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M ichael returned to the ballroom, his posture stiff with anger.

Lady Hannah had all but accused him of stealing her diamonds.

He might be poor, but he wasn’t a thief.

Yet she wouldn’t believe that, would she?

Her blush had revealed how she viewed him: as a low-born man, a soldier who wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of a lady.

True, he had a weakness for beautiful women.

But never if they were unwilling. And that was the curious part, wasn’t it?

He’d dared to touch Lady Hannah...and she hadn’t protested.

The aristocrat with impeccable manners hadn’t slapped him with her fan or called out for help.

She’d leaned into his touch, as though she were thirsty for it.

God, she’d smelled good. Like seductive jasmine, haunting and sweet.

He hadn’t been able to resist her. He’d wanted to run his mouth over her neck, sliding the ivory gown over those bare shoulders until he revealed more of her delicate skin.

But if he had, her brother would have murdered him where he stood.

Normally, Michael had no interest in husband-seeking innocents, but Lady Hannah captivated him.

He didn’t for a moment believe that she would cast him a second glance.

Not only because of her suspicions about the necklace, but also because of his status.

As a lieutenant, he wasn’t worthy of a woman like her.

He had no title, unlike the other officers who had bought their commissions.

He’d been granted his own commission within the British Army as a gift from the Earl of Whitmore, after he’d saved the earl’s life five years ago.

And last October he’d learned what it meant to give a command, knowing that men would die because of it.

Michael had tried to save whatever men he could after his captain had died at Balaclava. But he’d failed to protect the vast majority of his company. Of the six hundred, less than two hundred had returned. He’d been one of them.

Even now, he could still hear the bullets ripping through flesh, the moans that preceded death.

He couldn’t erase the nightmares, no matter how hard he tried.

A lump tightened in the back of his throat, and he went to get another drink.

As he passed the entrance to the terrace, he wondered if he should check on Lady Hannah.

Though she wanted to find her diamonds, she was far too lovely to be venturing out alone. She needed someone to protect her from unsavory men.

Before he could follow her, a gentleman stepped into his line of sight, clearing his throat. He was accompanied by Hannah’s brother Stephen Chesterfield, the Earl of Whitmore.

“Forgive me, Thorpe, but there is someone I’d like you to meet.”

The older man wore a black cloth tailcoat, expertly tailored to his form.

His salt-and-pepper beard and mustache were neatly groomed, while the rest of his head was bald.

Gold glinted upon the handle of his cane, and every inch of the gentleman spoke of money.

Idly, Michael wondered if the man wanted a personal guard.

“This is a friend of my father’s,” Stephen said. “Graf Heinrich von Reischor, the Lohenberg ambassador to England.”

Lohenberg. Uneasiness slipped over him like a gust of cold air. The mention of the country provoked a distant memory he couldn’t quite grasp. His mouth tightened, and he forced himself to concentrate on the gentleman standing in front of him.

Whitmore finished the introduction, and Michael wondered if he was expected to bow before an ambassador. He settled upon a polite nod.

Graf von Reischor leaned upon his cane. “Thank you, Lord Whitmore. I am most grateful for the introduction. If you will excuse us?” The earl nodded to both of them and departed.

Now what was this all about? Michael wondered. The Lohenberg Graf fixed his gaze upon him in an open stare, as though he were intrigued by what he saw. Then the man lowered his voice and spoke an unfamiliar language, one that sounded like a blend of German and Danish.

Michael wondered if he was supposed to understand the words, but he could do nothing but shake his head in ignorance.

Graf von Reischor’s interest never wavered. “Forgive me, Lieutenant Thorpe. I thought you might be from Lohenberg, given your appearance.”

“My appearance?”

“Yes.” The man’s gaze was unrelenting, though there was a trace of surprise beneath it. “You look a great deal like someone I know. Enough that you could be his son.”

“My father was a fishmonger. He lived in London all his life.”

The Graf didn’t appear convinced. “And your parents...they were both English?”

“Yes.” It didn’t sit well with him that the man was implying anything about his parentage.

Michael had been their only son, and though it had been four years since they’d died of cholera, he hadn’t forgotten Mary Thorpe dying in his arms. She’d been a saint, his mother.

It shamed him that he’d never been able to provide more for them, though he’d done his best.

Graf von Reischor didn’t appear convinced. “It may be a coincidence. But I don’t know what to believe. You have no idea how strong the resemblance is.”

It was difficult to keep his anger in check. “Paul Thorpe was my father. No other man. You have no right to suggest otherwise.”

“We should discuss this in more detail,” the Graf said. “Call upon me tomorrow at Number Fourteen, St. James’s Street.”

“I have no intention of calling upon you,” Michael retorted. “I know who I am and where I come from.” He started to leave, but a gold-handled cane blocked his path.

“I’m not certain you fully understand, Lieutenant Thorpe,” the Graf said quietly. “The man you resemble is our king.”

Michael pushed his way past the Graf, refusing to even acknowledge the man’s words.

He had no desire to be the brunt of a nobleman’s joke.

Did Von Reischor believe he was some sort of lost prince?

Hardly. The Graf was trying to make sport of him, and Michael wasn’t foolish enough to fall prey to such nonsense.

As he made his way through the room of people, his anger heated up. Who did the man think he was, implying that a common soldier could be royalty? It was ridiculous to even consider.

A coldness bled through his veins, for the encounter had opened up the dreams that sometimes haunted him. Dreams of a long journey, voices shouting at him and a woman’s tears.

He gripped his fists. It wasn’t real. None of it was. And he refused to believe false visions of a life that wasn’t his.

To take his mind off the ludicrous proposition, he decided to find Lady Hannah. She’d been gone a long time, and he hadn’t seen her return to the terrace.

He retraced her path toward the roses. She’d been wearing a white gown, so it shouldn’t be difficult to find her amidst the greenery. But after an extensive search of the shrubbery and rose beds, there was no sign of her.

She’d been here. He’d swear it on his life. Michael thought back to the direction she’d gone, and he knelt down near the walkway. It was an easy matter to slip back into his military training.

Light footprints had left an imprint upon the gravel. Michael tracked her path around the side of the house, when abruptly the footprints were joined by a heavier set. Then something...no, someone , had been dragged off.

His instincts slammed a warning into him—especially when he spied Lady Hannah’s diamond necklace lying in the grass.

Michael picked it up and raced toward the stables, cursing that he hadn’t followed Lady Hannah immediately. There was no sign of her anywhere.

He clutched the diamonds, and near the end of the walkway, he spied a single landau and driver. Surely the driver would have seen anyone coming from the stables.

“Lady Hannah Chesterfield,” he demanded. “Where did she go?”

The man shrugged, his hands buried in his pockets. “Ain’t seen nothing.”

He was lying. Michael grabbed the driver by his coat and hauled him against the carriage. A handful of sovereigns spilled onto the ground, and the driver scuttled to pick them up.

A haze of red fury spread over him as he pressed the man up against the iron frame of the carriage. “Who took her?”

When the driver stubbornly kept silent, Michael tightened his grip on the man’s throat.

“I’m not one of those titled gentlemen you’re used to,” he warned.

“I’m a soldier. They pay me to kill enemies of the Crown.

And right now, I see you as one of my enemies.

” Holding fast, he waited long enough until the man started to choke.

Michael loosened his fingers, and the driver sputtered and coughed. “B-Baron Belgrave. Said they was runnin’ off t’be together. Paid me not to talk.”

“What does his carriage look like?”

The driver described an elaborate black brougham with the baron’s crest. Michael stepped aboard the carriage. “I’ll be needing this.”

“But—but you can’t steal his lordship’s landau! I’ll lose me post!”

Michael took the reins and nodded to the man.

“And what do you think will happen when you explain to the Marquess of Rothburne that you allowed his daughter to be abducted for a few sovereigns? You had best alert him immediately or you’ll face much worse than dismissal.

” Snapping the reins, Michael drew the landau around the circle and toward the London streets.

There were a thousand different places Belgrave might have taken her. As Michael struggled to make his way through the London traffic, he went through the possibilities. Was the baron trying to compromise her or wed her?

If the intent was to compromise her, then likely he would take Lady Hannah back to his townhouse where they would be caught together. Michael’s fist curled into the diamond necklace. No innocent young lady deserved this. By God, he wanted to kill the baron for what he’d done.