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Was that what happened between a man and a woman? She could feel the hard length of his manhood against her inner thigh. The thought of him entering her body conjured a response that made her even wetter. He teased the moisture, using the fabric to abrade her sensitive node.

Hannah fought against the rising wave of pleasure that threatened to drown her. He dipped his finger slightly, caressing the opening of her womanhood.

“I don’t understand,” she admitted, her face burning with discomfort. “How could you be inside me?”

She’d never been taught anything about lovemaking, and she half-wondered if this touching was what husbands and wives did. Somehow, she suspected not. It felt like forbidden temptation to experience such desire.

He brought her hand to his trousers, letting her feel the firm length straining beneath the cloth. She was startled at the thickness of him, the hard ridge of male flesh.

“This part of me would slide deep inside you,” he said gruffly. His hand moved beneath her drawers to her feminine center. He dipped his hand against her sensitive flesh, inserting a single finger to demonstrate. “When you’re wet, it makes it easier for both of us.”

He captured her mouth again, using his fingers to stroke her. Before she could beg him to understand the unfamiliar longings, something unexpected began to break through. Her breathing quickened, her back arching out of instinct.

His hand rubbed faster without warning, crumbling away her inhibitions until a hot, piercing sensation pushed her closer to the edge. Then abruptly, he slowed the pace, deepening the pressure.

“Let go for me, Hannah.”

She was fighting against the maddening heat building up. Her inner thighs were silken, craving more.

Without warning, pleasure erupted within her, making her writhe against his hand. Never had she felt anything like this before, a dizzying madness of heat pulsing until she could only ride out the sensations. He pressed his palm against her center, until she was trembling with aftershocks.

Michael removed his palm, his own breathing uneven. He 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.

Her throat went dry at the humiliation at succumbing to the liaison without any future promises from him. 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 clattering 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 at 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 the room, probably sleeping.

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