A Stolen Heart

by Candace Camp

  Thorpe smiled sardonically. “My dear Miss Ward, my intentions are rarely honorable. Surely someone must have told you that by now.”

  “It has been mentioned to me that you have…something of a reputation.”

  “You put it delicately.” He crossed his arms. “The truth is, I am scandalous, Miss Ward. I am considered a roué. While I am welcome husband material, having a fortune, I must be watched at all times by any young girl’s chaperone.”

  “You are in the habit of seducing young girls?” Alexandra asked, her back stiffening. Could it really be true that he vilely preyed on innocent maidens? That he sought out and seduced vulnerable girls whose heads were easily turned by a man of looks and fortune?

  “No. I am not. I find simpering young debutantes deadly dull. There are many mamas who would love to think that I covet their darlings’ virtue, but I rarely find virtue interesting. Nor am I interested in tricking a woman of any age or amount of innocence into my bed.”

  “Then what do you seek, if I may ask?”

  “A night of pleasure with a woman who knows what she wants.”

  “I see. Love, I take it, plays no part in your plan.”

  His lip curled slightly. “Love, Miss Ward, is a notion for young fools, neither of which I am any longer.”

  Any longer. “I see,” Alexandra said again, thinking that indeed she did. Thorpe’s words were bitter, not indifferent, the words not of a man who had no use for love but of one who had been disappointed in it. “So you are offering me a brief, loveless moment of mating? I must say, it seems hard to turn down.”

  Her words surprised a grin from him. “You have a way with words. I would hope it is not exactly that.” He reached out and looped a single finger through hers—the briefest of touches, yet it sent heat shimmering through her. “I would say a time of passion, hopefully not brief, a mutual sharing of pleasure between adults without any efforts to control or gain an advantage.”

  Alexandra looked down, smoothing her skirt. “I fear you must think I am someone other than who I am.”

  “Are you going to tell me that you are a conventional shrinking maiden?” he asked, humor lacing his voice. “My dear woman, I just kissed you. I would have to differ.”

  She raised her eyes, looking at him in her usual honest way. “I would be a fool to deny what I felt. And I realize that I am rather unconventional in many of the things I do. Nor am I a young girl. I am twenty-four years old and used to making decisions.”

  “I am quite aware of that.”

  “However, I think you seek a woman of experience.”

  His eyes seemed suddenly to burn hotter. “And you are not?”

  “Not of the sort I believe you require.”

  “Excuse me. I had thought—when I kissed you—”

  Alexandra blushed. “I am sorry to disappoint you.”

  He smiled slowly. “Oh, no, you did not disappoint me. But I can see now that I rushed my fences. I am not usually so foolish.” He took her hand and raised it formally to his lips. “My dear Miss Ward, please forgive my importunities. I can see that we need to take our time.”

  “Then you are setting out to seduce me?” Alexandra asked curiously.

  “If you mean to trick you into my bed, no,” he replied. He kissed each of her fingers lightly on the tip as he went on. “But to supply you with the information you need to make a decision, yes. As a businesswoman, I am sure that you would appreciate the distinction.”

  A laugh burst from Alexandra. “You are clever, my lord. But I think we are miles apart. I, you see, believe in love. Without it, passion is a hollow pleasure.”

  “This, I believe, is an argument we shall have ample time to discuss,” he said, a sensual smile playing on his lips. “In the meantime, perhaps we should return to the party. Otherwise tongues will indeed be wagging.”

  He offered her his arm, and Alexandra slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow. They strolled down the hallway to the ballroom.

  They had just stepped into the room when Thorpe’s gaze lit on a group of people, and he smiled with satisfaction. “Ah. There she is.”

  “Who?” Alexandra turned and looked in the direction of his gaze, her curiosity aroused.

  He was looking at a group of four people who were chatting with Nicola Falcourt. There was a balding, plump man, rather ordinary-looking, and beside him a formidable middle-aged woman in deep royal blue. She was squarely built with a jutting bosom like the prow of a ship. A young slip of girl was with them, colorless in a maidenly white dress. Her hair was a nondescript brown, and Alexandra could not tell the color of her eyes, for they were hidden behind spectacles. The last member of the party, who was bending to kiss Nicola’s cheek, was, in Alexandra’s view, the most interesting. She was older than the formidable woman, but infinitely more attractive and intriguing. There was the air about her of a woman who had always been attractive to men, a certain confidence of carriage, a poise and even a hint of flirtatiousness as she smiled. She was tall and slender, with a mass of white hair, and her blue eyes, hooded by age, were still keen and twinkling with amusement.

  “The elegant lady in gray and silver crepe?” Alexandra asked Thorpe. “Is she your Countess?”

  Thorpe smiled fondly. “Yes. She is indeed my Countess.”

  They started across the room toward the group. Thorpe said as they walked, “Her granddaughter, Penelope, is a pleasant girl, but don’t expect much from Lady Ursula. She was never fond of me—always thought I was a bad influence on her son, Artie.”

  “And were you?”

  “Doubtless,” he responded, smiling. “But, then, Artie desperately needed a bad influence. Poor lad, he grew quite dull after I left.”

  They drew close to the group. Lady Ursula turned and saw them, and her mouth drew up like a prune. “Thorpe,” she said without enthusiasm.

  The Countess turned at her daughter’s words, smiling brilliantly. “Thorpe! How wonderful to see you.” She held out her hands to him. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”

  Thorpe stepped forward, between Alexandra and the older woman. He took the Countess’s hands and raised them to his lips. “My lady. I, on the other hand, had hoped that I would find you here. There is someone I would like you to meet.”

  He stepped aside at his words, holding out a hand toward Alexandra. She moved toward them. “Countess, allow me to intro—”

  The Countess looked beyond him to Alexandra, and the blood drained from her face. “Simone!”

  She crumpled to the floor.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  FOR AN INSTANT THE GROUP WAS FROZEN in horror, staring at the Countess in a heap of silver gauze upon the floor.

  “Countess!” Thorpe moved first, going down on one knee and gently lifting her upper torso from the floor, his arm around her shoulders.

  “Mother!” Lady Ursula declared in startled accents. “Good God, why did she—” She bent over her mother. “Is she all right?”

  Thorpe felt the older woman’s pulse. “I think she just fainted. Let’s get her out of here.”

  “Yes, of course.” Ursula glanced uneasily around at the room, where faces were turning curiously toward them.

  Thorpe put his other arm under the Countess’s knees and stood up, lifting her easily.

  “What made her say that name? It’s so bizarre.” She turned to look accusingly at Alexandra, as if somehow the incident were her fault. She stopped in midsentence, staring at Alexandra. “Good God!”

  Alexandra gazed at her wonderingly. The other woman whirled abruptly and hurried after Thorpe.

  “Wait here.” Thorpe tossed the words over his shoulder toward Alexandra, and then he was gone, striding out the door with Lady Ursula, her husband and her daughter scurrying after him like a flock of agitated chickens.

  Nicola and Alexandra turned toward each other in astonishment.

  “How extraordinary,” Nicola commented. “I’ve known the Countess all my life, and I’ve never seen her faint. She’s a
very strong woman.”

  “She seemed to, ah, find the sight of me disturbing.”

  “I am sure it wasn’t that,” Nicola reassured her.

  Alexandra, however, was not so sure. Lady Ursula had reacted strongly to the sight of her, as well, even though she had not fainted. “Why do you think she said that name? Was she calling me Simone?”

  “I don’t know. Why would she call you that?”

  Alexandra shook her head. “Perhaps I reminded her of someone?”

  Nicola shrugged gracefully. “I don’t know of anyone named Simone among our acquaintances. It sounds French, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, it does.”

  Alexandra glanced to the side and saw a man making his way purposefully toward them. It was the Earl of Exmoor, to whom Thorpe had introduced her earlier in the evening. Nicola let out what sounded very much like a curse beneath her breath.

  “I hope there was nothing wrong with the Countess,” the man said smoothly as he joined them.

  “I am sure she will be all right,” Nicola said coolly. “No doubt it was the heat of the room.”

  “Mm. I am sure you are right. The Countess is getting a trifle advanced in years, perhaps, to be attending such a crush.”

  “You make her sound as if she were feeble, Richard. She’s a strong, vibrant woman.”

  “My dear sister, I meant no insult to the woman. She is a remarkable woman, and I admire her tremendously.”

  “I am not your sister.”

  Alexandra glanced at Nicola, recognizing the iron in her voice. Thorpe’s earlier coolness toward this man was as nothing compared to Nicola’s obvious dislike.

  “Come, come, Nicola, you will give our visitor here the wrong impression.”

  “If I have given her the impression that I do not like you, then it is a very accurate one.”

  Alexandra was impressed. Nicola might look as fragile as a flower, but her backbone was obviously made of steel. She stood facing the man, her body stiff, her arms rigid at her sides, her eyes flashing.

  Exmoor made a wry face, looking at Alexandra. “I am sorry, Miss Ward. Miss Falcourt and I have the problem of perhaps being too close.”

  His words seemed deliberately suggestive, and the look he shot Nicola was challenging.

  Nicola answered by curling her lip into a sneer. “Don’t make a fool of yourself, Exmoor.” She turned toward Alexandra. “Please excuse me, Miss Ward.”

  “Of course.” She watched the other woman walk away. Then she turned toward the Earl. He certainly did not seem to be a popular man.

  He shrugged and smiled. “Nicola and I have always had our little disagreements. Still, we are family.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. Her sister is my wife.”

  “Oh.” Alexandra was taken aback. There was certainly no love lost between these in-laws.

  “Perhaps that explains her antipathy toward me. She and Deborah were quite close growing up. It can often cause jealousy in a younger sister when the older one marries.”

  “I suppose it can,” Alexandra replied noncommittally.

  “What happened to the Countess?” he asked, abruptly reverting to his earlier subject. “It looked as if she fell.”

  “I believe she fainted.”

  He frowned. “I trust she was not ill.” He glanced toward the door. “Perhaps I should go see about her.”

  “Lord Thorpe and her daughter are with her. I am sure that they will see that she is taken care of.”

  “Do you, uh, know the Countess?” he asked.

  “No. That is, I just met her.”

  “I see. Remarkable woman. Quite a beauty in her day, I understand.”

  “I’m sure she was.”

  He continued making polite chitchat. Alexandra supposed that the Earl felt he must keep her company since Nicola had left. However, she soon grew tired of the insipid conversation about her life in America and her visit to England. As soon as she could politely take her leave of him, she did so. She strolled around the room for a while, but she soon grew bored with that. She knew no one there except Nicola, and while she liked her, Alexandra felt that she could not hang upon Nicola’s skirts all evening like a lost child. Quite frankly, without Thorpe’s presence, the gathering had lost most of its appeal. She wondered when he would be returning and whether the Countess was all right. Finally she went in search of the group.

  She could not find them outside the doors of the ballroom or in the entry hall. When she asked one of the numerous footmen if he had seen Lord Thorpe, he informed her that he had left with the Countess of Exmoor and her group.

  Alexandra’s first thought was that he had abandoned her, and she felt a flash of hurt. But she reminded herself that he had told her to wait as he was leaving, and that must have meant that he intended to return. She sighed. She had little interest in hanging about here being bored until Thorpe came back for her. Surely she could leave by herself and go home. After all, it had been only a short distance from her house to this one, a matter of mere blocks, and she was certain that she could find her way. She could walk it easily.

  The idea of going home and indulging in a cup of hot cocoa and going to bed grew more and more appealing. Her feet hurt; she was bored; she felt like a fool standing around in the front hall. She made up her mind, then sent one of the footmen for her Paisley shawl. She wrapped it around her shoulders and walked out of the front door, ignoring the rather shocked expression of the footman. Doubtless properly brought up Englishwomen did not walk home from a party, she thought, but Alexandra had little patience for such foolish rules.

  It was a pleasant walk. The May breeze still held a hint of coolness, but her shawl combated that. The evening was quiet, as it never was in the daytime. She was used to walking quite a bit back home, and she realized that she had missed it.

  She crossed the street and started up the block toward her house. There was the sound of footsteps behind her, walking rapidly. They were gaining on her, and for the first time, she felt a bit of unease. She reassured herself that this part of town was quite safe, but nevertheless, she picked up her pace. Suddenly the sound of the steps stopped. She turned around, surprised, and suddenly a figure burst out from the shrubbery behind her and launched himself at her. They tumbled to the pavement.

  Alexandra let out a shriek before he covered her mouth with one hand. They rolled across the ground, grappling, until finally he succeeded in wrapping his arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides. He stood up, jerking her to her feet.

  “Dammit! You virago!” he whispered, holding her immobilized from behind. “Go back where you came from. You understand?” He shook her a little.

  Alexandra kicked back, the heel of her slipper connecting hard with his shin. The man let out a grunt of surprise and pain, and his arm slackened around her. Alexandra pulled away from him, and he grabbed her, catching her sleeve. It ripped, tearing her dress loose at the shoulder and leaving him with only a sleeve in his hand as she raced away.

  Alexandra ran toward her house, screaming, as the front door opened and two footmen stuck curious heads out. They goggled at the sight of Alexandra running toward them. Aunt Hortense pushed them out of her way as she ran onto the front stoop.

  “Alexandra!” She hurried toward her niece, holding up her lamp to see, and the two footmen, embarrassed, came running out, too.

  Behind her, Alexandra heard her attacker take off in the opposite direction. She swung around to see the dark figure receding down the street. The two footmen gave chase but gave up by the end of the block.

  “Alexandra! Child! What happened?” Aunt Hortense wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Did that Englishman attack you?”

  Alexandra smiled a little at her aunt’s warlike expression. “No, Auntie. That is, I suspect it must have been an Englishman, but not the Englishman you mean.”

  “What happened? You’re all a mess.” Aunt Hortense led her into the house. “Your cheek is scratched.”

  “I’m not s
urprised. Someone jumped out at me.” Alexandra shivered a little, suddenly cold in the aftermath of the excitement. Her nerves were jangled, and she felt stunned and rather fuzzy. Her cheek was beginning to sting, and she felt sore all up and down the front of her body where she had landed so hard on the pavement. Her dress was torn and dirty. She drew in a straggly breath and blinked away the tears that were threatening to pour out.

  “Jumped out at you! Exactly where was that man who took you away from here?”

  “You make it sound as if he abducted me.”

  “I assumed, when he escorted you from your home, that he would return you safe and sound, not abandon you to be set upon by thieves.”

  Aunt Hortense steered her into the nearest room, the formal drawing room, leading her toward the blue couch.

  “He didn’t abandon me,” Alexandra retorted with irritation. “He had to leave, and I was bored, so I came home by myself. It was only a few blocks. I could easily walk it.”

  “Ha! You obviously couldn’t,” her aunt pointed out. “I’d like to know what kind of man would just walk off and leave you at a party! Well, never mind that now,” she went on as Alexandra drew breath to argue. “Sit down here on the sofa. What you need is a stiff shot of brandy.”

  Aunt Hortense looked around and caught sight of the clot of servants standing just outside the drawing room door. “You, there, what do you think you’re doing, standing about like a gapeseed? Go fetch your mistress a glass of brandy. The rest of you, take some lanterns and go check the street—make sure that scoundrel isn’t still out there.”

  The servants scattered at her words. Aunt Hortense sighed. “No sense, the lot of them.”

  There was a gasp at the door, and they turned toward it. Alexandra’s mother stood in the doorway, staring in horror at Alexandra.