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Nonetheless, he has graciously offered to wed you.’
    She’d rather die than wed Belgrave. ‘Papa, it isn’t as bad as all that. Lieutenant Thorpe did nothing wrong.’
    ‘Belgrave informed me that Thorpe assaulted him and took you away in a stolen carriage.’
    ‘That lying blackguard,’ Hannah blurted out, then clamped her hand over her mouth. Insults wouldn’t help her cause.
    Horrified, she met her father’s infuriated expression, hoping he wouldn’t believe the lies. Surely he would trust her,after all the years she’d been an obedient daughter. One mistake wouldn’t eradicate everything, would it?
    Thoughts of the Lieutenant’s forbidden kiss flayed her conscience. She could have fought him off, but instead, she’d kissed him back. It had been curiosity and shock, mingled together with the first stirrings of desire. She’d wanted to know what a real kiss would be like. But not at this terrible cost.
    ‘Harrison, take my daughter home,’ the Marquess commanded to his footman. ‘I will accompany Lieutenant Thorpe in this carriage.’
    The Lieutenant gave an abrupt nod, and Hannah tried to fathom the man’s thoughts. His hazel eyes were shielded, his face expressionless.
    She prayed that they could undo the mistake that had been made. Surely they could keep matters quiet. She’d been a victim and didn’t deserve to be punished like this. If anyone deserved to be drawn and quartered, it was Lord Belgrave.
    As the footman closed the carriage door, Hannah twisted her hands together. Thank goodness the Lieutenant possessed no title. Were he an earl or a viscount, no doubt her father would demand that he marry her.
    As a common officer in the British Army, that would never happen. She should feel relieved, but her nerves wound tighter. Her father was so angry right now, he might do something rash.
    And she didn’t know what that might be.
     
    ‘You should know that the only thing that prevents me from killing you where you stand is the fact that I don’t want your blood staining my carpet.’ The Marquess of Rothburne pointed to a wingback chair in his study. ‘Sit.’
    ‘I am not your dog,’ Michael responded. He was well aware that he was only tossing oil upon the fire of James Chesterfield’s rage, but he refused to behave as if he’d seduced Lady Hannah.
    Kissed her, yes. But that wasn’t a crime.
    Michael rested his forearms upon the back of the chair and met the Marquess’s gaze squarely. ‘I don’t regret rescuing Lady Hannah from the Baron of Belgrave. You know as well as I that the man isn’t worthy of her.’
    ‘And neither are you.’
    ‘You’re right.’ There was no reason to take offence at the truth. He possessed enough to live comfortably on his army salary, but it wasn’t enough to support a Marquess’s daughter. He didn’t want a wife, or any family who would rely upon him.
    ‘Because of you, her reputation is destroyed.’
    ‘No.’ Michael drew closer to the desk, resting his hands upon the carved wood. ‘Because of Belgrave. Were it not for him, she’d never have been taken from Rothburne House.’
    ‘You should have brought her home immediately!’ The Marquess’s face was purple with wrath.
    He knew it. But she’d been in such pain, he hadn’t wanted to make it worse. At the time, he’d thought it would only be for a short while—not hours. Perhaps he should have driven her home, despite the agony she would have endured. Still, it did no good to dwell upon events he couldn’t change.
    ‘She’s had headaches like that one before, hasn’t she?’ Michael said softly. ‘She told me she keeps laudanum in her reticule.’
    ‘That is beside the point.’
    ‘Is it? I presume you’ve seen how much she suffers? That any form of light or sound gives her pain beyond all understanding? I’ve seen men take a bullet through their shoulder and suffer less than what I saw her endure.’
    He didn’t add that there were moments when he’d wondered if she was