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.
‘I’m all right,’ she insisted. ‘You needn’t worry about me.’ She wanted him to leave her alone. He shouldn’t be standing behind her, not where anyone could come upon them. She was about to step away when a gloved hand touched her back. The heat of his palm warmed her skin, and she jerked away out of instinct.
‘Don’t touch me,’ she pleaded.
‘Is that what you want?’
Her shoulders rose and fell, her breathing unsteady. Of course that’s what she wanted. A man like Michael Thorpe was nothing but trouble.
But before she could say another word, his hand moved to her shoulders. Caressing the skin, gently easing the tension in her nape.
Step away from him. Scream, her brain insisted. But it was as though her mouth were stuffed with cotton. Her limbs were frozen in place, unable to move.
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.
