His grey eyes were stormy with unspoken fury, but he was listening.
‘I beg of you, Papa, don’t ask me to marry Lord Belgrave,’ she pleaded. ‘I don’t care if he reveals the scandal to everyone.’
‘I do.’ Her father’s grip tightened around her knuckles. ‘I won’t allow our family name to be degraded, simply because you lost your judgement one night.’
Hannah pulled her hand away. ‘I will marry no one.’ Rising to her feet, she added, ‘Most especially not the Baron of Belgrave.’
‘It won’t be Michael Thorpe. God help me, you will not wed a soldier.’
The thought had never entered her mind, but at the reminder of the Lieutenant, a caress of heat erupted over her body. Sensual and rebellious, a man like Michael Thorpe would never treat her with the polite distance so typical of marriage. No, she suspected he was the sort of man who would possess her, stealing her breath away in forbidden pleasure.
Hannah shook her head. ‘Of course not.’
Plunging forward, she revealed an alternate plan. ‘Send me somewhere far away from London until the talk dies down. We have cousins elsewhere in Europe, don’t we?’
‘Germany,’ he admitted. His countenance turned grim, but she though she detected a softening in his demeanour. Please, God, let him listen to me, she prayed.
At that moment, the footman Phillips gave a quiet knock. ‘Forgive me, my lord, but the Baron of Belgrave has come to call upon Lady Hannah.’
The Marquess hesitated a moment before speaking. Hannah gripped her fingers together so hard, her knuckles turned white. She shook her head, pleading with her father.
‘Give him another chance, Hannah,’ the Marquess said quietly. ‘Despite his reproachable actions, the man does come from an excellent family. He can provide you with anything you’d ever need.’
She couldn’t believe the words had come from her father’s mouth. She’d known that he cared about appearances, that upholding model behaviour was important to him. But she’d never thought it was more important than her own well-being.
‘Papa, please,’ she whispered again. ‘Don’t ask this of me.’
Her father’s face tensed, but his tone was unyielding when he spoke. ‘Tell the baron my daughter will await him in the drawing room.’
Chapter Five
Michael stood at attention when Colonel Hammond entered the room. He’d been summoned to the War Office this morning, but it wasn’t the commander-in-chief who’d prepared his new orders. Instead, he’d been shown into a smaller sitting room. ‘Colonel, you asked to see me?’
‘Yes. I’m afraid there’s been a change in your assignment,’ the Colonel admitted. The senior officer’s red jacket gleamed with brass buttons, the gold epaulettes resting upon his shoulders. Michael felt ill at ease in his own slate-blue uniform, which still bore the bloodstains he hadn’t been able to wash clean.
The Colonel gestured towards a wooden chair, and Michael took a seat. ‘You won’t be returning to the front, after all.’
‘I’ve made a full recovery,’ Michael felt compelled to point out. ‘I’m ready to fight again.’
Colonel Hammond looked uncomfortable. ‘That will have to wait, I’m afraid. Though I should like to see you return to battle as well—we can always use men of your fortitude—I’m afraid the Army has other plans for you.’
An uncomfortable suspicion settled in his gut. Had the Marquess used his powers of influence so soon? He’d known that he would probably be sent away from England, but he’d expected to return to duty.
‘What are my orders?’
The Colonel sat across from him, a large mahogany desk as a barrier between them. ‘You will accompany the ambassador from Lohenberg, the Graf von Reischor, to his homeland. He has proposed to send supplies to the Crimean Peninsula, offering aid from their country to our troops. You will assist the Commissariat by choosing what is most needed for the men.’
Michael’s hand clenched into a fist. He didn’t believe for a moment that the Graf was acting out of concern for the British troops. This was nothing but a stranger meddling in his military career, all because he’d ignored the summons. Why should he care whether or not he resembled the King of some tiny, forgotten country?
He’d given years of service to the Army, obeying orders and doing his best to keep his men alive. And with a single stroke of the pen, the Lohenberg Graf had turned his military career from a soldier into an errand boy.
‘You honour me, Colonel,’ he lied, ‘but I’m nothing but a lieutenant. Why not one of my commanding officers?’
‘The ambassador requested you. I suggested another officer as a liaison, but he insisted that it must be you, or he would reconsider the offer.’ There was a questioning note in the Colonel’s voice, but Michael gave no response. He couldn’t tell his commander why the Graf wanted him to travel to Lohenberg, when he didn’t know the man’s intent.
‘I’d rather be back with my men,’ he said quietly. ‘I owe it to them, after what happened at Balaclava.’ He’d tried to save whatever lives he could until he’d fallen, shot and bleeding on the field.
‘I understand Nolan spoke well of you and your bravery before the battle.’ The Colonel’s voice was also quiet, as though remembering those soldiers who had not returned.
He turned his attention to pouring a cup of tea. ‘While we would welcome you back on the Peninsula, Lieutenant Thorpe, this alliance is far too important. I’m afraid your orders are clear. The Graf has requested you, and it is our hope that you can convince the Lohenberg Army to join in our cause.’
Bitter silence permeated the room, and Michael rose from his seat. Damned if he was going to allow the Graf to ruin everything he’d worked for. He would go and try to convince the man to choose another officer. Then, perhaps he could rejoin what was left of the 17th Lancers.
Michael bowed and offered a polite farewell to Colonel Hammond, who shook his hand afterwards and wished him well.
‘I will give your regards to the men, upon my return to Balaclava, Lieutenant. You will report to Graf von Reischor at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.’
His heart filled with anger; numb to all else, Michael gripped the Colonel’s hand and murmured another farewell.
It was becoming quite clear that Graf von Reischor believed himself to be a puppet master, jerking his strings toward a path that was not his.
As he left the War Office, Michael shoved his hands inside his pockets, only to find the tangled strand of diamonds Hannah had given him.
He slid his hands over the hard stones, feeling the chain warm beneath his fingertips. Although Hannah believed the diamonds would grant him an excuse to return to Rothburne House, that wasn’t a wise idea. The Marquess would murder him if he so much as set foot upon a blade of Rothburne grass.
It’s not your battle to fight.
He knew he shouldn’t be involved. Their lives were too distant from one another, and despite the night they’d spent in the carriage, she was better off if he left her alone. Most likely Hannah would be all right, with her father and brothers to protect her.
The way they had on the night Belgrave took her? his conscience reminded him. His trouble instincts were rising up again.
He expelled a foul curse and continued walking through the streets. An hour. He could spend that much time ensuring for himself that she hadn’t been dragged off by Belgrave.
Hackney