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H annah spent a good part of the afternoon exploring the ladies’ saloon and the promenade deck with her maid Estelle.

She’d met several of the other ladies traveling in first class, and most seemed friendly enough.

One had urged her to explore the ship further, and Hannah was delighted at what she’d found.

She’d expected this passage to be grueling, but instead the ship was designed for luxury at every turn.

She spied portières of crimson velvet at each of the doorways, while the maroon carpet was thick and comfortable.

Within the saloon, the sofas were made of Utrecht velvet, while the walnut buffets were covered with green marble tops.

Grand chandeliers hung throughout the saloons, giving them the appearance of ballrooms.

In one corner, a string quartet was rehearsing their set of music. Standing with his back to her was Lieutenant Thorpe. He looked uneasy, pacing slightly as he appeared to stroll through the saloon.

Hannah almost turned on her heel and walked away. He hadn’t seen her, so there was no need to greet him. She could leave right now, and he’d never know differently.

But then, that was the coward’s choice, wasn’t it? He’d cornered her this morning, intimidating her without actually laying a finger upon her. She pressed a hand to her heart, trying to calm the rhythm. Just thinking of it made her even more aware of him.

He was intensely handsome, in an uncivilized manner. Although his new clothing fit him perfectly, it didn’t change the man he was. Unpredictable. And...not at all safe. He’d been right about that.

Without warning, he turned around and saw her. His gaze held none of the polite greeting that most men would have offered. No, he looked as though he wanted to cross the room and take her away with him.

Her senses grew weak just thinking about it.

Gesturing for Estelle to remain a short distance behind her, Hannah braved a polite smile. Best to say hello and leave as quickly as possible. But as soon as she reached his side, he turned away.

The ship’s funnel casings were enclosed with mirrors, and a rich pattern of gold and white covered the wall surfaces. “Are you studying the wallpaper?” Hannah asked. “It’s lovely enough but a bit boring, I’d imagine.”

“Listening to the music,” he corrected. “And trying to remain unnoticed.”

That much was doubtful. A man like the lieutenant could never escape attention. His height and handsome demeanor made that impossible, not to mention he walked like a man in command.

“You’re not a very good wallflower,” she said.

He shot her a sidelong glance. “I was doing quite well before you arrived. No one approached me or spoke to me.”

“They were afraid you’d wrestle them to the ground or throw them into the mirror.” She took a discreet step away from him.

“It’s possible,” he admitted. His mouth turned up at the corners, and Hannah relaxed, glad that she’d made peace with him. “What do you want, Lady Hannah?”

“Nothing, really. I thought it would be rude to leave without saying hello.”

“You’ve said it. Duty accomplished.”

She refused to be put off by his abrupt air. “You don’t feel comfortable here, do you? Amidst all this.” She gestured toward the opulent decorations.

“I’d rather be on a battlefield. Shooting enemies.” A wicked look of amusement lit up his eyes. He glanced over at a group of matrons talking in a corner.

“Target practice?” she suggested.

“You’re tempting me.” His gaze flickered toward two gentlemen, whom she just now noticed were staring at them. “I don’t think you should be standing here, speaking to me alone.”

“My maid is here.” Hannah glanced over at Estelle. “And we’re already acquainted. For all those guests know, you could be my brother.”

He sent her a lazy smile that made her skin turn to gooseflesh. “I’m most definitely not your brother, sweet.”

She stared down at the floor, uncertain of how to respond. “Well. What happened between us is all in the past. Right now, we are traveling companions, nothing more.”

“Really?” The dangerous glint in his eyes sent a blush through her cheeks.

“Of course.” She took another step back, pretending everything was fine.

At that moment, the two gentlemen strolled forward. They looked as though they were about to ask for an introduction, but Michael sent them a dark glare. Hastily, they tipped their hats and continued on their way.

“Now what was that about?” Hannah demanded. “You looked as though you were about to tear them apart with your bare hands.”

“I was acting like any brother would.” Michael’s gaze fixed on the doorway as though he expected the two gentlemen to return. “Keeping you safe, just as you asked.”

If he’d had a firearm at that moment, Hannah had no doubt it would be aimed at the gentlemen. His behavior bordered on barbaric, with a hint of jealousy.

“If a gentleman asks me to dance this evening after supper, I have no choice but to accept,” Hannah pointed out. “You can hardly prevent it from happening.”

“Can’t I?”

She ignored the remark, continuing, “I suspect you don’t dance at all, do you?”

“Do I look like the sort who enjoys dancing?” he gritted out.

“No, you look like the sort who enjoys glowering at others.” She tilted her head to study him. “I would wager that you don’t know how to dance.”

He took a glance around the saloon. Except for her maid, there was no one else in sight. Even the matrons had already strolled away.

The musicians were still practicing a set, and without warning, Michael took her hands in his. He didn’t ask but began dancing with her. His hand pressed against the curve of her waist, guiding her masterfully through the steps.

She couldn’t have been more surprised. When had a soldier learned how to dance like this?

He took her through the steps of a waltz, spinning her around without a single misstep.

“In school,” he replied, answering her unspoken question. “Every last one of us learned to dance. I hated every minute of it.”

“But you’re good,” she whispered. “Better than I thought you’d be.”

He whirled her around, bringing her against one of the mirrors. The cool glass pressed into her back, and he stopped short.

“I’m good at many things, sweet.” His voice held the undertones of a forbidden liaison. Caught in his embrace, he kept his hands at her waist, looking into her eyes. She saw the rise and fall of his breathing, the desire that he held back.

“And what is something you’re not good at?” she asked softly.

“Letting go of something I want badly.”

Without a single word of farewell, he left the saloon. Hannah leaned back, resting her head against the mirrored panel. Neither am I.

Hannah lifted out a sage-green dress with a high collar and fitted long sleeves. She was grateful for the new traveling clothes in other colors besides rose and yellow. Though the gown covered every inch of her body, at least the color complimented her light brown hair.

“Lady Hannah, this is not the gown your mother selected for this evening’s dinner,” her maid protested.

“No, it isn’t.” And she didn’t care. The midnight-blue gown Christine Chesterfield preferred reminded Hannah of mourning garb. “I prefer this one,” she added, handing it to Estelle so she could dress her.

As soon as she arrived in Germany, she would visit a dressmaker to order new gowns that were more flattering. Perhaps she would even cut her hair shorter. Hannah smiled at the thought, fingering the long strands.

While Estelle finished styling her hair, she thought back to what Lieutenant Thorpe had said— I’m not safe at all.

It was a warning to stay away. To guard her virtue at all costs.

And she should, no doubt. Yet, there was a part of her that wanted to know more about the man behind the soldier.

He intrigued her, awakening the rebellious side of herself.

What would it be like to live her life, not caring what others thought?

Or was it merely a facade, a means of keeping people away from him? He isolated himself from others, and it troubled her.

A knock sounded at the door, and Estelle went to open it. Hannah caught a glimpse of Mrs. Turner, the elderly woman whom Michael had asked her to watch over.

The woman appeared nervous, twisting a red bonnet in her hands. “Lieutenant Thorpe sent me here to assist you, Lady Hannah. I am Abigail Turner.”

“Come in.” Hannah gestured toward a chair. “Would you care to sit down?”

“No, thank you, my lady.” The woman stood near the door, as though trying to fade into the papered walls. The small cabin held three berths, one for each of them. Against the far wall were two chairs and an end table. On the wall adjacent to the berths, stood a large chest of drawers.

Estelle began helping Hannah into the sage-green gown, and a moment later, signaled to Mrs. Turner. “You, there. Fetch Lady Hannah’s silk fan from inside that trunk.” Without waiting for a response, the maid began fastening a pearl necklace around Hannah’s throat.

“Emeralds would look better,” Mrs. Turner suggested.

Estelle sent the widow a tight smile. “I do not believe you are responsible for Lady Hannah’s wardrobe.

Her mother has taken great pains to organize each of her gowns with the appropriate matching fan, jewels, stockings and gloves, and has made lists of what outfit should be worn upon which occasion.

Your help is not needed.” With a flourish, Estelle produced a small handful of papers.

“Estelle, Mrs. Turner is here at my request,” Hannah corrected.

The matron did not react to the maid’s arrogant tone, but instead, a light appeared in her eyes as though she were squaring off for battle.

Estelle pressed the lists into Hannah’s hand, and she glanced at them before setting them down on the table. Orders of what to wear, what not to eat, how to greet the other first-class passengers...the reminders went on and on.

Her mother was still trying to give orders, even while they were miles apart.