LITMIR.BIZ

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she would do anything to escape marriage to Belgrave.

      ‘I have to report to duty,’ the Lieutenant warned. ‘It’s likely I would be gone within the week.’

      She gave a brisk nod, well aware of that. ‘Believe me, my parents want to see me married as soon as possible. It’s likely a wedding will be arranged in a few days. I simply refuse to wed Belgrave. Any other man will do.’

      ‘Even me?’ He sent her a sidelong smile, as though he, too, couldn’t believe what she was asking.

      ‘Well, no.’ She pinched her lips together, realising that she’d led him to believe something she’d never intended. ‘I couldn’t possibly—’

      ‘Don’t worry, sweet.’ His voice grew low, tempting her once again. ‘I’ll stop your wedding, if it’s in my power.’

      She breathed once again, her shoulders falling in relief. ‘I would be most grateful.’ Knowing that he would be there in the background, to steal her away from an unwanted wedding, gave her the sense that somehow everything would be all right. She held out her gloved palm, intending to shake his hand on the bargain.

      The Lieutenant took her gloved hand in his. Instead of a firm handshake, he raised her palm to his face. ‘If I steal the bride away,’ he murmured, pressing his lips to her hand, ‘what will I get in return?’

      Chapter Four

      ‘What do you want?’

      Michael’s response was a slow smile, letting her imagine all the things he might do to a stolen bride, if they were alone.

      Hannah’s expression appeared shocked. ‘I would never do such a thing. This is an arrangement, nothing more.’

      Her face had gone pale, and Michael pulled back, putting physical distance between them. ‘Don’t you recognise teasing when you hear it, sweet?’

      She looked bewildered, but shook her head. ‘Don’t make fun of me, please. This is about Belgrave. I simply can’t marry him.’

      ‘Then don’t.’

      ‘It’s not that simple. Already my mother has decided it would be the best future for me.’ Hannah rubbed at her temples absently. ‘I don’t know what I can do to convince her otherwise.’

      ‘It’s very simple. Tell her no.’

      She was already shaking her head, making excuses to herself. ‘I can’t. She won’t listen to a thing I say.’

      ‘You’ve never disobeyed them, have you?’

      ‘No.’ She seemed lost, so vulnerable that he half-wished there was someone who could take care of her. Not him. There was no hope of that. She was far better off away from a man like himself.

      ‘No one can force you to marry. Not even your father.’ He adjusted her shawl so it fully covered her shoulders. ‘Hold your ground and endure what you must.’

      Visions flooded his mind, of the battle at Balaclava where his men had obeyed that same command. They’d tried valiantly to stand firm before the enemy. A hailstorm of enemy bullets had rained down upon them, men dying by the hundreds.

      Was he asking her to do the same? To stand up to her father, knowing that the Marquess would strike her down? Perhaps it was the wrong course of action.

      ‘I don’t think I can,’ Hannah confessed. She tugged at a finger of her glove, worrying the fabric. ‘Papa can make my life a misery. And I’ll be ruined if I don’t marry.’

      Though she was undoubtedly right, he could not allow himself to think about her future. They were worlds apart from one another. She would have to live with whatever choices she made.

      ‘Time to make your own fortune. If you’re already ruined, you’ve nothing left to lose. Do as you please.’

      Hannah stared at him, as though she hadn’t the faintest idea of how a ruined woman should behave. ‘I don’t know. I’ve always…done what I should.’

      She took a step towards the house, away from him. He suddenly understood that she’d asked him to rescue her, not because of her parents, but because the need to obey was so deeply ingrained in her. If he kidnapped her from the wedding, she could lay the blame at his feet, not hers.

      She’s not your concern, his brain reminded him. Let her make her own choices. Tell her no.

      But he didn’t. Though he shouldn’t interfere, neither would he let her marry a man like Belgrave. He let out a breath, and said, ‘Send word to me if anything changes. Your brothers know where I can be found.’

      ‘Will you be all right?’ she asked in a small voice. ‘What if my father—?’

      ‘He can do nothing to me,’ Michael interrupted. Within a week or two, there would be hundreds of miles between them. He’d be back with the Army, fighting the enemy and obeying orders until he met his own end. Men like him weren’t good for much else.

      The troubled expression on her face hadn’t dimmed. Instead, a bright flush warmed her cheeks. ‘Thank you for agreeing to help me.’ Hannah reached up to her neck and unfastened the diamond necklace. ‘I want you to have this.’

      ‘Keep it.’ He closed her fingers back over the glittering stones. An innocent like her could never conceive of the consequences, if he were to accept. Her father would accuse him of stealing, no matter that it had been a gift.

      ‘If you’re planning to keep watch over me, then you’ll need a reason to return.’ She placed it back in his palm.

      He hadn’t considered it in that light. ‘You’re right.’ The necklace did give him a legitimate reason to return, and so he hid the jewellery within his pocket.

      ‘Return in a day or two,’ she ordered. ‘And I’ll see to it that you’re rewarded for your assistance, whether or not it’s needed.’

      He wouldn’t accept any compensation from her, though his funds were running out. ‘It’s not necessary.’

      ‘It is.’

      In her green eyes, Michael saw the loss of innocence, the devastating blow to her future. Yet beneath the pain, there was determination.

      She crossed her arms, as if gathering her courage. ‘I won’t let my father destroy my future.’ Her expression shifted into a stubborn set. ‘And I won’t let him destroy yours, either.’

      

      The older woman wandered through the streets, her crimson bonnet vivid in the sea of dark brown and black. Michael pushed his way past the fishmongers and vendors, minding his step through Fleet Street.

      Mrs Turner was lost again. He quickened his step, moving amid sailors, drovers and butchers. At last, he reached her side.

      ‘Good morning,’ he greeted her, tipping his hat.

      No recognition dawned in her silver-grey eyes, but she offered a faint nod and continued on her path.

      Damn. It wasn’t going to be one of her better days. Mrs Turner had been his neighbour and friend for as long as he could remember, but recently she’d begun to suffer spells of forgetfulness from time to time.

      He hadn’t known about her condition until he’d returned to London last November. At first, the widow had brought him food and drink, looking after him while he recovered from the gunshot wounds. He’d broken the devastating news of her son Henry’s death at Balaclava.

      And as the weeks passed, she began to withdraw, her mind clouding over. There were times when she only remembered things from the past.

      Today she didn’t recognise him at all.

      Michael tried to think of a way to break through to her lost memory. ‘You’re Mrs Turner, aren’t you?’ he commented, keeping up with her pace. ‘Of Number

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