ‘This isn’t the proper way to make love to a lady.’ With himself still inside her, he guided her to move towards the sofa, leaning over the side. She cried out with exquisite pleasure as he filled her from behind.
‘I don’t care about what’s proper any more,’ she breathed. ‘Just be with me now.’
He withdrew, then penetrated her again. ‘I am at your command.’
Chapter Twenty
Michael kissed Hannah’s shoulder, her hair falling against his face as he plunged inside her. He couldn’t stay away from her, no matter how hard he tried. When he was with Hannah, the emptiness of his life and his past failures all seemed to dissolve. She made him feel whole again.
No kingdom was worth being without her.
She was close to her release, and he pushed himself against the wetness, driving her nearer to the fulfillment she craved. Half-sobs were coming from her, but the long smooth strokes weren’t giving her what she needed.
‘Hold on,’ he urged. Bracing her hands against the couch, he took her roughly. The increased tempo and pounding of his body inside hers made her breathing quicken.
His erection grew harder, and as her body tightened around him, squeezing him in her liquid depths, his control was splintering apart.
Michael pinched her nipples, coaxing her, ‘Reach for it, Hannah.’ He didn’t care how long it took; he would be her slave if it meant bringing her the pleasure she needed.
He reached down to caress the fold of flesh that would help. The touch of his hand made her buck against him, and the counter-pressure of her hips sent his own release blasting through him. At last, she emitted a shuddering gasp, her body trembling wildly. Her inner walls climaxed around him, and he groaned, pulling her hips tight against his own.
For a moment, he rested his cheek against her back, no longer certain he’d be able to walk. No woman had ever made him feel this way. He couldn’t possibly let her go. She was his to protect, his to care for.
He withdrew from her, sweeping her into his arms and taking her to bed. They lay facing one another, skin to skin. He kissed her lips, apologising, ‘I didn’t hurt you, did I?’
Her cheeks were glowing, her green eyes luminous. ‘I felt like a conquest of war.’
He lowered his forehead to hers. ‘I’m sorry. I rather lost my head.’
She shivered, and he held her tighter, her bare breasts teasing his chest. ‘I wasn’t thinking clearly, either.’
His leg moved atop her hip. ‘We could stay here. Scandalise all of them by remaining in bed.’ He kissed her mouth. ‘Then you’d have to marry me.’
She looked away, her face disconsolate. ‘Michael, be serious. This is your future. It’s where you belong, and you need to choose a wife who can endure a life such as this.’
He didn’t like the tone in her voice. ‘And that wife isn’t you?’
She didn’t answer, and he let her pull away from him. With only a sheet covering her, she looked fragile and uncertain. His frustration deepened, for he couldn’t understand why she was so reluctant to become a Princess.
He ran his hand over the curve of her body, down to her bottom. ‘I’m not a man who begs, Hannah. Either become my wife or don’t. It’s your choice.’
Without another word, he dressed and left her bedchamber.
‘You have not done as I asked,’ the voice said. ‘The Lieutenant must not be allowed to take the throne. I want him removed.’
‘I am so sorry, my—’
‘Apologies are unacceptable. Either dispose of him or you will not like the consequences. You have a wife of your own, I believe.’
‘She is innocent,’ the servant insisted. ‘Please, I beg of you. Don’t bring her into this.’
‘You will not presume to tell me what to do. Take care of the Lieutenant and use any means necessary. Even Lady Hannah, if need be. Is that understood?’
‘It is.’
‘Good. The King must not recognise Michael Thorpe as his son.’
The servant bowed. ‘I will see to it.’
It took all his restraint to allow another man to dress him. Michael stood while the valet helped him out of his afternoon attire and into the formal black cloth coat and white cravat. The Graf had arranged for his belongings to be sent to the Schloss, along with the clothing Hannah had ordered from the tailor.
When he saw the reddened skin on Michael’s arm where the bullet had grazed it, the valet asked, ‘Do you require a new bandage, my lord?’
‘It’s all right.’ The minor wound had healed enough that he could put it from his mind. The neck abrasions could be hidden with his cravat. He preferred it this way. It was easier to blend in with the nobles, not drawing attention to himself.
He was going to face a battle of a different sort this evening, though he’d prefer not to do so in public. Tonight would be a test, and he suspected that his half-brother, Fürst Karl, would be in attendance.
But not the King.
Michael tensed at the thought of the audience, earlier in the afternoon. It had been brief, for the frail ruler was hardly able to receive guests. When the Graf had whispered to him about Michael, the ageing monarch had tried to sit up. With long grey hair and a short beard and mustache, his father appeared far
older than he was. But the King’s eyes had held intelligence and curiosity.
An unexpected memory had flashed through Michael. Of apples, strangely enough. Without asking permission to leave the King’s side, Michael had gone over to a bowl of fruit in the corner, retrieving a single apple.
Holding it before the King, he said, ‘You used to peel these for me. With a jewelled dagger.’
He kept speaking, not knowing if what he was saying made any sense at all. ‘I used to sit on your lap and you would try to peel the entire fruit in one long piece. You promised that one day you would give me the dagger.’
The King’s expression had paled at the story. And Michael had shown him the scar.
‘She was right,’ the King whispered, before his eyes closed. ‘Tell the Queen…she was right.’ The monarch gripped the sheets, and the palace physicians surrounded him, making further conversation impossible.
It bothered him, to have caused the older man further distress. Yet, there was nothing to be done about it. He now understood why the Graf had been so insistent on bringing him to Lohenberg with all haste. It was doubtful that the King would live much longer.
Graf von Reischor arrived at his door a few minutes later. Escorted by two servants, they pushed him in the wheeled chair.
‘You should remain in your bed until you’ve healed,’ Michael chided.
‘Nonsense. This is a dinner, and I’ll be seated most of the time. A man has to eat.’
And a man had to manipulate, Michael thought. As he walked alongside the Graf, he couldn’t suppress the sense of foreboding. This dinner was going to go very badly; he had no doubt.
They arrived just before the seating of the guests. Michael remained behind the others, despite the Graf’s insistence that he stand near the front.
Michael watched the guests, nodding politely to Viscount Brentford and his daughter. He sensed their gazes upon him, and the light murmur of gossip.
Though he waited to catch a glimpse of Hannah, there was no sign of her. He was about to enter the banquet hall, when all of a sudden murmurs of surprise came from behind him.
The throng parted, with a sea of curtsies and bows as Queen Astri made her entrance. She wore a champagne-coloured silk gown trimmed with silver and gold embroidery, and two ladies-in-waiting helped manage her train. A moment later, the Queen approached him.
Michael remained standing while the women around him fell into curtsies. He gave an awkward bow to his mother.
‘Will you join us, Fürst Michael?’ she asked.
A hundred sets of eyes stared at him, agog at the Queen’s announcement. Michael moved forward, unsure of where to stand, and not knowing whether to offer his arm or not. The Graf discreetly motioned for him to walk behind her.
Michael continued in the royal procession, still hoping to see Hannah. But once he had joined the Queen at the head of the table, he had to turn his attention to her. His mother’s face was alight with happiness, as though her joy could not be contained. Throughout the meal, she peppered him with questions while he did his best to answer.
‘Was the King all right after I left?’ he asked her at last.
‘I wouldn’t know.’ Astri’s expression turned shadowed. ‘He locked me in that tower for over twenty years. Tonight was the first time I was allowed to come and go as I pleased. I have the both of you to thank for it.’ She cast a gaze at the Graf, and her face softened. Michael detected a faint blush behind the ambassador’s countenance.
‘The King has accepted you as his son,’ the Queen said. ‘And I am grateful that you have been returned to me at last.’
Throughout the remainder of the dinner, Michael waited for Hannah’s arrival. When the hours dragged on, his concern sharpened. It was considered unforgivable to leave a monarch’s side without prior permission, but he was beginning to see no alternative.
After the dishes had been cleared away, he stood and made his apologies, excusing himself. The Queen’s expression faltered, but she gave him a wave of dismissal.
The people in the banquet hall stared at him, but he didn’t care about being rude. Right now, he needed to find Hannah and learn what was going on.
When at last he reached her room, he threw open the door without knocking. Her room was empty, with no trunks, no belongings. The bed was made, and there was no sign that she’d even stayed in the room.
Something was wrong.
Michael strode down the hallway and when he caught sight of a maid, he cornered her. In Lohenisch, he demanded, ‘Did you see Lady Hannah leave?’
‘Y-yes, sir,’ the maid stammered. ‘Her cousins arrived, and she went to Germany with them an hour ago.’
He stepped backwards, cursing. He never thought Hannah would actually leave him, but it appeared she’d already done so. He had believed she would give him a chance, that a Marquess’s daughter might let herself love a soldier.
It seemed he’d been wrong.
‘Lieutenant Thorpe,’ a matron’s voice interrupted. ‘Might I have a word with you?’
Michael turned and saw Lady Brentford waving at him. He had no desire to speak with the Viscountess, but perhaps he could excuse himself.
‘Lady Brentford, I’m sorry, but this isn’t a good time.’
Her gaze turned knowing, and she smiled. ‘No, I suppose it isn’t. You were rather close to Lady Hannah, weren’t you? I know more about why she left. If you’d care to hear her reasons, why don’t you join me for a few moments?’ She began walking towards one of the sitting rooms.
He didn’t at all believe Hannah would have confided in the Viscountess. However, he had so little information, perhaps she might have something to offer.
Once they were inside, she closed the door. Michael’s gut warned him that Lady Brentford’s intentions were not altruistic. Particularly since she had a stepdaughter of marriageable age.
‘What is it you want, Lady Brentford?’
She gave him a serene smile. ‘I want to see everything put back the way it should be. And we both know that after tonight’s dinner, there will be rumours about you.’
‘I hardly care about the gossiping tongues of women who don’t have anything better to do.’
She flinched slightly. ‘Well. Be that as it may, I think you will have an interest in this matter.’
He waited for her to go on. She walked around the edge of the salon, behaving with a familiarity that seemed out of place. ‘This isn’t the first time I’ve been in the palace, you know.’
He didn’t respond. She traced her hand over a porcelain figure of a shepherdess. ‘I was a long-time companion of König Sweyn. His mistress, you might say.’
Horror washed over him when he stared at her.
‘No, I am not your mother,’ she said, voicing his fears. ‘But I think you know the man who is my son.’
‘Karl,’ he said slowly.
‘Yes, Karl.’ Lady Brentford walked towards the door, stopping before it. ‘The King and I were lovers, even after he married Astri. When the Queen became pregnant, she denied him her bed. It was easy enough to coax him back into mine. But it was short-lived. Soon enough, he went back to her and sent me away.’
‘Did he know about Karl?’
‘I tried to tell him, but the Queen refused to let me into the Schloss. So, I decided that if I could not take my rightful place on the throne, my son would.’
Michael sensed a ruthlessness, a woman who would stop at nothing to get her desires. He edged his way towards the door, to prevent her from leaving.
‘It took a great deal of planning to switch two children,’ he said. ‘I presume it was you who hired the men?’
A grim smile crossed her mouth. ‘Yes. I had to marry the Viscount for his money and influence, a year after Karl was born. Brentford never knew anything about my son. I paid a woman to keep him in the village, far away from us. And my husband was so occupied with his beloved little girl, born from his first wife, he didn’t care whether or not I gave him a child.’
‘You waited years,’ Michael said. ‘I was three when you made the switch.’
She nodded. ‘I had to wait until Brentford was traveling abroad, before I could come back to Lohenberg with Karl. It took time to choose the right men who could hide amongst the palace guards. And of course, every detail had to be right. Even the scar upon Karl’s leg. I carved the wound myself, when he was two,’ she said, with a note of pride.
Knowing that she’d hurt her own child made Michael even more tense. ‘You want him to become the King.’
‘If he is king, then my blood will be part of the royal line, just as it always should have been.’
Michael chose his next words carefully, for he knew it was too late for Karl to claim the throne. Not after the Queen had formally acknowledged him tonight. ‘What do you want from me?’
Her icy smile grew thin. ‘I want your life, in exchange for Lady Hannah’s.’ She opened the door, her eyes narrowed. ‘Karl will not lose what I’ve worked so hard to gain.’
Hannah’s throat was raw, and her eyes were burning. She didn’t know what had happened, but one minute, she was preparing for the banquet, and the next, she was opening her eyes inside a darkened coach.
A man sat across from her, a revolver in his hand. ‘So, you’re awake, are you? Good.’
‘Where are you taking me?’
He smirked. ‘Away from the Schloss. Once Thorpe learns you’ve been taken, he’ll come after you. I imagine he won’t want anything to happen to a pretty one like you.’ He tipped the revolver towards her.
Hannah’s heart clamoured, realising that they meant to lure Michael to her and then kill him. She closed her mouth, not wanting to provoke her attacker by asking more questions. She wondered if he’d been sent by Fürst Karl.
Closing her eyes, she leaned her head against the side of the coach. Once again, she’d been taken captive by a man against her wishes. Only, with Belgrave, she’d relied upon Michael to save her. This time, she had to save herself.
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