The Accidental Princess Read online

  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.�
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  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.