The Accidental Princess (11 page)

But when she saw that no one else had touched theirs, Hannah restrained herself.

The Graf began introducing her to their dinner companions. ‘The Marquess of Rothburne is a close friend of mine,’ the Graf explained. ‘He asked me to escort Lady Hannah to her cousins’ home in Germany. She received so many offers of marriage, her father thought it best that she take some time away from London to make up her mind.’

Hannah nearly choked on her soup. It wasn’t at all what she’d expected him to say. After a few more introductions to those seated around her, one of the gentlemen offered her a warm smile, then nodded to the Graf. ‘I hope she has not made a decision as of yet, Graf von Reischor.’

‘She hasn’t,’ came a clipped voice. The Lieutenant sent the would-be suitor a warning look, and Hannah’s fingers curled
over the stem of her wine glass. What gave him the right to be so rude? He was behaving as though he had some sort of claim over her. The glare in his eyes held a shadow she didn’t recognise. Not exactly jealousy, but something that made her skin prickle against the fabric of her gown.

The first course was served shortly thereafter, a bowl of turtle soup. Hannah noticed the Lieutenant subtly observing her and the other gentlemen before lifting his own spoon. Surely he must have attended formal dinners before? But then, her father’s ball was the first time she’d ever seen him among her social peers.

Michael sat across from her, and she felt his gaze, like a forbidden caress. There was also a sense of reluctance, as though she were a temptation he didn’t want.

Hannah reached for her glass of white wine, taking a first sip. It held a slight tang, a sweetness that didn’t taste sinful at all. When she glanced over at Michael, he lifted his own glass, and she found herself watching his mouth, remembering his kiss.

The memory pooled through her skin, past her breasts and between her legs. He was staring at her as though he didn’t care who was watching. In a ship such as this, there were a hundred different places to hold a secret liaison. And no one would know.

Across the table, he didn’t take his eyes from her. She recalled the warmth of his lips, wondering if she would taste the sweetness of wine upon his mouth.

‘Lady Hannah?’ the Graf prompted her. She hadn’t heard a word of his questioning. She took another sip, and managed a smile.

‘I’m sorry. What was it you were saying?’

‘I was introducing the Lieutenant to our dinner companions,’ he replied. ‘This is Lieutenant Michael Thorpe, an officer in the British Army,’ the Graf said to the others.

A spoon clattered from a woman’s hand into the soup tureen. Hannah turned in curiosity and saw a dark-haired woman with a large ruby necklace and matching rings upon her fingers. She covered her blunder by pretending as though someone else had dropped the utensil.

‘You said you are travelling to Lohenberg?’ a stout English gentleman enquired. ‘My wife is from that country.’ He offered a nod toward the woman who had dropped the spoon, then raised a quizzing glass to one eye. ‘You look familiar to me, somehow. Have we met before?’

‘He looks like the King of Lohenberg,’ his wife answered. Though she kept a smile fixed upon her face, her answer held a cold tone.

Lieutenant Thorpe’s knuckles clenched upon the spoon. He looked as though he’d rather take a bullet through his forehead than endure this dinner. But he didn’t rebut the woman’s claim.

What was that about? Hannah tried to catch Michael’s attention, but he kept his gaze averted, almost as if he were hiding something.

‘Why, you’re right, m’dear.’ The stout man beamed and speared a bite of asparagus. To his companions, he added, ‘I was privileged to have met His Majesty, King Sweyn, when he was visiting Bavaria last summer. Splendid mountains there, I must say.’

The Graf introduced them. ‘Lady Hannah and Lieutenant Thorpe, may I present the Viscount Brentford?’

Lord Brentford greeted her heartily and presented his wife Ernestine and his daughter, Miss Ophelia Nelson.

‘I am glad to make your acquaintance, Lady Brentford,’ Hannah said. Offering a smile of friendship to the younger woman, she continued, ‘And yours, Miss Nelson.’

‘Delighted, of course,’ the matron said, though she didn’t look at Hannah when she spoke. Her wide smile emphasised
a double chin, and she added, ‘Ophelia has just been presented to the Queen and will enjoy her first Season after we return to London.’

Michael didn’t respond, and Hannah kicked him under the table to get him to look at the young woman. He sent her a nod of acknowledgement, but a moment later, Hannah felt his shoe nudge against her stockinged calf.

Mortified, she reached for her water glass and took a deep swallow. Only to find out that it was wine she’d drunk instead. She clamped her mouth shut to keep from coughing, and the spirits burned the back of her throat.

Though the Lieutenant didn’t look at her, his foot moved against hers once again. Though it was nothing more than a casual touch, the caress distracted her from the dinner conversation. Like a silent admonition, he touched her the way a secret lover might.

Hannah kept her knees clamped together, pushing her ankles as far beneath the chair as she could. He seemed to sense the effect he had on her, and his lips curved upwards.

The Viscount nodded towards his daughter, sending the Lieutenant a knowing look. ‘Ophelia is quite talented and has the voice of an angel.’ Hannah supposed the Viscount was waiting for someone to suggest that Miss Nelson offer entertainment later that evening.

When neither the Graf nor the Lieutenant responded, Lord Brentford continued, ‘Perhaps she might sing for the King of Lohenberg, if the opportunity presented itself on our journey. If someone were to…suggest it.’ The Viscount gave a pointed look toward the ambassador.

Miss Nelson turned to the Graf and offered a shy smile.

‘I have no doubt that Ophelia will have her opportunity one day,’ Lady Brentford interjected. She patted the young girl’s hand and discreetly slid the wine glass away from Miss Nelson’s place setting. ‘It is my country, after all.’

Without an invitation, the Viscountess launched into a dissertation describing the principality. ‘And of course, the winters are simply enchanting.’

‘No, it’s quite cold in the winter,’ the Lieutenant interrupted. His eyes were distant, as though he’d spoken without thought.

The Viscountess stopped short, waiting for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, she continued, pretending that he hadn’t spoken at all.

Hannah caught the Graf’s discerning gaze, and he shook his head discreetly. More and more, she was curious about their journey. She suspected the military orders did not reveal the entire story.

‘Forgive me, Graf von Reischor,’ Viscount Brentford interrupted, ‘but I’ve heard rumours, and I wonder if you could verify them. Is it true that Fürst Karl is going to be crowned king within the next few weeks?’

The Graf set down his fork and regarded Lord Brentford. ‘King Sweyn has been ill, but we do not know for certain whether or not a new king will be crowned.’

‘How exciting,’ Miss Nelson breathed. ‘I suppose there must be many men in line for the throne, even for so small a country.’

‘There is only one Crown Prince,’ the Graf admitted. His gaze turned to Michael, and Hannah felt an icy chill shiver through her. ‘And one true heir.’

M
ichael endured the remaining hour of dinner, hating every moment of it. He watched the other guests to determine which forks to use, how much of the food to eat, and whether or not he was supposed to drink the contents of a bowl or wash his hands in it.

What bothered him most was the sheer waste. The ladies picked delicately at their plates, tasting a bite of fish or a spoonful of soup before the course was taken away. It was as if eating were out of fashion.

The men adjourned with brandy and cigars, the ladies retreating to their own saloon after the dinner was concluded. Michael took his moment to escape, though the Graf had ordered him to return for the parlour games.

He had no intention of letting the Lohenberg ambassador dictate what he would or would not do. He wasn’t a trained animal to be led about on a leash.

With each moment, his resentment rose. The eyes of everyone at dinner had bored into him, and when Lady Brentford had mentioned his resemblance to the King, no doubt they thought he was a bastard son. Michael hated being the centre of attention, much less the subject of gossiping tongues.

Outside, the sky was black, the white sails taut with wind while the paddle wheel churned through the water. The promenade deck was partially shielded from the winds, but the rocking of the ship sent several guests falling over. Raucous laughter accompanied one poor woman’s misfortune as her skirts went flying.

Michael gripped one of the ropes leading to the foresail. Though the sea had turned rough, his mind was in greater turmoil. He didn’t want to believe that his childhood had been a lie, that his parents were not whom they seemed to be. Surely the strange, fleeting memories that caught him from time to time were nothing but dreams. They had to be.

He caught a glimpse of Mrs Turner strolling around the deck, and he took a step towards her. It wasn’t good for her to be alone. But before he could reach her side, Lady Hannah appeared, followed by her maid. She wore no outer wrap, only her sage-green gown. In the frigid air, she rubbed her arms for warmth.

‘Lieutenant Thorpe,’ she asked quietly, ‘I want to know what’s going on.’

‘About what?’

‘Your resemblance to the King of Lohenberg. I saw the way the Graf was watching you.’

‘It’s nothing. Merely a coincidence.’

She stepped in front of him, preventing him from going any further. ‘He thinks it’s true, doesn’t he? The Graf believes you’re connected to the royal house of Lohenberg.’

‘It doesn’t matter what he thinks. I’ve never set foot in the country.’ He strode past her, but Hannah dogged his footsteps.

‘You said it was cold there, in the winter.’

He had no idea what she was talking about. ‘As I said, I’ve never been to the country before.’

‘Are you lying to me? Or to yourself?’ She touched his arm lightly.

‘I’m a soldier, nothing more.’

‘Are you certain?’

No, he wasn’t certain of anything. Nothing except the way she made him feel. Michael inhaled the light citrus scent she wore. Lemon and jasmine mingled together, seductive and sweet.

‘Go back to your cabin, Hannah,’ he ordered. It was all he could do not to kiss her again. This time, if he touched her, he wouldn’t hesitate to try to seduce her.

‘The evening isn’t over yet,’ she said. ‘The entertainment will begin shortly. And whether or not you’re too afraid to join us, I intend to participate.’

‘Hoping to find a husband, are you?’

She shot him a dark look. ‘Whether I am or not doesn’t matter to you at all, does it?’

‘It matters.’ His palm cupped her cheek, his gloved hand sliding against her skin. Ripples of desire erupted all over her skin. She wanted him to kiss her. He tempted her in all the wrong ways. Or perhaps, all the right ways.

It took all of her willpower to break free of him. ‘Run away, if you’re too afraid,’ she taunted. ‘Or join us. The choice is yours.’

Hannah had played a few parlour games during boarding school. Blind Man’s Buff and charades were quite popular. But as these games involved men and women, she supposed they must be rather different.

A group of twenty gentlemen and women met in the Grand Saloon. The ship’s waiters had arranged several chairs in a circle, and a small table stood at the front. Hannah spied a pocket watch and a slipper upon the table, while other guests were rummaging through their belongings. They would be playing Forfeit, she realised.

Each player would surrender a personal item to be auc
tioned. In order to get it back, he or she had to perform a forfeit, such as singing or dancing. Viscount Brentford had claimed the role of auctioneer, and from his amused expression, it seemed he was looking forward to the position of power.

A moment later, the waiters brought a large screen to shield the contents of the table, allowing guests to walk behind it, one at a time, to deposit their forfeited item. Reaching into her reticule, Hannah chose an embroidered handkerchief, keeping it hidden in her hand. After she passed behind the screen, she added it to the pile of gloves, shoes, jewellery and cravats.

She took her seat among the other ladies, hoping to see the Lieutenant. A glass of sherry was passed to her, and she sipped at the drink. It was smooth and sweet, and she felt herself beginning to relax. It wasn’t nearly as wicked as her mother made it sound. She set it down on a table beside her, feeling her skin flush.

Two of the gentlemen moved the screen away, revealing a large pile of personal belongings.

‘My friends, I know many of you are familiar with the game of Forfeit,’ the Viscount began. ‘However, tonight, I am suggesting that we use this game to raise money for an appropriate charity rather than strictly for amusement.’

He exchanged a glance with his wife and daughter. ‘Ladies may bid to win a forfeit from the gentlemen, and gentlemen may bid on the ladies’ items. The winning bidder shall send the promised amount to the poor and orphaned children of London. The owner of the item shall perform a forfeit of the bidder’s choice.’

It was a scandalous game, one that could involve public humiliation or even a kiss. From the way the sherry, wine and brandy continued to be passed around, Hannah suspected things might indeed get out of hand.

‘The winner of the auction will return the item to its owner, after the forfeit is paid.’ Viscount Brentford reached behind
the screen and picked up a black cravat. He cast a wicked look toward the ladies. ‘Shall we start the bidding?’

Poor Henry Vanderkind, the owner of the cravat, was forced to crawl about on all fours while singing ‘Woodman Spare That Tree’. Lady Howard, a widow nearing the age of sixty, howled with laughter and promised to send fifty pounds to the orphan fund.

As revenge, Henry Vanderkind bid thirty pounds on Lady Howard’s quizzing glass and made her bleat like a goat in order to get it back again.

As each item was auctioned off, Hannah found herself wiping her own tears of laughter. She’d lost count of how much sherry she’d drunk, for a waiter kept all of the glasses full.

The room seemed to tilt, the voices buzzing in a haze. She pushed the glass aside, hoping that another headache would not come upon her. Someone passed a plate of cheeses, and she took a slice, thankful for the food to settle her stomach.

At that moment, she caught a glimpse of the Lieutenant. He didn’t look at all entertained by the revelry.

But when he caught Hannah looking at him, his hazel eyes narrowed with interest. He rested his hands upon the back of a carved dining-room chair, and for a moment, she felt like the only woman in the room. The rest of the crowd seemed to melt away, and her body grew warmer as she met his gaze.

It was improper, certainly, but she couldn’t stop herself from staring back. Her dress felt too tight, her heartbeat quickening. Though she finally looked away, she was aware of him taking a glass of wine. His mouth pressed against the crystal in a sip, and she again imagined his lips upon hers.

The Lieutenant crossed the room to stand at the other side, effectively distancing them. Hannah noticed that only two items remained on the table: her own handkerchief and a man’s pocket watch.

The Viscount gave a silent nod to his daughter and lifted
the watch. From the tension emanating from the Lieutenant, she supposed it must be his.

‘The last gentleman’s item is this pocket watch. It’s quite heavy, I must say—no doubt made of the finest gold. Shall we start the bidding at five pounds?’

A flurry of female hands rose into the air, and Hannah saw Michael’s discomfort rising. He held his posture stiff, his eyes staring off into the distance. He had loosened his cravat, while his black cloth jacket was unbuttoned to reveal a bright blue waistcoat. The pocket watch he’d worn was missing.

The bidding rose higher, the women laughing at the thought of the forfeit they would ask.

‘With a handsome one like that, I’d ask for a kiss,’ one woman remarked.

Another giggled. ‘I’d kiss him without the auction, if he asked me to.’

Hannah didn’t join in, but neither did she want Michael to pay a forfeit that would embarrass him. From the way he eyed the doorway, it wouldn’t surprise her if he left the room. He didn’t seem to care whether or not the watch was returned to him. It probably belonged to the Graf von Reischor.

When Miss Nelson held the highest bid of eighty pounds, the Viscountess shook her head sharply, whispering in her daughter’s ear. Hannah didn’t like the look of it. They were plotting against Michael, she was sure. It angered her, for she didn’t want him to be the target of anyone’s humour.

‘One hundred pounds,’ she heard herself saying. If nothing else, she might prevent the Lieutenant from being made into a fool.

A ripple of gasps resounded through the crowd of ladies. One woman sent her a dark look, as though she wanted to stab Hannah with a hat pin.

‘One hundred and ten pounds,’ Miss Nelson countered.

‘Two hundred pounds.’ Hannah didn’t know whether the
sherry had loosened her tongue or where this daring feeling had come from. All she knew was that she didn’t want to lose the bidding war.

You can’t have him,
she wanted to say to Miss Nelson. But it seemed her bid of two hundred pounds had silenced the young woman. Viscount Brentford asked for any final bids, but none was forthcoming. Hannah rose from her seat, grasping the arms of the chair for support. With a determination she didn’t quite feel, she moved towards the watch.

‘What forfeit will you ask from Lieutenant Thorpe?’ the Viscount asked.

Hannah looked into Michael’s face. His hazel eyes held a rigid expression, his hands clenched at his sides. He didn’t know why she’d bid upon him, and the tension in his stance suggested he had no intention of doing her will.

‘No forfeit at all,’ she whispered.

His eyes stared at her in disbelief for a long moment. When she brought the pocket watch to him, there was a barely perceptible acknowledgement.

‘Now, now, Lady Hannah. That isn’t playing by the rules,’ another matron protested. ‘He must pay his forfeit to get back his pocket watch. Perhaps you should have him sing. Or give a demonstration of his fighting skills.’ The woman’s gaze shifted to Michael’s muscled form beneath the tightly fitted jacket.

‘I’ll reserve the right to ask for my forfeit later,’ she said. The ladies squealed in delight, and Hannah instantly regretted the scandalous remark. A moment later, their attention was turned to the last item—her handkerchief.

Viscount Brentford lifted up the handkerchief, sending her a mischievous smile. ‘Gentlemen, should we start the bidding for this lovely embroidered handkerchief?’

Michael stood from his seat. ‘A thousand pounds,’ he said softly.

There was a flurry of discussion over the exorbitant amount.

‘For what, Lieutenant?’ Viscount Brentford asked.

‘For Lady Hannah’s handkerchief.’ His eyes never left hers when he added, ‘That is my bid.’

The room grew uncomfortably quiet, and Hannah wanted to sink beneath the table. Dear God. Did he realise what he’d done? Now, the entire room would believe they were having an affair. She was mortified to think of it.

There were no other bids. Michael took the handkerchief and pocketed it, leaving the guests behind as he exited the dining room. He asked for no forfeit, and Hannah knew she was expected to follow him.

The Graf silently shook his head in disapproval. Hannah didn’t know what to do. The game was not yet at an end, not to mention, Michael did not possess a thousand pounds.

Her embarrassment rose even higher as she overheard two ladies speculating about their relationship and whether or not Michael would offer for her. She knew, full well, that it would never happen.

Miss Nelson insinuated herself beside Hannah. ‘Aren’t you going to return Lieutenant Thorpe’s pocket watch?’

It took Hannah a moment to realise she was still holding the watch. ‘Oh. Eventually, I suppose.’

‘Why did he bid a thousand pounds for your handkerchief?’ Miss Nelson asked. ‘Are you betrothed to one another?’

Hannah shook her head. ‘I’m not certain why. I suppose it gave him an excuse to leave the game.’

Her explanation didn’t appear to satisfy the young woman. ‘Would you like me to return the watch to him?’

Hannah’s fingers curled over the gold. It was a way out, a means for her not to see the Lieutenant again. She looked over and saw the hopeful light in her eyes. Miss Nelson honestly believed that Lieutenant Thorpe was a marriageable man, an officer from a noble family.

‘No, thank you.’ Hannah stood from her chair. ‘I’ll take care of this.’

The other ladies had begun a new game of Look About, searching for a hidden item. After several minutes, Miss Nelson joined them, seemingly disappointed that Hannah had not accepted her offer.

Graf von Reischor caught her arm as Hannah reached the door to the staircase, warning beneath his breath, ‘Don’t, Lady Hannah. It would do your reputation no good.’

‘Whatever was left of my reputation, Lieutenant Thorpe just destroyed with that bid. He’s going to answer for it.’ She tightened her lips and strode forward.