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.”
