The Accidental Princess. Michelle Willingham

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      Michael raced forward, urging the horses towards the vehicle. He barely waited for the landau to stop before he ran to Belgrave’s carriage and jerked the door open.

      Lady Hannah was lying on the floor of the carriage, moaning with her eyes closed. Lord Belgrave appeared slightly panicked, his face pale.

      Michael wasted no time and dragged the baron out, pushing him up against the black brougham. ‘I should kill you right now.’

      Belgrave blanched, and Michael punched him hard, taking satisfaction when he broke the baron’s nose.

      Blood streamed from the wound, and Belgrave snarled, trying to fight back. ‘I’ll see you hanged for assaulting me.’

      Michael leaned in close, his grip closing over Belgrave’s throat. ‘I haven’t yet decided if I’m going to let you live. I’m sure Lady Hannah’s brother wouldn’t mind at all if I rid London of an insect such as yourself.’

      He clipped the baron across the jaw, following it up with another punch to the man’s ear. The blow sent Belgrave reeling before he lost consciousness and slid to the ground. Michael glared at Belgrave’s driver, who hadn’t lifted a finger to help defend his master.

      ‘My lord, I had no choice,’ the driver apologised. ‘The baron insisted—’

      Michael cut him off. ‘Take Belgrave back to Rothburne House in this landau. Tell the Marquess what happened, and I’ll bring Lady Hannah home.’

      The driver didn’t argue, but took possession of the landau immediately, loading Belgrave’s slumped form inside. Michael waited until he’d gone, then climbed inside the brougham to Lady Hannah.

      ‘Are you all right? Did he harm you?’

      Lady Hannah clutched her head, tears streaming down her face. ‘No. But my head hurts. The pain—it’s awful.’

      Her eyes were closed, and she was holding herself so tightly, as if trying to block out the torment.

      ‘Just try to hold on, and I’ll bring you home to your father’s house.’ Gently, Michael placed her back into the carriage seat and closed the door. Taking control of the reins, he turned them back towards Rothburne House. The other driver had already departed with the Baron of Belgrave.

      It had been tempting to leave Belgrave in the streets for thieves or cut-throats to find. A man like the baron didn’t deserve mercy.

      Michael increased the pace, turning towards Hyde Park, when he heard Hannah call out, ‘Lieutenant Thorpe! Please, I need you to stop.’

      Damn it. If she were ill, he needed to get her home. Get her a doctor. Stopping the carriage would only blemish her reputation even more.

      He slowed the pace of the carriage and asked, ‘Can you hold on a little longer?’

      ‘I can’t. I’m sorry,’ she pleaded. ‘I’m going to be sick.’

      Michael expelled another curse and pulled the brougham toward a more isolated part of the park. With any luck, no one would see them or ask what they were doing.

      He opened the carriage door and found Hannah curled up into a ball, her face deathly pale. ‘What can I do to help you?’

      ‘Just…let me stay here for a bit. You don’t have any laudanum, do you?’

      He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. Do you want me to go and fetch some?’ But even as he offered, he knew it was a foolish thing to say. He couldn’t leave her here alone, not in this condition.

      ‘No.’ She kept her eyes closed, resting her face against the side of the carriage. ‘Just give me a few moments.’

      ‘Let me help you lie down,’ he suggested.

      ‘It hurts worse if I lean back.’ Her breathing was shaky, and Michael sat across from her. A gas lamp cast an amber glow across the carriage, and she winced. ‘The light hurts.’

      He’d never felt so helpless, so unable to help her through this nightmare. She was fighting to breathe, her face grey with exertion.

      And suddenly, his worry about her family and her reputation seemed ridiculous in light of her illness. This was about helping her to endure pain, and that was something he understood. He’d watched men suffering from bullet wounds, crying out in torment. On the battlefield, he’d done what he could to ease them. It was all he could do for her now.

      Michael closed the carriage door, making it as dark as possible. He removed his jacket and covered up the window to keep out the light.

      ‘I can’t…can’t breathe.’ Her shoulders were hunched, her eyes turning glassy.

      He didn’t ask permission, but unbuttoned the back of her gown in order to loosen her stays. Hannah didn’t protest, and she seemed to breathe easier once it was done. He held her upright in his arms, keeping silent.

      

      An hour passed, and in time, he felt her body begin to relax. She slept in his arms, but Michael couldn’t release his own tension. Her father would be looking for them. He needed to get her out of here, take her home. But he was afraid of causing her more pain.

      

      Her hair had fallen loose from its pins, and the dark honey locks rested against his cheek, smelling sweetly of jasmine. He’d heard that some women suffered from headaches as excruciating as this one, but he’d never witnessed it before. Nonetheless, her unexpected illness had probably saved her from Belgrave’s unwanted attentions. It was a blessing in that sense.

      The night air was cold, but Hannah’s body heat kept him warm. His neck and shoulders were stiff, but that didn’t bother him. She was no longer in pain, and he was grateful for it.

      It had been a gruelling experience, one he didn’t care to repeat. He was unbearably alert, attuned to Hannah in a way he’d never expected. Against his chest, he could feel the rise and fall of her breathing.

      There would be hellish consequences. And yet he wouldn’t have changed what he’d done. He’d rescued her from that bastard Belgrave and protected her innocence. She could go into her future marriage as an untouched bride, the way she should. That is, if he could get her home without anyone realising where she’d spent the last hour or two.

      He had his doubts.

      Michael watched her sleeping, the strands of hair twining around her throat and spilling over the curve of her breasts. Her beauty stole his breath away.

      Innocence and purity. Everything he didn’t deserve.

      From his pocket, he withdrew the strand of diamonds and fastened them around her throat. Bare skin peeped from the open back of her dress where he’d loosened her corset. He wanted to kiss her, to run his mouth over that silken skin. Like forbidden fruit, she tempted him to taste.

      Only a few hours ago, he’d touched her back, indulging himself in a bit of wickedness. She’d allowed him liberties he never should have taken.

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