The Accidental Princess. Michelle WillinghamЧитать онлайн книгу.
Her breasts prickled beneath the ivory silk, becoming aroused. He’d removed a single glove, and the vibrant intimacy of his bare palm on her flesh made her tremble.
‘Don’t do this,’ she pleaded. Her voice was a slight whisper, barely audible. ‘You—you shouldn’t.’
Well-mannered ladies did not stand still while they were accosted by a soldier. She could only imagine what her mother would say. But she had never been touched by a man like this, and the sensation was a secret thrill.
The Lieutenant’s fingers slipped beneath the chain of her necklace, teasing her neck before winding into the strands of her coiffeur. ‘You’re right.’
His fingers were melting her resistance, making her feel alive. She was beginning to understand how a woman might cast off propriety, surrendering to a stranger’s seduction.
‘My apologies. You were too much temptation to resist.’
Her fingers clenched at her sides. ‘Sir, keep your hands to yourself. Or you’ll answer to my brother.’
‘I’ll try.’
Then she felt the lightest brush of his mouth upon her nape, a kiss he shouldn’t have stolen. Wicked heat poured through her, and she gasped at the sensation.
Hannah whirled around, prepared to chastise him. But he’d already gone. She stared out at the gardens, but there was not a trace that he’d been there. Only the gooseflesh on her arms and the storm of churning fire inside her skin.
‘Why are you out here alone, Hannah?’ The Marquess of Rothburne approached, having finished his conversation with her brothers. Her father frowned at her, as though she’d transgressed by avoiding a chaperone.
She prayed he didn’t see her flushed cheeks or suspect the improper thoughts racing through her head. ‘I would like permission to retire,’ she said calmly. ‘It’s been a long evening. My head hurts, and I need to lie down.’
‘Do you want me to send your maid with laudanum?’ he asked, becoming concerned.
Hannah shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think it’s going to be one of those headaches. But if you please, Papa, I’m very tired.’
Her father offered his arm. ‘Walk with me for a few minutes, if you will.’
Hannah was hesitant, but she suspected her father had something else to discuss with her. He led her outside the terrace and down the gravel walkway toward her mother’s rose garden. The canes held hints of new growth, though it would be early summer before the first blooms came. She raised her eyes to look out at the glittering stars, wishing she had brought a shawl.
Her skin was still sensitive from the Lieutenant’s touch, her mind in turmoil. He’d awakened a restless side to her, and she didn’t like it. Even while she walked, the shifting of her legs sent an uneasy ache within her body.
What had he done to her? And did that make her a wanton, for enjoying his fleeting touch?
Her father led her through the gardens toward the stables, their feet crunching upon the gravel as they walked. Hannah found herself comparing the two men. James Chesterfield was every inch a Marquess, displaying a haughty exterior that intimidated almost everyone except herself. Never did he stray from the rules of propriety. In contrast, Lieutenant Thorpe had a devil-may-care attitude, a man who did exactly as he pleased.
She shivered at the memory.
When her father’s silence stretched on, Hannah guessed at the reason. ‘You turned another proposal down, didn’t you?’
James paused. ‘Not yet. But the Baron of Belgrave asked for permission to call upon me tomorrow.’
It wasn’t a surprise, but she felt it best to make her feelings known. ‘I don’t want to marry him, Papa.’
‘He possesses a large estate, and comes from an excellent family,’ her father argued. ‘He seems to have a genuine interest in you.’ He escorted her back to the house.
‘Something about him bothers me.’ Hannah paused, trying to find the right words. ‘I can’t quite explain it.’
‘That isn’t a good enough reason to reject his suit,’ the Marquess protested.
She knew that, but was counting on her father to take her side. To change the subject, she asked, ‘What sort of man are you hoping I’ll wed? I do want to get married.’
The Marquess cleared his throat. ‘I’ll know him when I see him. Someone who will take care of you and make you happy.’ He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, though he didn’t smile. Streaks of grey marred his bearded face, his hair silvery in the moonlight.
He led her back to the house, where they passed the ballroom filled with people. Music crescendoed amidst the laughter of guests, but it only made her headache worsen. Finally, her father escorted her to her room, bidding her good night.
At the door he added gruffly, ‘Lady Whitmore brought over some ginger biscuits earlier this afternoon, when she visited. I had a servant place some in your room. Don’t tell your mother.’ Shaking his head in exasperation, he added, ‘You would think that a woman in her condition would know better than to work like a scullery maid. It’s ridiculous that she wants to bake treats, like a common servant.’
While most women rested in their final month of pregnancy, her sister-in-law Emily had gone into a flurry of baking during the past several weeks. Stephen humoured his wife, allowing her to do as she wished during her confinement.
Acting upon her father’s unspoken hint, Hannah slipped inside her room for a moment and returned with two of the ginger biscuits. She handed them to her father, who devoured them.
‘If I see Emily, I’ll tell her how much you liked them,’ she said.
He grimaced. ‘She shouldn’t be in the kitchens. Her ankles are swelling, so she said. If you see her, order her to put her feet up.’
‘I will,’ Hannah promised. Though he would never admit it, the Marquess thoroughly enjoyed his arguments with Stephen’s wife.
After her father left, Hannah rang for her maid. She sat down at her dressing table, wondering if she would need the laudanum after all. Her headache hadn’t abated and seemed to be worsening.
She massaged her temples in an attempt to block out the pain. It frustrated her, being unable to control this aspect of her life.
Then again, so much of her life was out of her hands. She should be accustomed to it by now. Her mother made every decision concerning her wardrobe and which balls and dinner parties she attended. Christine controlled what she ate, which calls she made…even when she was allowed to retire for the night.
Hannah ran her hands over a silver hairbrush, praying for the day when she could make those decisions for herself. Though she supposed it was her mother’s way of showing she cared about her welfare, as time went on, her home felt more and more like a prison.
Her gaze fell upon the list of reminders her mother had left behind. She’d received one every day since the age of nine, since, quite often, she didn’t see her mother until the evening.
1 Wear the white silk gown and the Rothburne diamonds.
2 Wait for your father and brothers to introduce suitors to you.
3 Do not refuse any invitation to dance.
4 Never argue with any gentleman. A true lady is agreeable.
Hannah could almost imagine instruction number five: Never allow strange gentlemen to touch you. Her eyes closed, her head pounding with pain.
Folding the list away, she rested her forehead upon her palm. A slow ache built up in her stomach when she saw a morning dress the colour of butter laid out for tomorrow. She had never cared for the gown, and would have been quite happy to see it burned. It made her feel as though she were six years