by Candace Camp
“My baby!” she wailed. “What happened? Did they get you, too? Are they attacking us?”
She rushed into the room and dropped on her knees beside Alexandra. Tears gushed down her face as she patted ineffectually at Alexandra’s hair and arm and tried to wipe some of the dirt from her skirts. “Oh, my dear, oh, my dear,” she repeated over and over.
“Mother, it’s all right. No one is attacking us,” Alexandra said, trying to keep her voice soothing. Her mother’s light, frantic touch and words jarred her already frazzled nerves. “Really. It’s all right. It was just an accident. I fell.”
“No. No. They’re coming here. I know it. We have to flee. Get the carriage.”
Alexandra’s breath caught in her throat. The light in her mother’s eyes was alarming. She looked almost mad. “Mother, it’s all right. No one is coming to get us. We are fine. There are plenty of servants, and we are inside the house.”
“You don’t know! You don’t know!” Rhea’s voice rose in panic. “The servants will turn against us! We’ll be helpless!”
“Mama!” Alexandra gripped her mother’s arms. “It’s all right!”
Nancy, her mother’s companion, came hurrying into the room, her feet bare and her voluminous white cotton nightgown billowing around her. “Miz Rhea! There you are! I’m sorry.” Nancy cast an apologetic glance at Alexandra and Aunt Hortense. “I didn’t know she was up.”
She bent over Rhea Ward and pulled the hysterical woman to her feet, wrapping her arms around her in a hug that was both comforting and restraining. “There, there. Nothing’s going to happen to you or to any of us.”
“It’s not?” Rhea turned toward the other woman, hope dispelling some of the panic in her voice. “Truly?”
“I promise you. You know I wouldn’t let anybody hurt you.”
“But the mob—” She cast an eye agitatedly toward the front window.
“There’s no mob out there, ma’am. Listen. Do you hear a mob?”
Rhea paused, her head cocked, listening. “No.” A tremulous smile broke across her face. “You are right. They must have turned and gone somewhere else.”
“That’s it,” Nancy agreed soothingly. “Now, let’s you and I go back to bed.”
Rhea nodded and went along with her docilely.
“Nancy,” Aunt Hortense said as the two of them reached the door, “perhaps it would be best if you slept in Mrs. Ward’s room tonight.”
“Just what I was thinking, Miss Hortense. I’ll have someone set up a cot for me.”
Alexandra watched her mother leave with the servant, and tears welled in her eyes. “Oh, Mother,” she breathed. She looked at her aunt. “What is the matter with her? What should we do?”
“She’ll be all right in the morning,” Aunt Hortense told her matter-of-factly. “You’ll see. The noise woke her up, and she got scared. Probably heard all the servants jabbering and running around.”
“But what was she talking about? Why did she think there was a mob?”
“Oh, that. She used to do that a lot when you were little. You just don’t remember. She would wake up from nightmares, terrified and talking about the mob coming to get her and you. It was that thing she went through in France, I think. That revolution, with all those people rioting and running around with torches pulling people out of their houses. Rhea never wanted to talk about it, but I think it scared her to death. She was afraid they were going to try to kill her and you, too—mistake you for aristocrats or something, I guess.”
“But why now?”
“Oh, I doubt it was anything but being jerked out of her sleep and seeing the servants acting scared. She probably heard you screaming. It scared me, I’ll tell you. She was confused. Ah, there’s that brandy.” Her aunt turned as the butler entered the room, wearing a dressing gown over his nightshirt, a nightcap on his head, and carrying a silver tray with a bottle of brandy and two snifters on it.
Alexandra subsided, a troubled expression on her face, as her aunt bustled to the small table where the butler set the tray and began to pour her a healthy dose of brandy.
“Here, you’ll feel much better after this.”
Alexandra took the snifter from her with both hands, surprised to find that she was trembling too much to hold it with one, and took a gulp. The liquor burned like fire all the way down to her stomach, making her eyes water. She coughed and tried to hand the glass to her aunt, but Hortense crossed her arms and told her to finish the liquor.
“Brandy was always Father’s cure for a case of the nerves—and anything else that ailed you, actually. And he lived to be eighty-six, so he must have gotten something right.”
“All right.” Alexandra tried not to breathe and took another gulp. A shiver ran through her, and her stomach felt as if it had burst into flames, but she could feel relaxation stealing through her.
“Good God, you fool, let go of me!” A man’s angry voice came ringing down the hall. “What the devil is going on?”
“Thorpe!” Alexandra surged to her feet just as Thorpe stalked into the room, shaking off the restraining hand of one of the footmen. The sudden movement made her feel dizzy, and she swayed.
“Alexandra!” he exclaimed, taking in her disheveled condition in a glance, as well as her wobbliness, and he crossed the room in two quick strides, then caught her in his arms. “My God, what happened to you? And why is your front door open and all the servants prowling about with lanterns?”
Alexandra sagged against his chest, warmth flooding her. “Oh, Thorpe. There was a man and he—he jumped out—”
“What!” Thorpe looked stunned, then thunderous.
“I—I—” Suddenly, surprising everyone, including herself, Alexandra burst into tears.
“Alexandra! My dear girl.” Lord Thorpe’s arms went around her, and he cuddled her close to him, bending his head over hers. “It’s all right. I’m here. I won’t let anyone get you. It’s all right.”
Gently he stroked her hair and back, murmuring softly. Aunt Hortense, who had watched in wonder the joy that spread over her niece’s face when she saw this man, as well as the way she collapsed against him, stood for a moment looking thoughtful, then tiptoed out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.
Alexandra snuggled into Thorpe’s arms, luxuriating in the feeling of warmth and security, and gradually her tears abated. She stood for a moment with her head against his chest, listening to the soothing beat of his heart. It felt so nice here that she didn’t want to leave.
She lifted her tear-streaked face to Thorpe. “I’m sorry.”
Thorpe looked at her, her cheeks soft and damp, the big, dark eyes luminous. He smiled. “No need to apologize.”
He took out his handkerchief and began to blot the tears on her cheeks. She was beautiful, and so soft in his arms. Her hair was in charming disarray, curls escaping from their pinnings and tumbling over her shoulders. His gaze slid farther, to where her dress had been torn in the struggle. It had come completely off one shoulder, the little puff of a sleeve torn away, and the front of the bodice had fallen on that side, exposing the creamy top of her breast, swelling above the lacy camisole.
Thorpe’s mouth went dry. He was unable to look away from that delectable mound of flesh. He could see the dark circle of her nipple through the sheer material of the camisole. He thought about putting his lips to the soft, quivering orb; he thought of taking the pink-brown nipple into his mouth and teasing it into diamond hardness. Desire swelled in him.
He dragged his eyes to her face, but he found that her beauty did not decrease his desire in the slightest. Her lips were full and deep red, moist and soft from her bout of tears. As she looked at him, they parted slightly.
Thorpe pulled her tightly against him, and his lips came down on hers. He kissed her fully and deeply, drinking in the sweetness of her mouth, his desire as suddenly full and tumultuous as it had been in the gallery. Alexandra pressed into him eagerly, her arms going around his neck and holding on. He let out a
soft moan, his lips pressing harder against hers. Passion thrummed in him. She was soft and pliant against him, and the little sounds that rose from her throat stoked his desire.
His hand slipped to her breast, covering it and stroking the quivering flesh, bare above her camisole. He could feel her nipple hardening beneath his palm, and he wanted to feel it without any cloth between them. He pushed down the camisole, sliding it across the budding nipple, and took her nipple between his thumb and finger. Gently he rolled and pressed, caressing it, delighting in the way it thrust out even more, firm and proud.
He had to taste it. Pulling his mouth from Alexandra’s, he kissed a trail down the slender column of her throat and across her chest. His mouth moved tenderly over the slope of her breast until he found the prize he sought. Softly his tongue traced the button of engorged flesh.
A groan escaped Alexandra’s lips. She sagged against Thorpe’s arm, her eyes closed, lost in the sensations he was creating in her. With every movement of his tongue, her loins quivered and grew hotter. She felt like wax melting in his arms. When he took her nipple into his mouth and began to suckle, she cried out softly, her body jerking in a paroxysm of delight. She had never felt anything like this, had never even known that such sensations existed. Her body was consumed by heat; each rhythmic pull of his mouth sent another shock of desire through her. There was a deep ache growing between her legs, a yearning that she didn’t know how to satisfy.
Alexandra moved her hips against him instinctively, searching for satisfaction, and Sebastian shuddered. His hands went to her buttocks, digging into them and shoving her even more tightly against him. His desire throbbed against her, hot and rigid. Slowly he moved her hips over him, and Alexandra gasped at the new sensation, her passion spiraling.
In the hall there was the sound of footsteps and a man’s voice saying, “Nothing, Miss Ward.”
“No trace of him?” Aunt Hortense bellowed, sounding irritated.
Alexandra gasped and stepped back, jolted from her haze of passion by the sounds. She put her hand to her mouth, her eyes huge, looking at Thorpe.
Fury stabbed through Thorpe, and he wished the servants and Aunt Hortense to hell for interrupting them. He wanted to reach out and pull Alexandra into his arms, ignoring the world outside the room, but then reason returned to him. This was hardly the time or place for lovemaking. Anyone could walk in at any moment, and the scandal would be all over London within a day. He realized, too, with something of a jolt, that he was acting like a cad. Alexandra had just gone through a frightening experience; she was unusually vulnerable—and he was taking advantage of that vulnerability. He certainly had no qualms about having a mutually satisfying affair with a woman, but he knew that it would be unfair and dishonest to lure her into lovemaking when she was so shaken and frightened by an attack.
Irritated at himself, he turned away, saying gruffly, “Forgive me. I should not—”
Alexandra wrapped her arms around herself, feeling very empty and alone. She cleared her throat, telling herself not to be a fool. “There’s no need. I was not myself. The circumstances were—”
“What happened?” He turned, seizing on the topic. It was doubly irritating, he found, that he was still throbbing with desire, even if his good sense had taken over enough to stop him before they tumbled together on the floor.
“I’m not sure.” Alexandra frowned. “He jumped out at me from behind some shrubs. He followed me—at least, I think he did. I started hearing footsteps, and then they were gone, and the next thing I knew, he was rushing out of the shrubs down the street. He grabbed me from behind and he said—this is what is so very strange—he said, ‘Go home!’”
“’Go home?’” Thorpe repeated in disbelief.
“Yes. Or go back where you came from. Something like that.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I am!” Alexandra snapped. “I could scarcely mistake something like that. He distinctly told me to leave. Why would anyone care? Why would someone attack me just to tell me to go back to the United States?”
Thorpe stared at her dumbfounded. “I cannot imagine. You must have heard him wrong.”
“I did not hear him wrong. That is what he said.”
Thorpe looked at her for a moment. He felt quite sure that the man had not grabbed her to tell her to leave the country. It was absurd. No doubt his intent had been to rape her; Alexandra was probably just too naïve to realize that. The thought made his blood boil. He thought with great satisfaction of what he would do to the man if he had him in his hands.
Frustrated, he snapped, “What the devil were you doing out there in the first place? Haven’t you any sense?”
Stung, Alexandra retorted, “I was walking home. If you will remember, you left me at the ball.”
“I told you to wait.”
“I didn’t feel like it. I was tired, and I didn’t know anyone. The footman told me you had gone away in the carriage with the Countess, and I had no idea when you would be coming back—or even if you would.”
“You think that I would simply abandon you there?”
“Well, you did.”
“I was coming back. I wanted to see the Countess home, to make sure she was all right. I specifically told you to wait. If you had listened to me instead of charging off on your own, it wouldn’t have happened.”
“Oh!” Alexandra glared at him. “Now you are blaming me because some man decided to attack me?”
“I’m not blaming you. I am simply saying that it was foolish of you to walk home without an escort.”
“May I remind you that I am perfectly able to take care of myself. I don’t have to sit around kicking my heels, waiting for my escort to reappear and trundle me home like some piece of baggage.”
“Able to take care of yourself?” He raised a scornful brow. “It hardly appears that way.”
“What do you mean?” Alexandra clenched her hands, jutting her chin forward pugnaciously. “I did take care of myself. I kicked him and tore away from him and ran to the house. No one helped me but myself!”
“The point is that you wouldn’t even have been attacked if you had not been walking alone. He probably thought you were—”
“Were what?” Alexandra’s eyes flashed fire, and she set her hands on her hips.
“Easy prey,” Thorpe said, tight-lipped. “And, blast it, you were.”
“I think it’s time for you to leave,” Alexandra said coldly.
Thorpe started to speak, then stopped. “Yes. No doubt you are right. I will take my leave of you.” He turned and strode toward the door. He stopped as he reached it and turned. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow afternoon,” he said peremptorily. “I promised the Countess that I would bring you over then. She wants very much to meet you.” He gave her a nod and added, “Good night. Make sure all your doors are locked.”
Alexandra’s jaw dropped. How dare he tell her where she was going and what she was doing tomorrow afternoon? She whirled and took out some of her frustration by kicking a stool across the room.
“Ow!” She hurt her toe and hopped over to the sofa, holding it. “Blast that man!”
Lord Thorpe, she decided, was the most arrogant, aggravating, high-handed man she had ever had the misfortune to meet. First he left her at the party, telling her to wait there, as if she were a dog or a servant. Then he had the nerve to tell her that she should not have left the party without him, that she had not heard what she had, and that it was her fault someone had attacked her because she had walked home alone. And he had finished it all off by telling her that he was taking her to the Countess’s the next afternoon, as if she had nothing to say in the matter!
The awful thing, she had to admit to herself, was that despite all that, no matter his arrogance or his ordering her about, she was still all aquiver from those moments when they had kissed. His kisses had stirred her in ways she had never known before, and even now she felt hot and jittery—and if he walked in the door this instant, she would
have to struggle to keep from running to him to kiss him again! How could a man infuriate her so much and at the same time make her want him so? Alexandra would not have thought it possible.
Her aunt bustled in. “Has he left?” Her eyes searched Alexandra’s face carefully.
“Yes. Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know—as if you are searching for something.”
“No. It’s only…I’ve never seen you look at someone that way.”
“What way?”
“The way you looked at Mr. Thorpe.”
“Lord Thorpe.”
“Of course. Lord Thorpe.” Her aunt rolled her eyes. “These Englishmen and their infernal love of titles. As if that makes any difference to what the man is.” She paused. “Alexandra, do you…have feelings for this man?”
“Feelings?” Alexandra could feel heat rising in her face, and she hoped the light was dim enough that her aunt could not see. “Don’t be absurd. He’s an egotistical, overbearing—” She made a noise of frustration, then said, “If I have any feeling for him, it is one of dislike.”
“Oh.”
“And don’t give me that look. I am going to bed now,” Alexandra went on grumpily.
“I think that’s an excellent idea for all of us,” her aunt agreed.
Alexandra stalked upstairs and got ready for bed, finally dismissing her maid, who kept chattering about the attack and asking Alexandra excited questions until she was ready to scream. She finished brushing her hair herself, which she preferred, anyway.
She didn’t know when she had ever felt this strange, this jangled and puzzled and uncertain, even scared. Why had that man attacked her tonight? No matter what Thorpe said, she was certain he had told her to leave. Why would anyone threaten her like that? Why would anyone care whether she stayed or went home? It made the whole thing seem somehow much more frightening than if the man had been a common thief.
Adding to her mental turmoil were thoughts of Thorpe. She didn’t understand her feelings for him, and she also didn’t know how she could possibly get to sleep with this yearning still bubbling through her. And, finally, she could not get out of her head this evening’s meeting with the Countess. She had thought about it ever since, her mind returning like a tongue to a sore tooth, and she was still no closer to an answer than she had been in the beginning. The Countess, whom she had never seen before in her life, had looked at her almost with horror. What had she thought? What had she felt? Alexandra could not see how the Countess’s reaction could have anything to do with her.