Hannah pulled her shawl around her shoulders. She didn’t know what to think of him. One minute, he’d been her saving grace, and the next, he’d stolen a kiss.
Shielding her eyes against the morning sun, she saw him standing near the stables while a groom readied his horse. Almost against her will, Hannah’s feet moved forward, drawing her closer to the Lieutenant. She didn’t have the faintest idea what to say, or why she was even planning to speak to him.
The Lieutenant’s hazel eyes were tired, his cheeks covered in dark stubble. The white cravat hung open at his throat, and he held his hat in his hands.
Hannah dipped her head in greeting, and out of deference, the groom stepped away to let them talk. She kept her voice low, so the servant wouldn’t overhear their conversation. ‘I’m glad my father didn’t murder you.’
Michael shrugged and put on one of his riding gloves. ‘I’m a difficult man to kill.’
Hannah found her attention caught by his long fingers, and she remembered his bare hand caressing her nape. No one had ever made her feel that way before, her skin sparking with unfamiliar sensations.
She closed her eyes, clearing her thoughts. Then she reached for what she truly needed to say. ‘I never thanked you for rescuing me. It means a great deal to me. Even despite all of this.’
The Lieutenant gave a slight nod, as though he didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t acknowledge the words of gratitude, but instead glanced over at the house. ‘Lord Rothburne said you’re going to marry Belgrave.’
Hannah tensed. ‘My father is ready to marry me off to the next titled gentleman who walks through the gate.’ She stared him in the eyes. ‘I won’t do it. He’ll have to drag me to the altar.’
‘I thought you were the obedient sort.’
‘Not about this.’ She could hardly believe the words coming out of her mouth. It wasn’t like her, not at all, but then she felt like someone had taken a club to her life, smashing it into a thousand glass pieces.
Obedience had brought her nothing. And right now she wanted to voice her frustrations to someone who understood.
‘Why is this happening?’ she whispered. ‘What did I do that was so wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ the Lieutenant said. His hand started to reach for hers, but he drew back, as if remembering that it wasn’t proper. ‘Your only fault is being the daughter of a Marquess.’
‘I wish I weren’t.’ Hannah lowered her head. ‘I wish I were nothing but an ordinary woman. I would have more freedom.’
No lists, no rules to follow. She could make her own decisions and be mistress of her life.
‘You wouldn’t want that at all.’ The Lieutenant gestured toward her father’s house. ‘You were born to live in a world such as this.’
‘It’s a prison.’
‘A gilded prison.’
‘A prison, nonetheless.’ She raised her eyes to his. ‘And now I’ll be sentenced to marriage with Lord Belgrave. Unless I can find a way out.’
He didn’t respond, but she saw the way his mouth tightened, the sudden darkness in his eyes. ‘You will.’
‘And what about you?’ She realised she’d never asked what had happened to him. Surely the Lieutenant had faced his own lion’s den, courtesy of the Marquess. ‘What happened between you and my father?’
He hesitated before answering, ‘My commanding officer will see to it that I stay on the Crimean Peninsula.’
‘What exactly…does that mean?’ A shiver of foreboding passed through her.
‘I’ll be sent to fight. Possibly on the front lines.’ He shrugged, as if it were to be expected. But she understood what he wouldn’t say. Men who fought on the front lines had essentially been issued a death sentence without a court-martial. Certainly it was no place for an officer.
She stared at him, her skin growing cold. Though he might be an unmannered rogue who had taken unfair advantage of her, he didn’t deserve to die.
This is your fault. Her conscience drove the truth home like an arrow striking its target. If it weren’t for her, he’d be returning to his former duties.
‘You were wounded before,’ she said slowly. ‘With the Light Brigade.’
He gave a nod. ‘I would have been returning to duty anyway. I’ve made a full recovery.’ He spoke as if it didn’t matter, that this was of no concern.
She looked into his eyes, her heart suddenly trembling. ‘It’s not right for you to be sent away again.’
‘I’ve no ties to London, sweet. I always expected to return. It doesn’t matter.’ He started towards his horse, but Hannah stopped him.
He was going to lose everything because of her. Because he’d rescued her and taken care of her that night.
‘It matters.’ She touched the sleeve of his coat, feeling obligated to do something for him. There had to be some way she could intervene with her father’s unnecessary punishment.
‘Stop looking at me like that,’ he murmured, his eyes centering directly on hers.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Like you’re trying to rescue me.’
‘I’m not.’ She lifted her face to his, studying those deep hazel eyes. He was a soldier, trained to strike down his enemies. Right now, he looked tired, but no less dangerous.
‘Trust me, sweet. I’m not a man worth saving.’ He took her hand in his and, despite the gloves, she felt the heat of his skin. ‘You’d do well to stay away from me.’
The evocative memory of his stolen kiss conjured gooseflesh on her arms. The Lieutenant never took his eyes from her, and Hannah held herself motionless.
It went against everything she’d been taught, to hold an unmarried man’s hand while standing in the garden where anyone could see. He was so close, the barest breath hung between them.
Something wanton and unbidden unfurled from within her, making her understand that Michael Thorpe was no ordinary man. He fascinated her. Tempted her.
And the daughter of a Marquess could never, never be with a man like him. He was right.
At last, she took her hand from his, ignoring the pang of disappointment. It was better for her to stay away from him. He was entirely the wrong sort of man.
Yet he was the only man who had noticed her absence at the ball. He hadn’t stopped to notify her father and brothers, but had come after her straight away. An unexpected hero.
The Lieutenant’s ill-fitting coat had a tear in the elbow. Shabby and worn, he didn’t fit into the polished world in which she lived. But beneath his rebellious air was a man who had fought to save her.
Would he do so again, if she asked it of him?
‘Lieutenant Thorpe, I have a favour to ask.’
He eyed her with wariness. ‘What is it?’
It felt so awkward to ask this of him. She dug her nails into her palms, gathering up her courage. ‘If I am forced into marriage with Lord Belgrave, would you…put a stop to the wedding?’
A lazy smile perked at his mouth. ‘You’re asking me to kidnap you from your own wedding?’
‘If it comes to that—yes.’ She squared her shoulders, pretending as though she hadn’t voiced an inappropriate request. ‘I shall try to avoid it, of course. You would be my last resort.’
He expelled a harsh laugh and went over to his horse, bringing the animal between