Page 19

M ichael endured the remaining hour of dinner, hating every moment of it. He watched the other guests to determine which forks to use, how much of the food to eat, and whether or not he was supposed to drink the contents of a bowl or wash his hands in it.

What bothered him most was the sheer waste. The ladies picked delicately at their plates, tasting a bite of fish or a spoonful of soup before the course was taken away. It was as if eating were out of fashion.

The men adjourned with brandy and cigars, the ladies retreating to their own saloon after the dinner was concluded. Michael took his moment to escape, though the Graf had ordered him to return for the parlor games.

He had no intention of letting the Lohenberg ambassador dictate what he would or would not do. He wasn’t a trained animal to be led about on a leash.

With each moment, his resentment rose. The eyes of everyone at dinner had bored into him, and when Lady Brentford had mentioned his resemblance to the king, no doubt they thought he was a bastard son. Michael hated being the center of attention, much less the subject of gossiping tongues.

Outside, the sky was black, the white sails taut with wind while the paddle wheel churned through the water.

The promenade deck was partially shielded from the winds, but the rocking of the ship sent several guests falling over.

Raucous laughter accompanied one poor woman’s misfortune as her skirts went flying.

Michael gripped one of the ropes leading to the foresail.

Though the sea had turned rough, his mind was in greater turmoil.

He didn’t want to believe that his childhood had been a lie, that his parents were not whom they seemed to be.

Surely the strange, fleeting memories that caught him from time to time were nothing but dreams. They had to be.

He caught a glimpse of Mrs. Turner strolling around the deck, and he took a step toward her.

It wasn’t good for her to be alone. But before he could reach the matron’s side, Lady Hannah appeared in front of him, shadowed by her maid.

She wore no outer wrap, only her sage-green gown.

In the frigid air, she rubbed her arms for warmth.

“Lieutenant Thorpe,” she said quietly, “I want to know what’s going on.”

“About what?” He feigned ignorance, though he could already guess.

“Your resemblance to the King of Lohenberg. I saw the way the Graf was watching you.”

Of course she had. Lady Hannah was astute in her observations. “It’s nothing. Merely a coincidence.”

She stepped in front of him, preventing him from going any farther. “He thinks it’s true, doesn’t he? The Graf believes you’re connected to the royal house of Lohenberg.”

“It doesn’t matter what he thinks. I’ve never set foot in the country.” He strode past her, but Hannah dogged his footsteps.

“You said it was cold there in the winter.”

He didn’t know why he’d said such a thing, but she wasn’t about to let it go. “As I said, I’ve never been to the country before.”

“Are you lying to me? Or to yourself?” She touched his arm lightly. The slight gesture probably meant nothing to her, but he found that he rather liked having her hands on him.

But he tried again to be dismissive. “I’m a soldier, nothing more.”

“Are you certain?”

No, he wasn’t certain of anything. Nothing except the way she made him feel. Michael inhaled the light citrus scent she wore. Lemon and jasmine mingled together, seductive and sweet.

“Go back to your cabin, Hannah,” he ordered. It was all he could do not to kiss her again. She didn’t seem to understand the effect she had on him.

“The evening isn’t over yet,” she said. “The entertainment will begin shortly. And whether or not you’re too afraid to join us, I intend to participate.”

“Hoping to find a husband, are you?”

She shot him a dark look. “Whether I am or not doesn’t matter to you at all, does it?”

“It matters.” His palm cupped her cheek, his gloved hand sliding against her skin. Ripples of desire erupted all over Hannah’s skin. She wanted him to kiss her, as he had before. He tempted her in all the wrong ways. Or perhaps, all the right ways.

It took all of her willpower to break free of him. “Run away, if you’re too afraid,” she taunted. “Or join us. The choice is yours.”

Hannah returned to the gathering, suspecting he would stay away. She had played a few parlor games during boarding school. Blind Man’s Buff and charades were quite popular. But as these games involved men and women, she supposed they must be rather different.

A group of twenty gentlemen and women met in the Grand Saloon. The ship’s waiters had arranged several chairs in a circle, and a small table stood at the front. The guests began rummaging through their belongings, and she realized they would be playing Forfeit.

Each player would surrender a personal item to be auctioned. In order to get it back, he or she had to perform a forfeit, such as singing or dancing. Viscount Brentford had claimed the role of auctioneer, and from his amused expression, it seemed he was looking forward to the position of power.

A moment later, the waiters brought a large screen to shield the contents of the table, allowing guests to walk behind it, one at a time, to deposit their forfeited item.

Reaching into her reticule, Hannah chose an embroidered handkerchief, keeping it hidden in her hand.

After she passed behind the screen, she added it to the pile of gloves, shoes, jewelry, and cravats.

She took her seat among the other ladies, hoping to see the lieutenant.

A glass of sherry was passed to her, and she sipped at the drink.

It was smooth and sweet, and she felt herself beginning to relax.

It wasn’t nearly as wicked as her mother made it sound.

She set it down on a table beside her, feeling her skin flush.

Two of the gentlemen moved the screen away, revealing a large pile of personal belongings. And then, she saw that the lieutenant had indeed joined them, though he stood in the back.

“My friends, I know many of you are familiar with the game of Forfeit,” the viscount began. “However, tonight, I am suggesting that we use this game to raise money for an appropriate charity, rather than strictly for amusement.”

He exchanged a glance with his wife and daughter.

“Ladies may bid to win a forfeit from the gentlemen, and gentlemen may bid on the ladies’ items. The winning bidder shall send the promised amount to the poor and orphaned children of London.

The owner of the item shall perform a forfeit of the bidder’s choice. ”

It was a scandalous game, one that could involve public humiliation or even a kiss. From the way the sherry, wine, and brandy continued to be passed around, Hannah suspected things might indeed get out of hand.

“The winner of the auction will return the item to its owner, after the forfeit is paid.” Viscount Brentford reached behind the screen and picked up a black cravat. He cast a wicked look toward the ladies. “Shall we start the bidding?”

Poor Henry Vanderkind, the owner of the cravat, was forced to crawl about on all fours while singing “Woodman Spare That Tree.” Lady Howard, a widow nearing the age of sixty, howled with laughter and promised to send fifty pounds to the orphan fund.

As revenge, Henry Vanderkind bid thirty pounds on Lady Howard’s quizzing glass and made her bleat like a goat in order to get it back again.

As each item was auctioned off, Hannah found herself wiping her own tears of laughter. She’d lost count of how much sherry she’d drunk, for a waiter kept all of the glasses full.

The room seemed to tilt, the voices buzzing in a haze. She pushed the glass aside, hoping that another headache would not come upon her. Someone passed a plate of cheeses, and she took a slice, thankful for the food to settle her stomach.

At that moment, she caught a glimpse of the lieutenant. He didn’t look at all entertained by the revelry.

But when he caught Hannah looking at him, his hazel eyes narrowed with interest. He rested his hands upon the back of a carved dining room chair, and for a moment, she felt like the only woman in the room. The rest of the crowd seemed to melt away, and her body grew warmer as she met his gaze.

It was improper, certainly, but she couldn’t stop herself from staring back. Her dress felt too tight, her heartbeat quickening. Though she finally looked away, she was aware of him taking a glass of wine. His mouth pressed against the crystal in a sip, and she again imagined his lips upon hers.

The lieutenant crossed the room to stand at the other side, effectively distancing them. Hannah noticed that only two items remained on the table: her own handkerchief and the lieutenant’s pocket watch.

The viscount gave a silent nod to his daughter and lifted the watch. When she glanced at the lieutenant, the tight tension in his face revealed the truth—it must be his.

“The last gentleman’s item is this pocket watch. It’s quite heavy, I must say—no doubt made of the finest gold. Shall we start the bidding at five pounds?”

A flurry of female hands rose into the air, and Hannah saw Michael’s discomfort rising.

He held his posture stiff, his eyes staring off into the distance.

He had loosened his cravat, while his black cloth jacket was unbuttoned to reveal a bright blue waistcoat.

The pocket watch he’d worn earlier was indeed missing.

The bidding rose higher, the women laughing as they imagined a forfeit they would ask.

“With a handsome one like that, I’d ask for a kiss,” one woman remarked.

Another giggled. “I’d kiss him without the auction, if he asked me to.”

Hannah didn’t join in, but neither did she want Michael to pay a forfeit that would embarrass him. From the way he eyed the doorway, it wouldn’t surprise her if he left the room. He didn’t seem to care whether or not the watch was returned to him. It probably belonged to the Graf von Reischor.