Michelle Willingham - The Accidental Princess

‘Emily is approaching the size of a small carriage,’ Lord Quentin interjected.

Whitmore sent his brother a blistering look, and Michael offered, ‘I’ll hold him down while you break his nose.’

A smile cracked over the Earl’s face. ‘Excellent idea, Thorpe.’

Changing the subject, Michael studied Lady Hannah once more. ‘Do you think the Marquess will choose a husband for her this Season?’

‘It’s doubtful,’ Whitmore replied. ‘Hannah might as well have a note upon her forehead, telling the unmarried gentleman: “Don’t Even Bother Asking.”’

‘Or, “The Marquess Will Kill You If You Ogle His Daughter”,’ Quentin added.

The brothers continued to joke about their sister, but Michael ignored their banter. Beneath it all, he understood their fierce desire to protect her. In that, they held common ground.

But regardless of what he might desire, he knew the truth. A Marquess’s daughter could never be with a soldier.

No matter how badly he might want her.

‘Lady Hannah, you are truly the loveliest woman in this room.’ Robert Mortmain, the Baron of Belgrave, led her in the steps of the polka, his smile broad.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured without looking at him.

She couldn’t deny that Lord Belgrave was indeed charming and handsome, with dark brown hair and blue eyes. Born into wealth, nearly every unmarried woman had cast her snare for him—all except herself. There was something about him, a haughtiness that made Hannah uncomfortable.

Don’t worry about it, she told herself. Papa isn’t going to force you to marry him, so there’s no need to be rude. The problem of Lord Belgrave would solve itself.

Hannah’s skin crawled when the baron touched the small of her back, even with gloved hands. As they moved across the floor, she tensed. The smug air upon his face was of a man boasting to his friends. He didn’t want to be with her; he wanted to show her off. A subtle ache began to swell through her temples.

Just a few minutes more, and the dance will be over, Hannah consoled herself. Then she could escape to the comfort of her room. It was nearly midnight, and though she was expected to remain until after two o’clock, she might be able to convince her father that she didn’t feel well.

Lord Belgrave scowled when they danced past the refreshment table. ‘I didn’t realise he would be here tonight.’

He was speaking of Lieutenant Thorpe, who was now openly staring at them. Displeasure lined the Lieutenant’s face and he gripped the lemonade glass as though he intended to hurl it towards the Baron.

‘Why did your father invite him, I wonder?’ Lord Belgrave asked.

‘Lieutenant Thorpe saved my brother Stephen’s life a few years ago,’ she admitted. ‘They are friends.’

Though how Stephen had even encountered such a man, she’d never understand. Despite his military rank, Thorpe was a commoner—not the second son of a viscount or earl, as was customary for officers in the Army. And were it not for her brother’s insistence, she knew the Lieutenant would never have been invited.

There was nothing humble or uncertain about the way he was watching them. Anger ridged his features, and though the Lieutenant kept himself in control, he looked like he wanted to drag her away from Belgrave.

‘He’s trying to better himself, isn’t he?’ Belgrave remarked. ‘A man of his poor breeding only poisons his surroundings.’

From his intensity and defensive stance, the Lieutenant appeared as though he were still standing on a battlefield. Likely he’d be more comfortable holding a gun instead of a glass of lemonade.

‘I don’t want you near a man like him.’ The baron scowled.

Lord Belgrave’s possessive tone didn’t sit well with her, but Hannah said nothing. It wasn’t as if she intended to go anywhere near the Lieutenant. Even so, what right did Belgrave have to dictate her actions?

None whatsoever. The dance was nearly finished, and she was grateful for that. Her headache was growing worse, and she longed for an escape to her room. When the music ended, she thanked Lord Belgrave, but he held her hands a moment longer.

‘Lady Hannah, I would be honoured if you’d consent to becoming my wife.’

She couldn’t believe he’d asked it of her. Here? In the middle of a ballroom? Hannah’s smile grew strained, but she simply answered, ‘You’ll have to speak with my father.’

No. No. A thousand times, no.

The baron’s fingers tightened when she tried to pull away. ‘But what of your wishes? If you did not require the Marquess’s permission, what would you say?’

I would say absolutely not.

Hannah kept her face completely neutral. She didn’t like the look in his eyes. There was a desperate glint in them, and she wondered if Belgrave’s fortunes were as secure as he’d claimed. Forcing a laugh she didn’t feel, Hannah managed, ‘You flatter me, my lord. Any woman would be glad to call you her husband.’

Just not me. But then, a word to her father would take care of that. Although the Marquess presented an autocratic façade to his peers, he was softer towards her, probably because she’d never embarrassed him in public, or even hinted at rebellion. Obedient and demure, she’d made him proud.

Or at least, that’s what she hoped.

Hannah managed to pry her hand free. Even so, she could feel the baron’s eyes boring into the back of her gown. She walked towards her father and brothers, who were standing near the entrance to the terrace. From the serious expressions on their faces, she didn’t want to interrupt the conversation. She took a glass of lemonade and waited outside the ballroom, in the darkened shadows near the terrace. It wasn’t good to be standing alone, but she hoped she was near enough to her brothers that no one would bother her.

Everyone else was still inside, dancing and mingling with one another. Her head was aching even more, a dreadful pressure that seemed to spread.

Oh, please, not tonight, Hannah prayed. She’d suffered headaches such as these before, and they were wretched, attacking her until she was bedridden for a full day or longer.

‘You don’t look well,’ came a male voice from behind her.

Without turning around, she knew it was Lieutenant Thorpe. His voice lacked the cultured tones of the upper class, making his identity obvious. Hannah contemplated ignoring him and approaching her father, but then that would be rude. And whether or not she wanted to speak to him, good manners were ingrained within her.

‘I am fine, Lieutenant Thorpe. Thank you for asking.’

Despite her unspoken dismissal, he didn’t move away. She could feel him watching her, and, beneath his attention, her body began to respond. It felt too hot, even outside on the terrace. The silk of her dress felt confining. She fanned herself, not knowing why his very presence seemed to unnerve her so.

She didn’t turn around, for it wasn’t proper for her to be speaking with him alone. Even if he was completely hidden behind her, she didn’t want to take a chance of someone seeing them. ‘Was there something you wanted?’

He gave a low laugh, a husky sound that was far too intimate. ‘Nothing you can give, sweet.’

Her face flushed scarlet, not knowing what he’d meant by that. She took a hesitant step closer to her father, sensing the Lieutenant’s presence like a warm breeze upon her nape. Her gown rested off her shoulders, baring her skin before him. The strand of diamonds she wore grew heavy, and she forgot about her aching head. Instead, she was intensely conscious of the man standing behind her.

‘You look tired.’

It was so true. She was tired of attending balls and dinner parties. Tired of being paraded around like a porcelain doll, waiting for the right marriage offer.