The Accidental Princess

by Michelle Willingham

  Michael removed his palm, his own breath shaken. His mouth pressed light kisses over her temple, while she clung to him. Nothing could have prepared her for such unexpected ecstasy.

  ‘Would it…have been like that if you’d…made love to me?’ she panted.

  ‘Better,’ he swore. There was pain in his voice, as though he were fighting off his own frustration. A moment later, he lifted her to her feet, turning the lamp back on. The light speared her eyes, breaking through the spell.

  She stood in her underclothes, feeling the shock of reality striking through her. She might as well have been naked before him. He didn’t look at her, but reached for his fallen jacket.

  Oh, dear God above, what had she done? Why had she fallen into temptation this way? And what could she possibly say to him now?

  When Michael turned to face her, all emotions were masked, as if they had done nothing but conversed. The back of her throat ached, while her cheeks burned with humiliation. To distract herself, she reached for her own fallen clothing.

  ‘I’ll help you dress, before I leave,’ Michael said at last.

  Hannah would have refused, if she could have managed it herself. She tied the layers of petticoats, unable to face him. Irrational tears stung her eyes, but she kept them at bay. Michael held up her dress and lifted it over her head and arms, helping her to rebutton it.

  Despite the deep languor that permeated every inch of her skin, she felt like a piece of crystal teetering on the edge, ready to shatter.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  No. No, she wasn’t all right. But she forced herself to nod. ‘Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?’ Her voice came out too bright, and his hands caressed her shoulders.

  His hazel eyes stared at her, gazing at her with such an intensity, she wondered what he wanted to say but couldn’t. Instead, he held himself motionless.

  ‘Be careful when you go back to your room,’ she offered.

  Michael inclined his head. ‘Lock your door until Mrs Turner and your maid return.’ There was a forced coolness to his voice, and the invisible mien of a soldier seemed to slide over his face.

  Humiliation at succumbing to the liaison, without any future promises from him, made her throat go dry. But she’d known it. There would never be any sort of vow from Michael Thorpe.

  ‘Don’t trouble yourself about me.’

  He took another step backwards, and a faint tinging noise resounded. Michael reached down to the floor to pick up the object. In his hand, he held a fork.

  ‘How strange,’ Hannah remarked. ‘I didn’t bring any silver into the room.’

  Both of them stared at the interior of the state room, suddenly seeing pieces neither of them had noticed before. Pieces of silverware, hair pins, a strand of pearls…seemingly random items now were arranged in a pattern. A rectangle had been constructed around the room, framing the contents.

  ‘How curious. What is it, do you think?’ Hannah asked.

  But Michael ignored the question, already opening the door. ‘Where did you tell Mrs Turner to go?’

  Hannah shrugged. ‘I only told them to return in an hour. I assumed she stayed with my maid Estelle.’

  He cursed, stepping into the hallway. ‘I have to find her.’

  Not we, she noticed. I.

  Was he so eager to cast her aside now? Her disgruntled feelings pricked her like the numerous forks lying about the room.

  But she didn’t understand why a strange arrangement of utensils would cause him to worry so. ‘What is it that you’re not telling me?’

  He pointed towards the perimeter of silver. ‘She’s having another of her spells. I need to find Mrs Turner before she harms herself.’

  It would be easy enough to send him away, to wish him luck in finding her. But she felt responsible for the woman’s disappearance. Were it not for her, Mrs Turner would still be inside her room, probably sleeping.

  Hannah reached for her pelisse and pulled on a bonnet. ‘I’m coming with you.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Outside on the upper deck, the ship rose and fell with the waves. The darkness was broken only by a handful of scattered oil lamps. Several deck hands adjusted the sails while the dull noise of the steam engine droned on.

  Michael kept Hannah’s hand firmly in his, wondering why he’d agreed to this. There was no reason to bring her with him, where her presence would be noticeably out of place. It was irrational and dangerous.

  But he didn’t want to leave her alone. Not after he’d been attacked tonight. And especially not after what had just happened between them.

  It had taken an act of the greatest restraint not to seduce her. He didn’t doubt for a moment that he could have. Her body responded to him with a passion he’d never expected. More than anything, he’d wanted to strip off her remaining undergarments, joining their bodies together.

  The sensual image of her legs wrapped around his waist while he buried himself deep within was like a fire igniting his lust. She was a lady, not a woman to be trifled with. Softhearted, stubborn and highly intelligent, everything about her captivated him.

  And yet he couldn’t bring himself to dishonour her. If he took her innocence, she would pay the price. And he couldn’t destroy her chance to make a strong marriage, no matter how much he might want her.

  The thought of another man being intimate with Hannah made him clench his fists. At dinner tonight he’d seen the way the gentlemen watched her. He had no right to feel possessive towards her. Not then, and not now.

  He gripped her hand, studying the area for any sign of Mrs Turner. When they passed by one of the sailors, he drew Hannah closer, both to protect her from the rocking of the ship and to send an unmistakable warning to the other sailors.

  The bo’sun stepped forward and intercepted them. ‘Pardon me, m’lord, but passengers aren’t allowed on deck at this hour. Best be returnin’ to your cabin. Captain’s orders.’

  Michael wasn’t surprised to hear it, but he didn’t give a damn what the Captain’s orders were. Whenever Mrs Turner had one of her spells, there was no telling what she’d do. He didn’t want her to fall into the sea and drown, if her madness tempted her to do something rash. Abigail Turner was the only family he had left, and he would keep her safe at all costs.

  He faced the bo’sun and drew upon his officer’s hauteur. Had they been in the Army, he would outrank this man. ‘One of Lady Hannah’s servants has disappeared.’ He nodded to the bo’sun, adding, ‘We believe she may be lost.’

  The bo’sun shrugged. ‘Haven’t seen her. She might’ve gone to meet someone.’ His disrespectful leer suggested that he suspected Hannah and Michael had done exactly that.

  Michael sent the man a blistering look. He was well aware of the implications of bringing Hannah with him, but he wasn’t about to let anyone insult her. The sailor straightened, his smirk disappearing at once.

  ‘She is a woman of about sixty-three years, with curling grey hair and light brown eyes,’ Michael added. ‘About this plump.’ He held out his arms to show her girth, though Mrs Turner had lost a good deal of weight since he’d first known her. Too often she forgot to eat.

  The bo’sun shook his head. ‘Sorry, m’lord. I’m in charge of the rigging and the deck crew. But I’ll send one of the hands to look for you, if y’like.’

  ‘Do that.’ And in the meantime, he and Hannah would continue searching. He gave a brusque nod before taking Hannah’s hand. He intended to survey every inch of the upper deck, to ensure that they hadn’t missed her.

  Turning away, he pretended to escort Hannah to the stairs of the promenade deck, but at the last moment he guided her around the side of the boat, towards the forecastle.

  Together, they traversed the upper deck, slipping into the shadows when any of the deck hands or officers came close. In the dim amber light of the oil lamps, it was nearly impossible to see.

  Luck was with them; a few minutes later he spied a red bonnet rolling across the deck.

 
‘She’s here.’ He kept Hannah’s hand firmly gripped in his. ‘Tell me if you see her.’

  It took nearly a quarter of an hour before they both heard the singing at the same time. The quavering voice of Mrs Turner came from above them. Michael lifted his gaze and saw her holding onto the rigging, her body swaying as the ship rocked on the waves.

  ‘Oh, dear heaven,’ Hannah breathed when she spied her. ‘What’s she doing up there? She’ll fall and break her neck.’

  ‘Not if I can get to her first.’ Michael removed his jacket and grasped the heavy rope, climbing up the ratline toward Mrs Turner. Calling out to her, he said, ‘Mrs Turner, let me help you down.’ It was so dark, he doubted if she could see his face. If she didn’t recognise him, it would be a problem.

  ‘Henry?’ she cried out, asking for her son. ‘Is that you?’

  He thought about lying, if that would bring her to safety. But if she glimpsed his face, she might panic and fall.

  Instead he admitted, ‘No. It’s Michael Thorpe.’

  At first, she didn’t reply, which gave him hope. Her skirts and petticoats billowed in the night air, while she held fast to the ropes.

  ‘Will you let me help you down?’

  ‘I don’t know anyone named Michael. Now stay away from me while I wait on my Henry.’ She began singing again, her voice high-pitched. ‘Mad. She’s gone mad, for her boy has gone away.’ Her voice grew tighter, mingling with tears. ‘My fault. It’s my fault that it happened.’ Sobbing harder, she moaned, ‘I didn’t want him to die, you see.’

  ‘Shh—’ Michael reached up take her by the waist, but she slapped his hands.

  ‘You’re not my Henry. I don’t know you. Get away from me!’ The wind whipped at the ratlines, and Mrs Turner’s hand slipped. She shrieked as the line spun, making her swing downwards. Michael caught her hand and put it back to the rope, though she screamed at him.

  Damn it. The precarious balancing point on the ratlines stretching up to the mast made it too dangerous to seize her against her will. Either of them could lose their grip and fall. Mrs Turner was nearly twenty feet up in the air, and though she was primarily over the decking, there was still the possibility that she might slip and fall overboard.

  He glanced down and caught a glimpse of Hannah climbing up to them. ‘Let me try, Michael. I’ll coax her down.’ When she drew closer, he saw that she’d tied her skirts to each of her ankles.

  There was no hesitation in his refusal. ‘No.’ He wouldn’t risk Hannah’s safety, no matter that she was already close to them. ‘Climb down.’

  But she ignored his orders, reaching up higher. The combined weight of the three of them made the line stretch tight. ‘You’re frightening her,’ Hannah insisted. ‘I’m a woman. She’ll let me help.’

  When he was about to argue again, she touched his elbow. ‘Stay below us, in case either of us falls.’ Mrs Turner had begun singing again, her frail voice turning hoarse.

  ‘Michael, please,’ Hannah begged. ‘If you try to force her down, she’ll fight you. And you’ll both be hurt.’

  He knew she was right. Though he didn’t want to endanger Hannah, he would give her one chance. With great reluctance, he lowered himself below them, to ensure that neither of them fell. He heard Hannah speaking to Mrs Turner softly.

  ‘I’ve asked him to leave us alone,’ she murmured to the older woman. ‘He’s gone now and won’t harm you.’

  ‘They tried to take him away,’ she wept. ‘My boy.’

  Hannah spoke so quietly to Mrs Turner, Michael couldn’t make out what she was saying. He held tightly to the ratlines, watching both of them. Endless minutes passed, and his grip tightened while he watched.

  Then Mrs Turner slowly began to descend, with Hannah beside her. Michael kept his hands poised on the lines, prepared to break their fall, if either slipped.

  Several of the deck hands had gathered around, and Michael ordered them away. The bo’sun tried to apologise, but Michael cut him off, shielding the women from his gaze. ‘I will escort them back to their state rooms,’ he said firmly.

  Relief filled him up inside that both women were safe on deck. Lady Hannah held Mrs Turner’s hand and was speaking quietly to her.

  What Hannah had just done was completely unheard of. Women didn’t climb twenty feet in the air to rescue a stranger. It was scandalous, dangerous and right now he wanted to shake her. But he also wanted to hold her tightly, thankful that she hadn’t been hurt.

  She shouldn’t have taken such a bold risk. His anger and fear built up to the point where he gritted his teeth to keep from lashing out at her.

  Though his rational mind pointed out that both of them were all right, it might have been a very different outcome. He couldn’t let Hannah take such chances again.

  The air was frigid, and Hannah’s teeth were threatening to chatter from the cold. Mrs Turner’s hands were icy, and Michael led them all back to Hannah’s state room, where she found Estelle waiting.

  The maid’s eyes widened at the sight of Hannah and her windblown, dishevelled appearance.

  ‘Lady Hannah, whatever happened to you?’ Estelle looked appalled, but Hannah had no desire to explain herself. Nor did she want a word of this spoken to her mother.

  Ignoring the question, she said, ‘I ordered you to look after Mrs Turner, but you neglected your duty, it seems.’

  Excuses stammered from Estelle’s lips, but Hannah had endured her fill of them. ‘Enough. Go and help Mrs Turner prepare for bed.’

  The maid cast a glance at Michael, and he stared back at Estelle, until she returned her attentions to Mrs Turner.

  Hannah was about to help them, when the Lieutenant refused to surrender her wrist, leading her into the dimly lit hallway. He forced her to follow him around the corner to a spot hidden from view.

  Keeping his voice in a whisper, he leaned down to her ear. ‘Whatever possessed you to do something so dangerous?’

  Her teeth started chattering, his words breaking apart the false confidence that was holding her together. She knew it had been perilous, but standing below on the decking hadn’t been useful, either.

  ‘I don’t know. I just thought…you needed help,’ she whispered, thankful when he rubbed her hands to warm them.

  ‘I didn’t need you breaking your neck.’ He pulled her body close to his, letting his body heat warm her freezing skin. The actions were in opposition to his words. ‘You could have been killed.’

  ‘So could you.’ She pulled back, trying to calm the chattering of her teeth. ‘You asked me to help look after Mrs Turner. And you were frightening her. It seemed like the only way to get her down.’

  He said nothing but stroked her hair. His wide hands moved over her scalp, down her back. ‘Don’t ever do something like that again.’ Right now, he was holding her like he didn’t want to let go. He fitted his body to hers as though he wanted to shield her from all harm.

  Against her better judgement, Hannah embraced him back. In their fleeting solitude, his mouth brushed against her temple. She closed her eyes, wishing to God there weren’t so many obstacles between them.

  He’d made no promises to her, nor could he. She knew that. All they had was a few stolen moments together. Tomorrow evening, they would arrive in Bremerhaven. And the day after that, she would be left behind at her cousins’ house.

  He framed her face with his hands. ‘Thank you for what you did.’

  She braved a smile, startled by his unexpected offering. ‘You’re welcome. I hope Mrs Turner feels better in the morning.’

  ‘Get some sleep,’ he ordered.

  ‘I doubt it.’ Her insides were still churning, after everything that had happened, and most especially after the way he’d touched her.

  ‘Michael,’ she murmured. ‘About what happened between us earlier—’

  ‘It won’t happen again,’ he swore. He jerked his hands back, as though he couldn’t get away from her fast enough. The deep embarrassment returned, for she’d given so much of
herself to him. Like a wanton woman, she had laid herself bare before him, seeking the mindless pleasure he’d offered.

  ‘Good,’ she echoed. ‘That’s good, then.’ Without another word, she turned back to her room so he would not see the tears.

  Lady Hannah was absent from breakfast that morning. Her maid said she’d taken a tray in her state room, and Michael supposed she needed the extra sleep after the night they’d endured.

  Earlier, he’d gone back to the upper deck where they had rescued Mrs Turner. Seeing the narrow ratlines in the morning sunlight made his breath catch. If either of them had fallen overboard, they might have become trapped beneath the large paddle wheel.

  He never should have let Hannah climb up. It would have been so easy for her to be harmed or killed. The failure would have fallen upon his shoulders, just as he’d failed his fellow soldiers at Balaclava.

  He returned to the promenade deck, but saw no sign of Mrs Turner or Lady Hannah. He wasn’t about to knock on her state-room door, for he’d already broken enough rules of propriety. It was better for him to keep his distance and hope that he met her by chance.

  After exploring the many rooms of the ship, he found them in the Grand Saloon. Hannah wore a long-sleeved, flounced rose gown adorned with lace. The trim was sewn across her bodice down to a narrow vee at the waist. A matching bonnet with ribbons and more lace cradled her face. Were it not for the dull exhaustion in her eyes, no one would notice anything out of order. Her gaze went to his neck, but he’d hidden the abraded skin with a high cravat.

  Beside her sat Mrs Turner, wearing her black mourning gown. The elderly woman beamed, calling out, ‘Michael! You will join us, won’t you?’ In her hands, she held out a deck of cards. ‘I am teaching Lady Hannah to play piquet.’

  He wasn’t certain that was such a good idea. ‘I thought ladies weren’t supposed to play cards.’

  Mrs Turner pulled out a chair. ‘Oh, we’re not going to be ladies today, are we?’