Читать книгу The Accidental Princess - Michelle Willingham - Страница 9

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.