The Accidental Princess

‘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.