Without turning around, she knew it was Lieutenant Thorpe. His voice lacked the cultured tones of the upper class, making his identity obvious. Hannah contemplated ignoring him and approaching her father but then, that would be rude. And whether or not she wanted to speak to him, good manners were ingrained within her.

“I am fine, Lieutenant Thorpe. Thank you for asking.”

Despite her unspoken dismissal, he didn’t move away. She could feel him watching her, and, beneath his attention, her body began to respond. It felt too hot, even outside on the terrace. The silk of her dress felt confining. She fanned herself, not knowing why his very presence seemed to unnerve her so.

She didn’t turn around, for it wasn’t proper for her to be speaking with him alone. Even if he was completely hidden behind her, she didn’t want to take a chance of someone seeing them. “Was there something you wanted?”

He gave a low laugh, a husky sound that was far too intimate. “Nothing you can give.”

Her face flushed scarlet, not knowing what he’d meant by that. She took a hesitant step closer to her father, sensing the lieutenant’s presence like a warm breeze upon her nape. Her gown rested off her shoulders, baring her skin before him. The strand of diamonds she wore grew heavy, and she forgot about her aching head. Instead, she was intensely conscious of the man standing behind her.

“You look tired.”

It was so true. She was tired of attending balls and dinner parties. Tired of being paraded around like a porcelain doll, waiting for the right marriage offer.

“I’m all right,” she insisted. “You needn’t worry about me.” She wanted him to leave her alone. He shouldn’t be standing behind her, not where anyone could come upon them. She was about to step away when a gloved hand touched her back. The heat of his palm warmed her skin, and she jerked away out of instinct.

“Don’t touch me,” she pleaded.

“Is that what you want?”

Her shoulders rose and fell, her breathing unsteady. Of course that’s what she wanted. A man like Michael Thorpe was nothing but trouble.

But before she could say another word, his hand moved to her shoulders. Caressing the skin, gently easing the tension in her nape.

Step away from him. Scream, her brain insisted. But it was as though her mouth were stuffed with cotton. Her limbs were frozen in place, unable to move.

Her breasts prickled beneath the ivory silk, becoming aroused. He’d removed a single glove, and the vibrant intimacy of his bare palm on her flesh made her tremble.

“Don’t do this,” she pleaded. Her voice was a slight whisper, barely audible. “You—you shouldn’t.”