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Her teeth started chattering, his words breaking apart the false confidence that was holding her together. She knew it had been perilous, but standing below on the decking hadn’t been useful, either.

“I don’t know. I just thought...you needed help,” she whispered, thankful when he rubbed her hands to warm them.

“I didn’t need you breaking your neck.” He pulled her body close to his, letting his body heat warm her freezing skin. The actions were in opposition to his words. “You could have been killed.”

“So could you.” She pulled back, trying to calm the chattering of her teeth. “You asked me to help look after Mrs. Turner. And you were frightening her. It seemed like the only way to get her down.”

He said nothing but stroked her hair. His wide hands moved over her scalp, down her back. “Don’t ever do something like that again.” Right now, he was holding her like he didn’t want to let go. He fitted his body to hers as though he wanted to shield her from all harm.

Against her better judgment, Hannah embraced him back. In their fleeting solitude, his mouth brushed against her temple. She closed her eyes, wishing to God there weren’t so many obstacles between them.

He’d made no promises to her, nor could he. She knew that. All they had was a few stolen moments together. Tomorrow evening, they would arrive in Bremerhaven. And the day after that, she would be left behind at her cousins’ house.

He framed her face with his hands. “Thank you for what you did.”

She braved a smile, startled by his unexpected offering. “You’re welcome. I hope Mrs. Turner feels better in the morning.”

“Get some sleep,” he ordered.

“I doubt it.” Her insides were still churning, after everything that had happened, and most especially after the way he’d touched her.

“Michael,” she murmured. “About what happened between us earlier—”

“It won’t happen again,” he swore. He jerked his hands back, as though he couldn’t get away from her fast enough. The deep embarrassment returned, for she’d given so much of herself to him. Like a wanton woman, she had laid herself bare before him, seeking the mindless pleasure he’d offered.

“Good,” she echoed. “That’s good, then.” Without another word, she turned back to her room so he would not see the tears.

Lady Hannah was absent from breakfast that morning. Her maid said she’d taken a tray in her state room, and Michael supposed she needed the extra sleep after the night they’d endured.

Earlier, he’d gone back to the upper deck where they had rescued Mrs. Turner. Seeing the narrow ratlines in the morning sunlight made his breath catch. If either of them had fallen overboard, they might have become trapped beneath the large paddle wheel.

He never should have let Hannah climb up. It would have been so easy for her to be harmed or killed. The failure would have fallen upon his shoulders, just as he’d failed his fellow soldiers at Balaclava.

He returned to the promenade deck but saw no sign of Mrs. Turner or Lady Hannah. He wasn’t about to knock on her state room door, for he’d already broken enough rules of propriety. It was better for him to keep his distance and hope that he met her by chance.

After exploring the many rooms of the ship, he found them in the Grand Saloon.

Hannah wore a long-sleeved, flounced rose gown adorned with lace.

The trim was sewn across her bodice down to a narrow vee at the waist. A matching bonnet with ribbons and more lace cradled her face.

Were it not for the dull exhaustion in her eyes, no one would notice anything out of order.

Her gaze went to his neck, but he’d hidden the abraded skin with a high cravat.

Beside her sat Mrs. Turner, wearing her black mourning gown. The elderly woman beamed, calling out, “Michael! You will join us, won’t you?” In her hands, she held out a deck of cards. “I am teaching Lady Hannah to play piquet.”

He wasn’t certain that was such a good idea. “I thought ladies weren’t supposed to play cards.”

Mrs. Turner pulled out a chair. “Oh, we’re not going to be ladies today, are we?”

It was then that he saw the enormous slice of chocolate cake on the plate beside Hannah.

She took a bite of the dessert, as if defying the etiquette for proper breakfast food.

Watching her devour the cake reminded him of the expression on her face last night when he’d showed her the pleasures of her secret flesh.

He hastily took a seat to hide his reaction to the memory.

Mrs. Turner dealt out the cards to each of them. “I know you’ve played before.”

He let his gaze rest upon Hannah’s face while she ate her cake. “Yes.”

“Then you’ll be able to teach Lady Hannah all that she needs to know.”

He made no response, watching as Hannah’s tongue slipped out to lick her fingertip. There were many things he wanted to teach Lady Hannah, and not a single one of them had to do with cards.

Hannah picked up the hand dealt, a sheepish smile upon her face. “I’m not very good with cards. I was never allowed to play.”

He picked up his own cards, barely glancing at them. “Why not?”

“My mother believed that any cards were a form of gambling. She didn’t want me to risk eternal hellfire.”

“There are far worse ways to sin,” he pointed out.

Hannah’s face turned scarlet, as though she were thinking of the time she’d spent in his arms. She forced her attention back to the cards.

“Which of us will be the dealer?” Michael asked Mrs. Turner.

“Why don’t you take on that role? Let Lady Hannah draw first.”

Michael deferred to the widow’s wishes and dealt the cards. He picked up his hand, studying the two jacks and the queen of spades amid the other numbered cards. “Were you wanting to wager on the game?”

Mrs. Turner beamed. “Well, of course we should have a wager. That’s what makes playing cards so entertaining. And wicked.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a bit of wickedness...once in a while.” Michael shifted his cards, laying them facedown on the table while he waited for Hannah.

When she glanced up, her gaze settled upon his mouth. He spied the traces of chocolate upon her lips. Right now he wanted to lick it off, devouring her mouth and pulling her close.

“What should we wager with?” Hannah asked, a faint blush of color upon her cheeks. “Money we don’t have?”

He knew she was referring to the fictional thousand pounds he’d offered in return for her handkerchief last night. “Not for money.”

“What, then?”

A flash of inspiration struck him, and Michael signaled to one of the ships’ waiters. After a brief discussion, the waiter nodded, disappearing behind closed doors.

“Wait and see.”

When the waiter returned, he held a tray of miniature pastries, caramels, and confections.

“We’ll play for sweets,” Michael said.

“Lieutenant Thorpe, you are a man of genius,” Hannah breathed. Her face beamed with anticipation and a new determination to win.

He rested his wrist upon the table, watching her as she focused on her cards. Mrs. Turner explained the rules, urging Hannah to choose five cards to exchange from her hand.

“The seven is the lowest card and ace is the highest,” the widow explained. “You should try to exchange the most cards, in order to hold the advantage. Then you will count the number of points in your hand.”

Hannah’s mouth was pursed, as though she were contemplating the best combination to discard. After she picked up her new cards, Mrs. Turner explained more of the rules while Michael exchanged his own cards.

“The winner of each trick will receive her choice of confections from the tray,” the widow said, reaching for one of the caramels. “I had best sample these to ensure that they are of good quality.”

“Shouldn’t we each sample a bit?” Hannah offered, eyeing the sweets.

“Not unless you win.” Michael arranged his cards. “That would be cheating.” After she’d arranged her hand, he asked, “What is your opening bid?”

Before she answered, Hannah took another glance at her cards. “What penalty will the loser pay for losing a trick?”

“There’s no penalty for losing. The winner gets the sweets, and that’s fair enough.”

“No, Lady Hannah is right,” Mrs. Turner said. “The loser should pay a forfeit.”

“I will not bleat like a goat. Or sing.” He didn’t care what the women wanted; some things were beneath his dignity.

Hannah offered him a stunning smile. “I think it should be answering questions. The loser has to tell the winner the truth, no matter what is asked.”

“Even better,” Mrs. Turner said. “We will take turns playing against one another.” From the bright color in the woman’s cheeks, it appeared that she had not suffered unduly the night before. Michael wondered if she had any memory of what she’d done. Probably not.

Hannah won the first trick. Her lips curved upwards with victory as she chose one of the caramels. Her eyes closed as she chewed the confection. “I could eat a hundred of these,” she breathed.

And didn’t he want to be the one to give them to her? The exquisite expression on her face was like a woman in the throes of sexual fulfillment.

Michael focused his attention back on his cards, ignoring the rigid arousal he was forced to hide beneath the table.

“Time for your forfeit,” Hannah demanded. She reached for a glass of lemonade that the waiter had brought earlier, thinking to herself. After a moment, she asked, “How did you and my brother Stephen become friends?”

Her question surprised him. He’d expected her to inquire about Von Reischor or the journey to Lohenberg.

“I met Whitmore at school, years ago.”

Her face turned curious. “I didn’t know you’d gone to Eton.”

Michael dealt the next set of cards, shrugging. “I did receive an education. My mother insisted on it, though it was an unnecessary hardship.”

Mrs. Turner’s face turned serious. “It was important to Mary. She wanted our Michael to have a better life than they could give.” With a smile, she added, “He was the best student there.”

“Really.” Lady Hannah’s mouth softened in thought as she arranged another card.

Michael sensed the unspoken questions. Common men rarely attended schools that educated the upper classes. The truth was, he didn’t know why he’d been allowed to attend. The headmaster had never made mention of it, though Michael was certain his fellow students had suspected his humble beginnings.

Knowing that each day he spent at school was another coin taken away from his parents, he felt he had no choice but to excel at his studies. And although he’d learned Latin and French, he’d found little use for it. A gentleman’s education didn’t amount to much without a title.

In the end, he’d followed the path of several friends, joining the British Army. Whitmore had been his closest friend and had considered a military career as well, before he’d become the heir.

Mrs. Turner played against him in the next round, and Michael spied Graf von Reischor approaching. Though he nearly lost his concentration, he managed to win the trick.

When Hannah offered him the tray, he chose a chocolate-dipped cream.

“Take it,” he bade Hannah.

“But it was your win. The sweet belongs to you.”

“My win. My choice.” He held it out, and Hannah smiled before she slipped the confection inside her mouth. The pleasure on her face made the decision worthwhile.

“And what question would you have me answer?” Mrs. Turner prompted. She eyed the confection tray with a forlorn look.

He thought a moment. “Tell me the earliest memory you have of my mother.”

The Graf greeted them, pulling up a chair. “I hope you don’t mind if I join in your conversation.”

“Not at all.” Mrs. Turner beamed.

Michael tensed, unsure if he wanted the Graf to hear stories about his mother.

“Mary Thorpe was my closest friend, you know.” Mrs. Turner’s expression turned distant as she remembered.

“She and Paul worked hard and always remembered those less fortunate than themselves.” She rubbed her chin, smiling wistfully.

“They loved you very much. After so many years of being childless, you were their gift.”

In the fraction of a moment, her voice faded to a whisper. “You were only three years old.”

He saw the Graf’s face narrow. “Three years?”

The widow frowned at the Graf. “Until you have won a trick, you are not allowed to ask questions.” She sent the Graf a stern look. “I believe it’s your turn to deal, Lady Hannah.”

Michael chose another sweet off the tray and passed it to the widow, as a silent means of thanks. The elderly woman popped it into her mouth.

“Later tonight, we will arrive at the home of Lady Hannah’s cousins,” the Graf informed them. “They live inland, a few hours beyond Bremerhaven, near the Lohenberg border.”

Michael saw Mrs. Turner’s hands begin to shake. “Lohenberg?” she whispered. “You never said we were going to Lohenberg. You said Germany.”

He hadn’t spoken of it because he’d suspected she would react in this way. “We are passing through Germany,” he admitted. “But the trip to Lohenberg will only be for a few weeks. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“No.” She stood up, raising her voice. “No. You can’t go back.”

Go back?

Mrs. Turner had turned deathly white, wringing her hands. Turning on the Graf, she demanded, “You can’t force him to go.” Muttering to herself, she pushed the cards away, overturning the tray of confections.

Michael caught her before she could run off. Hysteria was etched in her face. “Why?” he asked softly. “Why can’t I go?”

“Because they’ll kill you if you do.”