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When Miss Nelson held the highest bid of eighty pounds, the viscountess shook her head sharply, whispering in her daughter’s ear. Hannah didn’t like the look of it. They were plotting against Michael, she was sure. It angered her, for she didn’t want him to be the target of anyone’s humor.

“One hundred pounds,” she heard herself saying. If nothing else, she might prevent the lieutenant from being made into a fool.

A ripple of gasps resounded through the crowd of ladies. One woman sent her a dark look, as though she wanted to stab Hannah with a hat pin.

“One hundred and ten pounds,” Miss Nelson countered.

“Two hundred pounds.” Hannah didn’t know whether the sherry had loosened her tongue or where this daring feeling had come from. All she knew was that she didn’t want to lose the bidding war.

You can’t have him , she wanted to say to Miss Nelson.

But it seemed her bid of two hundred pounds had silenced the young woman.

Viscount Brentford asked for any final bids, but none was forthcoming.

Hannah rose from her seat, grasping the arms of the chair for support.

With a determination she didn’t quite feel, she moved toward the watch.

“What forfeit will you ask from Lieutenant Thorpe?” the viscount asked.

Hannah looked into Michael’s face. His hazel eyes held a rigid expression, his hands clenched at his sides. He didn’t know why she’d bid upon him, and the tension in his stance suggested he had no intention of doing her will.

“No forfeit at all,” she whispered.

His eyes stared at her in disbelief for a long moment. When she brought the pocket watch to him, there was a barely perceptible acknowledgement.

“Now, now, Lady Hannah. That isn’t playing by the rules,” another matron protested.

“He must pay his forfeit to get back his pocket watch. Perhaps you should have him sing. Or give a demonstration of his fighting skills.” The woman’s gaze shifted to Michael’s muscled form beneath the tightly fitted jacket.

“I’ll reserve the right to ask for my forfeit later,” she said. The ladies squealed in delight, and Hannah instantly regretted the scandalous remark. A moment later, their attention was turned to the last item—her handkerchief.

Viscount Brentford lifted up the handkerchief, sending her a mischievous smile. “Gentlemen, should we start the bidding for this lovely embroidered handkerchief?”

Michael stood from his seat. “A thousand pounds,” he said softly.

There was a flurry of discussion over the exorbitant amount.

“For what, Lieutenant?” Viscount Brentford asked.

“For Lady Hannah’s handkerchief.” His eyes never left hers when he added, “That is my bid.”

The room grew uncomfortably quiet, and Hannah wanted to sink beneath the table. Dear God. Did he realize what he’d done? Now, the entire room would believe they were having an affair. She was mortified to think of it.

There were no other bids. Michael took the handkerchief and pocketed it, leaving the guests behind as he exited the dining room. He asked for no forfeit, and Hannah knew she was expected to follow him.

The Graf silently shook his head in disapproval. Hannah didn’t know what to do. The game was not yet at an end, not to mention, Michael did not possess a thousand pounds.

Her embarrassment rose even higher as she overheard two ladies speculating about their relationship and whether or not Michael would offer for her. She knew, full well, that it would never happen.

Miss Nelson insinuated herself beside Hannah. “Aren’t you going to return Lieutenant Thorpe’s pocket watch?”

It took Hannah a moment to realize she was still holding the watch. “Oh. Eventually, I suppose.”

“Why did he bid a thousand pounds for your handkerchief?” Miss Nelson asked. “Are you betrothed to him?”

Hannah shook her head. “I’m not certain why. I suppose it gave him an excuse to leave the game.”

Her explanation didn’t appear to satisfy the young woman. Miss Nelson continued, “Would you like me to return the watch to him?”

Hannah’s fingers curled over the gold. It was a way out, a means for her not to see the lieutenant again.

She looked over and saw the hopeful light in her eyes.

Miss Nelson honestly believed that Lieutenant Thorpe was a marriageable man, an officer from a noble family.

And after his bid, a man with a fortune of his own.

“No, thank you.” Hannah stood from her chair. “I’ll take care of this.”

The other ladies had begun a new game of Look About, searching for a hidden item. After several minutes, Miss Nelson joined them, seemingly disappointed that Hannah had not accepted her offer.

Graf von Reischor caught her arm as Hannah reached the door to the staircase, warning beneath his breath, “Don’t, Lady Hannah. It would do your reputation no good.”

“Whatever was left of my reputation, Lieutenant Thorpe just destroyed with that bid. He’s going to answer for it.” She tightened her lips and strode forward.

There were less than twenty-four hours in which she would be permitted to make her own decisions. Escort or not, the Graf would not control her actions tonight.

“I’m going to return the watch,” she said.

The Graf opened the door for her, gesturing for her maid to accompany them. Lowering his voice, he asserted, “Regardless of what there might have been between you once, do not compromise yourself. He cannot wed you.”

Marry Lieutenant Thorpe? A man who had said she was nothing but a complication he didn’t want? Frustration poured through her, and Hannah clenched her fan tightly. “You see things that are not there.”

“I see more clearly than you, it seems. And neither your mother, nor your father, would allow you to speak with a man alone.”

She took a calming breath. “I will not be alone. And you insult me by implying that I am trying to seek out an affair.”

“An affair is all you could ever hope to have with him.”

“Why? Because you think he’s related to the royal family of Lohenberg?”

The guess was an impulsive prediction, but the Graf’s face paled. “Keep such theories to yourself, Lady Hannah.”

She closed her mouth to keep from gaping. And now it was clear that he did believe the lieutenant had a royal connection. “You’re not serious.”

“I have eyes, Lady Hannah. Any Lohenberg native who encounters Lieutenant Thorpe would see it. He looks like Konig Sweyn, enough to be his son.”

“You have no proof of his birthright.”

“No. But I intend to find out the truth.” He rested his hand upon the stair banister. “You should be aware that any contact with him bears a risk.”

She took the remaining steps and rested her hand upon the door leading to the promenade deck. “I am returning a watch, nothing more. I see no reason to be afraid.”

As she left, she heard the Graf speaking softly. “He has enemies you can’t even comprehend.”

Michael tucked the handkerchief into his coat pocket, contemplating whether or not he dared ascend to the upper deck. The sea waves were still rough, the ship swaying in spite of the roaring steam engines and paddle wheel.

He wanted fresh air and the coolness of the night. As he entered the upper deck of the Orpheus , the rocking motion of the ship became more pronounced. Wind billowed through the sails, and he heard the groaning of ropes straining against their knots.

The game of Forfeit had taken a turn he hadn’t intended.

He didn’t know why he’d deposited his pocket watch and joined the game.

At the time, he hadn’t really understood the rules.

But later, he’d been angry at the thought of the ladies bidding on it.

Lord Brentford had practically offered his daughter’s hand in marriage, when he’d only just met the girl.

No doubt if she’d won the bid, Miss Nelson would have asked him for a kiss.

He wouldn’t have given it. He despised people staring at him with expectations he couldn’t possibly fulfill.

But Lady Hannah had intervened, casting a bid to guard his privacy. She’d faced down the women, protecting him from having to make an idiot out of himself.

There wasn’t a man at the dinner table who hadn’t wanted her to pay their choice of a forfeit. The thought of any man touching her was enough to make him bend a silver fork in half.

She’s not yours. Never will be.

He knew that. And he’d done his best to keep his hands off her. She was a woman of Quality, a diamond who needed a polished setting in order to shine.

But he wasn’t a damned saint. He desired her, knowing exactly the way he wanted to worship her body. He wanted to taste her skin, to run his mouth over her flesh until she cried out with pleasure.

What did it matter whether or not a gentleman bid upon Lady Hannah’s handkerchief? She deserved the opportunity to make a good marriage. Certainly, the gentlemen on board the ship had no idea of the scandal.

For so long, she’d been trapped in her father’s cocoon. Now was her chance to rip away the rigid rules and gain her freedom. He was a selfish bastard, wanting her to surrender to him.

Michael rested his hand upon the wooden railing, staring out at the dark waters.

What was it about her that drew him in, like a seedling to the sun?

She wasn’t anything like the women he’d known while he was in the Army.

Kind-hearted, well-bred, and beautiful, she belonged with an English lord who would sleep in a separate bedroom and let her plan the household menus and entertainment.

She didn’t belong with a man like him. A man with baser urges, who would much rather unravel those sensibilities than uphold them.

When he’d made the ridiculous bid of a thousand pounds, it hadn’t been a true charitable contribution. It had been a warning to the other men to stay away from Lady Hannah or they would regret it. Like a beast marking his territory, he’d laid claim to her.

But now what was he supposed to do?

Footsteps sounded behind him. He didn’t turn around, expecting Hannah to move beside him.

Instead, a rope slid around his neck. Stars glimmered in his consciousness, his lungs burning for air. Michael fought against the tight noose, throwing himself to the decking and knocking his assailant’s feet beneath him.

Tearing the rope away, he reached for the man, intending to find out what in God’s name was going on.