The Accidental Princess (10 page)

‘She saved my life,’ he admitted. ‘After I was shot at Balaclava, I was sent back to London. Mrs Turner nursed me back to health.’ He pointed out the widow to Hannah as the woman strolled around the deck.

‘How badly were you hurt?’

He sobered. ‘I’m alive. Which is more than I can say for most of my men.’ He thought of Henry Turner, whose body he’d lain beneath. There wasn’t a day that went by when he didn’t wish he’d been the one to die instead of Abigail’s son.

‘I should be glad to look after her for you,’ Hannah offered, holding out her hand for him to shake.

He stared down at her gloved hand, and she snatched it back, caught off guard by what she’d done. But he reached forward, taking her palm in his. The sudden touch seared his consciousness.

He took a step forward, and in turn, she stepped back, her shoulder brushing against one of the ratlines. Interesting.

He hadn’t truly intended to start this game of cat and mouse, but her reaction was intriguing. She appeared flustered, as though she didn’t know what to do about his sudden attention.

But her eyes held no fear. No, there was anticipation in them.

Michael reached up and took hold of two of the ropes. Though he didn’t touch her at all, it was the hint of an embrace. Hannah coloured, but held her ground as though it were the most natural place to be, with her back against the
ratlines. She glanced around, to see if anyone saw them, but they were further back on the ship, with no one nearby.

‘Why would your father force you to travel with strangers?’ he asked.

‘The Graf isn’t a stranger. He’s Papa’s friend. They’ve known each other for years.’

Michael took a step closer, lowering his voice. ‘How well do
you
know him?’

‘Not well.’ Stiffening at his comment, she added, ‘But Papa would never place me in harm’s way.’ She glanced at his arms pointedly, but he refused to move them. He wanted to see what she would do. Would she push him aside? Or surrender, waiting for him to let her go?

Right now, he wanted to take her below the deck, away from everyone else. To kiss her until she could no longer stand. To feel her naked skin beneath his.

‘And there’s you,’ she said softly. ‘You would protect me, if I needed it.’

‘Don’t try to put me on a pedestal, Hannah.’ The more time he spent near her, the more he desired her. Michael let his hand brush against hers, and she started at the contact. She truly had no idea of the sort of danger she was in. Twice, he’d kissed her. And though he possessed a slight bit of honour, even that was beginning to unravel.

‘You’re trying to intimidate me,’ she accused. ‘And I know none of this is real. You wouldn’t dare hurt me.’

Michael leaned closer so that his breath was against her cheek. ‘Sweet, you don’t know me at all, do you?’

‘You—you don’t know me, either.’ She squared her shoulders, lifting her chin until her mouth lay only inches from his.

‘I know enough about ladies such as you.’

‘And what is that supposed to mean?’

‘You live your life bound by a strict set of rules. I’m the sort of man who breaks those rules.’

‘Do you truly believe I enjoy living that way?’ she asked. ‘I’m not allowed to choose my own clothing or decide what to eat.’ Her eyes held frustration, and she stared down at the wooden decking, her face pale.

‘I can’t go back to the life I had,’ she murmured. ‘It’s gone forever. This time, I want to make my own choices.’ She pushed his hands aside and broke free of him.

‘I want to eat whatever I want and wear a gown of my own choosing.’ She calmed herself, taking a deep breath. ‘I want my freedom.’

He saw the desperate need within her, and knew he could do nothing to destroy that hope. ‘You have two days before we reach Germany. Perhaps less.’

Staring hard at him, she whispered, ‘Then I’ll have to make the most of my voyage.’

God help him, he hoped she would.

H
annah spent a good part of the afternoon exploring the ladies’ saloon and the promenade deck with her maid Estelle. She’d met several of the other ladies travelling in first class, and most seemed friendly enough. One had urged her to explore the ship further, and Hannah was delighted at what she’d found. She’d expected this passage to be gruelling, but instead the ship was designed for luxury at every turn.

She spied
portières
of crimson velvet at each of the doorways, while the maroon carpet was thick and comfortable. Within the saloon, the sofas were made of Utrecht velvet, while the walnut buffets were covered with green marble tops. Grand chandeliers hung throughout the saloons, giving them the appearance of ballrooms.

In one corner, a string quartet was rehearsing their set of music. Standing with his back to her was Lieutenant Thorpe. He looked ill at ease, pacing slightly as he appeared to stroll through the saloon.

Hannah almost turned on her heel and walked away. He hadn’t seen her, so there was no need to greet him. She could leave right now, and he’d never know differently.

But then, that was the coward’s way, wasn’t it? He’d cornered her this morning, intimidating her without actually laying a finger upon her. She pressed a hand to her heart, trying to calm the rhythm. Just thinking of it made her even more aware of him.

He was intensely handsome, in an uncivilised manner. Although his new clothing fit him perfectly, it didn’t change the man he was. Unpredictable. And…not at all safe. He’d been right about that.

Without warning, he turned around and saw her. His gaze held none of the polite greeting that most men would have offered. No, he looked as though he wanted to cross the room and take her away with him.

Her senses grew weak just thinking about it.

Gesturing for Estelle to remain a short distance behind her, Hannah braved a polite smile. Best to say hello and leave as quickly as possible. But as soon as she reached his side, he turned away.

The ship’s funnel casings were enclosed with mirrors, and a rich pattern of gold and white covered the wall surfaces. ‘Are you studying the wallpaper?’ Hannah asked. ‘It’s lovely enough but a bit boring, I’d imagine.’

‘Listening to the music,’ he corrected. ‘And trying to remain unnoticed.’

That much was doubtful. A man like the Lieutenant could never escape attention. His height and handsome demeanour made that impossible, not to mention he walked like a man in command.

‘You’re not a very good wallflower,’ she said.

He shot her a sidelong glance. ‘I was doing quite well before you arrived. No one approached me or spoke to me.’

‘They were afraid you’d wrestle them to the ground or throw them into the mirror.’ She took a discreet step away from him.

‘It’s possible,’ he admitted. His mouth turned up at the
corners, and Hannah relaxed, glad that she’d made peace with him. ‘What do you want, Lady Hannah?’

‘Nothing, really. I thought it would be rude to leave without saying hello.’

‘You’ve said it. Duty accomplished.’

She refused to be put off by his abrupt air. ‘You don’t feel comfortable here, do you? Amidst all this.’ She gestured toward the opulent decorations.

‘I’d rather be on a battlefield. Shooting enemies.’ A wicked look of amusement lit up his eyes. He glanced over at a group of matrons talking in a corner.

‘Target practice?’ she suggested.

‘You’re tempting me.’ His gaze flickered toward two gentlemen, whom she just now noticed were staring at them. ‘I don’t think you should be standing here, speaking to me alone.’

‘My maid is here.’ Hannah glanced over at Estelle. ‘And we’re already acquainted. For all those guests know, you could be my brother.’

He sent her a lazy smile that made her skin turn to gooseflesh. ‘I’m most definitely not your brother, sweet.’

She stared down at the floor, uncertain of how to respond. ‘Well. What happened between us is all in the past. Right now, we are travelling companions, nothing more.’

‘Really?’ The dangerous glint in his eyes sent a blush through her cheeks.

‘Of course.’ She took another step back, pretending everything was fine.

At that moment, the two gentlemen strolled forward. They looked as though they were about to ask for an introduction, but Michael sent them a dark glare. Hastily, they tipped their hats and continued on their way.

‘Now what was that about?’ Hannah demanded. ‘You looked as though you were about to tear them apart with your bare hands.’

‘I was acting like any brother would.’ Michael’s gaze fixed on the doorway as though he expected the two gentlemen to return. ‘Keeping you safe, just as you asked.’

If he’d had a firearm at that moment, Hannah had no doubt it would be aimed at the gentlemen. His behaviour bordered on barbaric, with a hint of jealousy.

‘If a gentleman asks me to dance this evening after supper, I have no choice but to accept,’ Hannah pointed out. ‘You can hardly prevent it from happening.’

‘Can’t I?’

She ignored the remark, continuing, ‘I suspect you don’t dance at all, do you?’

‘Do I look like the sort who enjoys dancing?’ he gritted out.

‘No, you look like the sort who enjoys glowering at others.’ She tilted her head to study him. ‘I would wager that you don’t know how to dance.’

He took a glance around the saloon. Except for her maid Estelle, there was no one else in sight. Even the matrons had already strolled away.

The musicians were still practising a set; without warning, Michael took her in his arms. He didn’t ask but began dancing with her. His hand pressed against the curve of her waist, guiding her masterfully through the steps.

She couldn’t have been more surprised. When had a soldier learned how to dance like this?

He took her through the steps of a waltz, spinning her around without a single misstep.

‘In school,’ he replied, answering her unspoken question. ‘Every last one of us learned to dance. I hated every minute.’

‘But you’re good,’ she whispered. ‘Better than I thought you’d be.’

He whirled her around, bringing her against one of the mirrors. The cool glass pressed into her back, and he stopped short.

‘I’m good at many things, sweet.’ His voice held the undertones of a forbidden liaison. Caught in his embrace, he kept his hands at her waist, looking into her eyes. She saw the rise and fall of his breathing, the desire that he held back.

‘And what is something you’re not good at?’ she asked softly.

‘Letting go of something I want badly.’

Without a single word of farewell, he left the saloon. Hannah leaned back, resting her head against the mirrored panel.
Neither am I.

Hannah lifted out a sage-green dress with a high collar and fitted long sleeves. She was grateful for the new travelling clothes in other colours besides rose and yellow. Though the gown covered every inch of her body, at least the colour complimented her light brown hair.

‘Lady Hannah, this is not the gown your mother selected for this evening’s dinner,’ her maid Estelle protested.

‘No, it isn’t.’ And she didn’t care. The midnight-blue gown Christine Chesterfield preferred reminded Hannah of mourning garb. ‘I prefer this one,’ she added, handing it to Estelle so she could dress her.

As soon as she arrived in Germany, she would visit a dressmaker to order new gowns that were more flattering. Perhaps she would even cut her hair shorter. Hannah smiled at the thought, fingering the long strands.

While Estelle finished styling her hair, she thought back to what Lieutenant Thorpe had said—
I’m not safe at all
.

It was a warning to stay away. To guard her virtue at all costs. And she should, no doubt. Yet there was a part of her that wanted to know more about the man behind the soldier. He intrigued her, awakening the rebellious side of herself. What would it be like to live her life, not caring what others thought?

Or was it merely a façade, a means of keeping people away from him? He isolated himself from others, and it troubled her.

A knock sounded at the door, and Estelle went to open it. Hannah caught a glimpse of Mrs Turner, the elderly woman whom Michael had asked her to watch over.

The woman appeared nervous, twisting a red bonnet in her hands. ‘Lieutenant Thorpe sent me here to assist you, Lady Hannah. I am Abigail Turner.’

‘Come in.’ Hannah gestured toward a chair. ‘Would you care to sit down?’

‘No, thank you, my lady.’ The woman stood near the door, as though trying to fade into the papered walls. The small cabin held three berths, one for each of them. Against the far wall were two chairs and an end table. On the wall adjacent to the berths, stood a large chest of drawers.

Estelle began helping Hannah into the sage-green gown, and a moment later, signalled to Mrs Turner. ‘You, there. Fetch Lady Hannah’s silk fan from inside that trunk.’ Without waiting for a response, the maid began fastening a pearl necklace around Hannah’s throat.

‘Emeralds would look better,’ Mrs Turner suggested.

Estelle sent the widow a tight smile. ‘I do not believe you are responsible for Lady Hannah’s wardrobe. Her mother has taken great pains to organise each of her gowns with the appropriate matching fan, jewels, stockings and gloves, and has made lists of what outfit should be worn upon which occasion. Your help is not needed.’ With a flourish, Estelle produced a small handful of papers.

‘Estelle, Mrs Turner is here at my request,’ Hannah corrected.

Mrs Turner did not react to the maid’s arrogant tone, but instead, a light appeared in her eyes as though she were squaring off for battle.

Estelle pressed the lists into Hannah’s hand, and she glanced at them before setting them down on the table. Orders of what to wear, what not to eat, how to greet the other first-class passengers…the reminders went on and on.

Her mother was
still
trying to give orders, even while they were miles apart.

Enough. Balling up the lists into a crumpled heap of paper, Hannah tossed them in the wastebasket. Her maid gave a cry of dismay, but left the lists alone.

‘Did you pack the emeralds, Estelle?’ she enquired.

‘Yes, my lady, but your mother’s orders were—’

‘I beg your pardon.’ Mrs Turner cleared her throat and turned a sharp eye upon Estelle. ‘Are you arguing with your mistress?’

‘Do you dare to criticise me?’ The maid puffed up with anger. ‘Lady Rothburne is one of the greatest ladies in all of London. I take pride in following her explicit orders.’

Mrs Turner frowned and began looking around the cabin. She lifted a cushion, spying beneath it. ‘Well, I don’t see Lady Rothburne here, do you?’

Hannah had difficulty concealing her smile.

‘If your lady wishes to wear emeralds instead of pearls, what does it matter?’

‘Emeralds are not proper for a young lady.’ The maid glared at Mrs Turner. ‘And you should learn your place, if you expect to remain in Lady Rothburne’s employ. I shall write to her about you, see if I don’t.’

Hannah didn’t like her maid’s attitude. She’d considered getting rid of the woman even before now, but she’d had enough of this rudeness. ‘Estelle, if you wish to stay, you will obey my orders.’

Mrs Turner drew close. ‘May I help you with that clasp, Lady Hannah?’

Hannah turned, and Mrs Turner unfastened the pearls, replacing them with an emerald pendant Estelle grudgingly gave her.

‘Go and find some refreshments for Lady Hannah,’ the matron suggested to Estelle. ‘A glass of lemonade, perhaps, or a bit of cake.’

‘Chocolate cake,’ Hannah breathed, like a prayer.

‘Chocolate, then.’

‘But Lady Rothburne has strictly forbidden—’

Mrs Turner shut the cabin door in the maid’s face. Dusting off her hands as though they were well rid of her, the widow offered a broad smile. ‘I’ve been wanting to thank you for granting me a place to sleep.’

‘It’s no trouble.’ Hannah struggled with her stockings, and Mrs Turner helped her to adjust them.

The widow added, ‘If you don’t mind my saying so, I think you should get a lady’s maid who is a bit more loyal to you than to your mother.’

‘You may be right.’

Mrs Turner fussed over her, helped her finish dressing, and exclaimed over the gown. When Hannah was ready, the older woman smiled. ‘He really does like you, you know. My Michael. He spoke of meeting you at the ball that night. You made quite an impression upon him.’

Why a stranger’s words would make her stomach flutter, Hannah didn’t know. She picked up her fan, feeling like an awkward fifteen-year-old girl once again. She resisted the urge to ask what he’d said about her. It didn’t matter.

And if she told herself that a hundred times, she might actually start to believe it.

A knock sounded at the door, and Hannah saw the Graf von Reischor waiting to escort her to dinner. He murmured a compliment in his native language. Before Hannah could respond with her thanks, Mrs Turner followed behind them, adding, ‘Yes, she does look lovely, doesn’t she?’

The Graf turned, staring at the widow. ‘Do you speak Lohenisch, Mrs Turner?’

‘No, of course not.’ A curious smile rested upon her lips. ‘Why ever would you think that?’

The dining room was exquisite and could hold nearly four hundred first-class passengers. Long tables set with white linen tablecloths gleamed with silver and bone-china plates. Above, an ornate brass chandelier provided lighting while potted tropical plants added a splash of greenery to the tables.

Several guests were already seated, and the gentlemen rose at the sight of her, Michael among them. He wore black evening clothes and a white cravat. His dark hair was sleek and combed back. Even with his grooming, there was an air of impatience about him, as though he were uneasy about being here. He looked like he’d rather be dining in steerage than among the elite.

Hannah nodded politely to the other women after the Graf von Reischor introduced her. One of the ship’s butlers poured her a glass of water and another of wine.

She’d never been allowed to taste spirits before, and she wondered what it would taste like. Would it lure her into a life of sin and greed, the way her mother insisted?