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M ichael stood at attention when Colonel Hammond entered the room. He’d been summoned to the War Office this morning, but it wasn’t the commander-in-chief who’d prepared his new orders. Instead, he’d been shown into a smaller sitting room. “Colonel, you asked to see me?”

“Yes. I’m afraid there’s been a change in your assignment,” the Colonel admitted.

The senior officer’s red jacket gleamed with brass buttons, the gold epaulettes resting upon his shoulders.

Michael felt ill at ease in his own slate-blue uniform, which still bore the bloodstains he hadn’t been able to wash clean.

The Colonel gestured toward a wooden chair, and Michael took a seat. “You won’t be returning to the front, after all.”

“I’ve made a full recovery,” Michael felt compelled to point out. “I’m ready to fight again.”

Colonel Hammond looked uncomfortable. “That will have to wait, I’m afraid. Though I should like to see you return to battle as well—we can always use men of your fortitude—I’m afraid the Army has other plans for you.”

An uncomfortable suspicion settled in his gut. Had the marquess used his powers of influence so soon? Michael had known that he would probably be sent away from England, but he’d expected to return to duty.

“What are my orders?”

The Colonel sat across from him, a large mahogany desk as a barrier between them.

“You will accompany the ambassador from Lohenberg, the Graf von Reischor, to his homeland. He has proposed to send supplies to the Crimean Peninsula, offering aid from their country to our troops. You will assist the Commissariat by choosing what is most needed for the men.”

Michael’s hand clenched into a fist. He didn’t believe for a moment that the Graf was acting out of concern for the British troops.

This was nothing but a stranger meddling in his military career, all because he’d ignored the summons.

Why should he care whether or not he resembled the king of some tiny, forgotten country?

He’d given years of service to the Army, obeying orders and doing his best to keep his men alive. And with a single stroke of the pen, the Lohenberg Graf had turned his military career from a soldier into an errand boy.

“You honor me, Colonel,” he lied, “but I’m nothing but a lieutenant. Why not one of my commanding officers?”

“The ambassador requested you. I suggested another officer as a liaison, but he insisted that it must be you, or he would reconsider the offer.” There was a questioning note in the Colonel’s voice, but Michael gave no response.

He couldn’t tell his commander why the Graf wanted him to travel to Lohenberg, when he didn’t know the man’s intent.

“I’d rather be back with my men,” he said quietly. “I owe it to them, after what happened at Balaclava.” He’d tried to save whatever lives he could until he’d fallen, shot and bleeding on the field.

“I understand Nolan spoke well of you and your bravery before the battle.” The Colonel’s voice was also quiet, as though remembering those soldiers who had not returned.

He turned his attention to pouring a cup of tea. “While we would welcome you back on the Peninsula, Lieutenant Thorpe, this alliance is far too important. I’m afraid your orders are clear. The Graf has requested you, and it is our hope that you can convince the Lohenberg Army to join in our cause.”

Bitter silence permeated the room, and Michael rose from his seat. Damned if he was going to allow the Graf to ruin everything he’d worked for. He would go and try to convince the man to choose another officer. Then, perhaps he could rejoin what was left of the 17th Lancers.

Michael bowed and offered a polite farewell to Colonel Hammond, who shook his hand afterwards and wished him well.

“I will give your regards to the men, upon my return to Balaclava, Lieutenant. You will report to Graf von Reischor at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”

His heart filled with anger and numbness, but Michael gripped the Colonel’s hand and murmured another farewell. It was becoming quite clear that Graf von Reischor believed himself to be a puppet master, jerking his strings toward a path that was not his.

As he left the War Office, Michael shoved his hands inside his pockets, only to find the tangled strand of diamonds Hannah had given him.

He slid his hands over the hard stones, feeling the chain warm beneath his fingertips. Although Hannah believed the diamonds would grant him an excuse to return to Rothburne House, that wasn’t a wise idea. The marquess would murder him if he so much as set foot upon a blade of Rothburne grass.

It’s not your battle to fight.

He knew he shouldn’t be involved. Their lives were too distant from one another, and despite the night they’d spent in the carriage, she was better off if he left her alone. Most likely Hannah would be all right with her father and brothers to protect her.

The way they had on the night Belgrave took her? his conscience reminded him.

He expelled a foul curse and continued walking through the streets. An hour. He could spend that much time ensuring for himself that she hadn’t been dragged off by Belgrave.

Hackney cab drivers called out, offering to drive him, but he ignored them. It wasn’t such a long walk, and he didn’t have the money for it anyway.

The thin soles of his shoes were worn down, and as he continued on the walk to Rothburne House, he felt the cobbled stones more than he’d have liked.

He hadn’t broken his fast this morning, and the thought of food made his stomach hurt.

It didn’t help matters to see a vendor selling meat pies and iced raisin buns.

After half an hour, he finally reached Rothburne House. He recognized Lord Belgrave’s carriage waiting outside. A grim resolution took root inside him, to get rid of Belgrave.

He couldn’t approach the front entrance, however. Rothburne’s footmen would throw him out. His military uniform also made it impossible to reconnoiter without being easily noticed.

Quickly, Michael stripped off his jacket and shako, hiding the plumed military cap and outer coat beneath a trimmed boxwood hedge. Beside it, he placed his officer’s sword. He removed Hannah’s necklace from the jacket and placed it in his pocket.

After traversing the perimeter of the house, he spied an open window on the first floor. It was time to discover exactly what Belgrave was up to.

Lord Belgrave’s hardened face transformed into a smile when he saw her.

“Lady Hannah, you look lovely, as always. Well worth the wait.” The baron bowed in greeting, and Hannah felt an unladylike sense of satisfaction at the bruises darkening his cheek and the bandage across his nose.

No doubt the wounds were from his brawl with Lieutenant Thorpe.

Only years of training made her dip into a curtsy. She’d changed her gown three times in an effort to delay the inevitable. Only when her mother had arrived to escort her in person did she finally enter the drawing room.

Lady Rothburne sent the baron a blinding smile, gripping Hannah’s wrist so hard that the skin turned white. “Lord Belgrave, it was kind of you to pay a call under these...circumstances.”

“It was my pleasure, Lady Rothburne.”

Another jerk of the wrist, and Hannah understood her mother’s silent rebuke. All right. If she had to endure this charade, so be it.

“Lord Belgrave.” She didn’t care how icy her tone was; the sooner she could get rid of him, the better.

“Lady Hannah, I believe you know why I have come.” He patted the seat beside him in an obvious invitation.

“And I believe you know what my answer is.” Hannah remained standing, her arms crossed. “Your visit was a waste of time, I am afraid.”

“Hannah—” Lady Rothburne implored. “Do be kind enough to at least listen to Lord Belgrave.”

Though she wanted to fight back, to lash out at her mother, Hannah found herself sinking into a chair. Out of habit, she fell silent, as if a shroud had fallen over her. Choking off any hint of defiance, she listened to Belgrave speak.

“I offer my apologies for what happened the other evening,” the baron began.

“But, Lady Hannah, I believe it would be in your best interest to consider my offer.” He went on to describe his different estates, both in London and Yorkshire.

And of course, how much of an honor it would be to join their families together.

Hannah didn’t listen to a word of it. Did Belgrave honestly believe she would consider him, after the abduction? And were her parents so swept up in his money and family name that they would ignore what he’d done?

“We are pleased that you would still consider our daughter,” Lady Rothburne said.

“I am sure Hannah understands the necessity of protecting her reputation.” Brightening her smile, the marchioness offered, “I have ordered a picnic basket from Cook, and you both may wish to discuss wedding plans outside in the garden. It is a lovely day, and it would allow you to become better acquainted.”

“I would welcome the opportunity,” Belgrave answered.

“But, Mother, I—”

“Would next Tuesday morning suit, for the wedding?” the marchioness interrupted.

“I am certain I can procure a special license in time,” Belgrave reassured her mother. “The archbishop will understand the need for haste.”

Say it. Tell them you’ll never marry a man like him.

Hannah gripped the edge of her chair and finally broke in. “No.”

Her word came out too softly, and neither her mother, nor Lord Belgrave, seemed to notice.

“A quiet wedding would be best,” Belgrave suggested. “Don’t you think?”

“No,” Hannah tried again, this time louder and filled with all of her frustration. “I don’t think so.”

Lord Belgrave rose from his seat and came to stand beside her chair. His large fingers reached out to rest upon her shoulder. The weight of his palm was a firm reminder, not an act of comfort.