Читать книгу A Stolen Heart - Candace Camp - Страница 10

ALEXANDRA TOOK A LAST LOOK AT HERSELF in the long mirror of the hallway; then, satisfied that she would look her best among the titled crowd this evening, she turned toward the staircase. Her deep rose satin gown would doubtless be outshone by many of the gowns on the ladies present at the ball. Her clothes, while of good cut and material, were not in the first stare of fashion in London, and she had not brought her very best ball gown with her, not thinking that she would attend anything dressier than the opera. Still, she knew that the dress was fashionable enough to cause no comment, and she had the satisfaction of knowing that its rose color was excellent on her, bringing out the rose in her cheeks and contrasting stunningly with her black hair. Her hair was done up in a mass of curls, thick and shining, with a pale pink rose nestled on one side as adornment. In her hand she carried, besides her fan, a small corsage of rosebuds delivered an hour earlier and sent, she was sure, by Lord Thorpe, though the card had contained no message.

Her eyes sparkled with anticipation as she walked into the formal drawing room. Much to her chagrin, she saw that Thorpe was already seated there with her aunt. Alexandra had made it a point to come downstairs as soon as the maid had brought her word of Thorpe’s arrival precisely because she did not want Lord Thorpe to be subjected to her aunt’s inquisition. From the frozen look on Thorpe’s face, she guessed that he had already been here for several minutes, and Alexandra was struck with the suspicion that her aunt had deliberately bade the servants to delay taking Alexandra the message that his lordship had arrived.

As she started into the room, Lord Thorpe was saying tightly, “I assure you, madam, it is a most respectable party, given by one of the leading peers of the realm.”

Alexandra had to stifle a smile at the man’s barely concealed look of affront.

Her aunt continued blithely. “Be that as it may, Lord Thorpe, I don’t know any of your peers of the realm, so their respectability is unknown to me. I’ve heard stories of some of the doings of so-called noblemen, and it’s not what would be called suitable in America. The Hellfire Club, gaming hells, houses of—”

“Miss Ward!” Lord Thorpe looked shocked. “You can’t believe that I would take your niece to such places!”

Alexandra wasn’t sure whether his dismay came from the idea that her aunt thought him capable of such ungentlemanly actions or because she so bluntly brought up the subject.

“Too bad,” Alexandra interjected lightly. “They sound terribly fascinating, I must say.”

“Miss Ward.” Thorpe jumped to his feet, relief spreading across his face.

“Good evening.”

“You look—”

Alexandra raised an eyebrow as he paused. “I hope you are not going to say ‘like a country bumpkin.’”

“No, indeed. It is simply that you render me speechless.” His gray eyes shone in the candlelight as they drifted involuntarily down the front of her body, taking in the curves to which the rose satin clung. “You look stunning. I fear you will cast our London beauties into the shade.”

Alexandra chuckled. “Very pretty words, my lord, but I am not so naïve as to believe that.” She turned toward Hortense. “Good night, Aunt. I am going to take your victim away from you.”

“Victim!” Aunt Hortense assumed a look of great offense. “I was merely looking out for my niece’s best interests.”

“Your aunt is a very careful woman,” Thorpe remarked politely. “You are quite rightly cherished.”

Alexandra grinned. “You see, Aunt Hortense, how polite he is.”

A servant brought her Paisley shawl, which Thorpe took and draped across her shoulders with a courtly air. The brush of his fingertips against her bare arms sent a tingle through Alexandra, intensified when he leaned in to murmur, “It seems a shame to cover up such beauty.”

Alexandra ignored the little thrum that started along her nerves and smiled at him. “It is a lovely dress.”

“It was not the dress of which I spoke.” His gaze dropped significantly, if fleetingly, to the expanse of bosom that swelled above the square-cut neckline.

Alexandra wrapped the shawl more tightly around her, covering the swell of her breasts. “I think it’s time to leave,” she said repressively. “Good night, Aunt.”

She smiled across the room at her aunt, who was glowering suspiciously at their whispered conversation. Lord Thorpe sent the other woman a polite bow, and they left the room.

Outside, he helped her into the same elegant carriage that had taken her home this afternoon, and they settled across from each other on the plush seats.

“I was beginning to fear that your aunt was about to question me about my intentions toward you,” Thorpe said dryly.

“I am sure she would have, given enough time. Her first concern, of course, was the wickedness of the place you were taking me. Aunt Hortense has a collection of stories of what has happened to innocent girls in the Babylon of London.”

“I don’t doubt that. What intrigued me was why she presumed I was going to introduce you to these evils.”

“That is easy,” Alexandra replied with an impish grin. “The English are given to wicked pursuits, but those who are most given to them are English noblemen, who, apparently, spend most of their time abducting or seducing innocent maidens.”

“Indeed? I suspect that abducting you would prove to be a tiresome experience, so I must stick to seduction.” His sensual mouth curved up in a way that made Alexandra’s heart pound.

“Indeed?” Alexandra smiled, striving to keep her voice light. “I’m afraid you might find that experience equally tiresome.”

“Oh, no.” His eyes glittered in the dim light. “Lengthy, perhaps, but never tiresome, I assure you.”

Alexandra’s mouth went dry, and she had to glance away from his gaze. She looked out from beneath the rolled-up curtain of the carriage window, watching the houses go by as she tried to collect her scattered thoughts. Why did this man have such a strange effect on her?

After two blocks, the carriage turned and joined a long line of carriages stretching down the block. At the front of the line stood a house ablaze with lights.

“Is that where we are going?” Alexandra asked in some astonishment.

“Yes. Why?”

“But it—it can’t be more than four blocks from my house.”

“Probably.” He looked at her, faintly puzzled.

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to walk?” She looked at the stalled line of carriages again. “Faster, too?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Then why did we take the carriage?”

He smiled. “It wouldn’t do to be seen arriving on foot, my dear Miss Ward—as if one didn’t own a carriage.”

Alexandra gazed at him for a moment, unsure whether he was joking. “That is the silliest thing I’ve ever heard. It’s a balmy night, the distance is short, and in a carriage we will have to wait substantially longer. Yet we don’t walk because it would look wrong?”

His eyes danced. “I think that about sums it up.”

“I presume it would be too gauche for words to get out of the carriage now and walk the rest of the way instead of sitting inside it for twenty minutes.”

He nodded. “Decidedly déclassé.”

She shook her head. “Sometimes I think my aunt is right.”

“What? That we English are all debauched?”

“No. That the nobility are rather absurd.”

“Absurd? I have never heard that one. Arrogant, yes, prodigal, yes, impractical and even decadent. But absurd?”

“Of course. It’s too silly a concept to be taken seriously. What else would you call a system where the wealthiest and most highly regarded people have done nothing to earn their position but are there simply because they are descendants of other people?”

“Family is often considered a good indication of character, I believe. Do you have no regard for bloodlines? For what is passed from one generation to the next? Do you not believe that families instill their values in their offspring, and so on and so on, for generations?”

Alexandra felt a slight chill run down her spine at his mention of bloodlines. She wondered what he would think if he knew what sort of mother she had and what she might have passed on to her daughter.

“Family is an indication of character, yes, and certainly there are families who instill courage and honesty and all sorts of commendable traits in their children. My point, however, is that in England it doesn’t matter whether one’s family is good or bad, but simply what one’s family name is.”

“Are there no leading families in America?”

“Of course there are, but at least they have done something to earn it. They have worked hard, built up wealth, been educated or simply been honest, decent people.”

“But let us say one’s grandfather did that. His descendant today is regarded highly because of who his grandfather is. Isn’t that right?”

“Sometimes.”

“It is the same principle. It is just that with us the ancestors were farther in the past.”

“What did they do to deserve their titles to begin with?” Alexandra asked tartly. “Wage war? Take lands from others who were not as strong?”

“Service to King and country,” he countered.

“Ha! Catering to the whims of another man who is revered solely because of his ancestors!”

Thorpe let out a short bark of laughter. “I am looking forward to this evening! I can just imagine what furors your conversation will stir up.”

Alexandra raised an eyebrow. “Is that why you invited me? To stir up a social tempest?”

“No. That is simply an added benefit.”

Alexandra studied him for a moment. “Why did you ask me?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Thorpe admitted. “I think because you intrigue me.” He paused, then asked, “Why did you agree to come with me?”

A smile curved Alexandra’s lips as she said, “Perhaps for the same reason.”

They inched their way along the line until their carriage was at last in front of the door. They climbed down and followed the family in front of them across the red runner laid over the front steps and through the imposing double front doors, held open by two liveried footmen.

They stepped into an entry hall that was, by any standards, grandiose. Black and white marble tiles checker-boarded the floor, and the walls rose to the second floor. It was large enough to fight a pitched battle in, Alexandra thought. At the far end a double staircase curved upward, the mahogany balustrades twined with masses of white flowers. Candles burned in a multitude of wall sconces and struck sparks off the glass drops of two enormous chandeliers, casting soft prisms of light over the people. Huge portraits of people in various styles of dress hung around the walls of the entry room. In the place of honor hung an enormous portrait of a bay horse.

“Where are we?” Alexandra asked, glancing around the room, aware of an unaccustomed feeling of awe.

“This is Carrington House, the town house of the Duke of Moncourt. That is the second Duke’s favorite mount,” he added, noticing the direction of her gaze. “It’s said that he ordered the painter to make sure that its portrait was twice as large as that of his wife.”

“What an odd man.” Alexandra’s gaze went from the surroundings to the people going in a line up the graceful staircase, to where a couple waited at the top to greet them. The woman was dressed all in black, with diamonds around her neck and arms and a diamond spray in her hair. “Obviously this Duke must value his wife more.”

She nodded toward the bejeweled woman.

“Ah, yes. The Carrington diamonds. Been in the family for centuries. This Duchess had the temerity to have the earrings reset. The Dowager Duchess hasn’t stopped talking about it yet.”

Alexandra could see that she had been right when she had assumed that most of the women here would be dressed more elegantly than she. Lace, satin and velvet were everywhere, sewn in the latest styles by London’s most fashionable modistes. Jewels winked at ears and throats. Hair was curled and upswept, decorated with roses, feathers, jewels, combs. It was, Alexandra thought, the most breathtaking display of extravagant beauty that she had ever seen.

She was therefore rather surprised to realize, after they had passed through the receiving line and gone into the ballroom, that she was the woman who was the most at the center of stares. She was too busy for a few minutes looking around at the mirrored and gilt walls and the crush of people to notice the whispers and the sidelong looks. Finally, however, she did. Alexandra shifted uneasily and glanced at Thorpe. He was gazing coolly across the room, seemingly oblivious to the small ripples they created wherever they went.

“Lord Thorpe,” she whispered. “What is going on?”

“What do you mean?” He glanced at her with polite inquiry.

“Don’t tell me you don’t see it. People keep looking at us. They’re whispering.” She heard with a little chill the eerie echo of her mother’s words, but she shoved the thought aside. This was entirely different.

“I would think you would be accustomed to that. It is often the fate of beautiful young women.”

“Don’t be obtuse. I look the same as I always do, and I am not usually talked about.”

He cast her a wry look. “With your tongue? You must give me leave to doubt that.”

“Rudeness is not called for.”

He smiled. “Whatever you may think, Miss Ward, you are unusually attractive.” He cast a look at her smooth, sculptured face, the dark glowing eyes, the thick mass of dark hair that made her head look too heavy for the fragile support of her slender white neck.

“There are many women in this room just as pretty as I and doubtless others who are prettier.”

“But none as…arresting.” She was tall and statuesque among a ballroom of dainty women, vibrantly black-haired among a plethora of sweet-faced blondes. Alexandra Ward was different. Thorpe felt sure that there were as many biting comments being made about her as there were admiring. But whatever the words, they came because it was impossible not to notice her.

“Bosh,” Alexandra retorted rudely. “Actually, I think they are looking at you.”

“I am not a usual guest at such events,” Thorpe admitted. “The London social world is such a stagnant pond that even so small an event as my appearing at a party will cause a ripple. When I appear with a stunning beauty on my arm, and no one has the least idea who she is, the ripple turns into a wave.”

“Ah. I see.”

“Sebastian!” As if to prove his point, a man’s deep voice rang out, and they turned to see a large, broad-shouldered man shoving his way through the crowd toward them, a fragile-looking beauty walking with him, her hand tucked into his arm. “What the devil are you doing here? Beg pardon, ma’am, Nicola.” He nodded toward Alexandra, then glanced at his companion, who smiled with easy grace, obviously used to the man’s unbridled speech.

“Hello, Bucky,” Thorpe answered. “I had an invitation, actually, so I came.”

“Not like you, old fellow,” the man whom Thorpe had called Bucky responded cheerfully. He had an open, pleasant sort of face, with wide-set blue eyes that looked out on the world with an expression of vague bonhomie. “Everyone’s wondering what brought you out.” He smiled at Alexandra. “And who your lovely companion is.”

“It always astonishes me how interested everyone is in my comings and goings, considering that I scarcely know half the people at this gathering.”

“That’s what happens when you’re marriageable.” Bucky shrugged. “They’ve been after me for years, and I’m nothing but a Baron.”

“Ah,” the willowy blonde with him said, smiling and casting a significant look at Lord Thorpe. “But you are a man of charm, Buckminster, which gives you a certain advantage over others.”

“Nicola, you wound me,” Thorpe said, looking anything but hurt. “I’m sorry. Allow me to introduce you to Miss Alexandra Ward. Miss Ward is visiting from the United States. Miss Ward, this is Lord Buckminster and his cousin, Miss Nicola Falcourt.”

“How do you do?” Nicola said, smiling at Alexandra, and Alexandra decided that her initial impression of the woman as fragile was wrong. It was her slenderness and pale beauty that made her look deceptively frail, but in her eyes and warm smile, Alexandra sensed a definite strength.

“An American, eh?” Lord Buckminster repeated with affable astonishment, as if he had never expected to meet such a person. “Pleased to meet you. However do you know Thorpe?”

“She is a friend of the family,” Thorpe said smoothly before Alexandra could open her mouth to explain the relationship. She shot him an odd look, but said nothing.

When, after a few more pleasantries, the couple moved on, Alexandra turned to him, eyebrows soaring. “A friend of the family? Afraid everyone will shun you for associating with someone in trade?”

“Since I rarely seek out anyone’s company, the prospect of being shunned scarcely frightens me,” Thorpe retorted. “I was trying to shield you a bit from the gossip.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“An apology? I am shocked.” He held out his arm toward her, crooked at the elbow. “Shall we stroll around and let everyone look their fill at us?”

Alexandra smiled. “All right.”

She tucked her hand in his arm. They had taken only a few steps when a man turned away from a knot of people, almost running into them. He stopped abruptly and stared at Alexandra. It seemed to her as if for an instant he turned deathly pale. He looked at her for a full beat, then drew in a breath, the color returning to his face.

“Lord Thorpe,” the man said stiffly. “I’m sorry. I was—a trifle startled to see you.”

“Lord Exmoor.” Thorpe nodded briefly at the man, his face carefully devoid of expression. Alexandra, feeling the tensing of his muscle beneath her hand, glanced at him. He did not like this man, Alexandra thought, though she was not sure how she knew.

Intrigued by the change in attitude that she felt in Lord Thorpe, Alexandra looked with interest at the stranger. He was tall and slender, with light brown hair and eyes a hazel color. Wings of silver ran from his temples. Everything about him was long and angular, from his hands to his narrow nose to the careful eyes beneath his straight eyebrows.

Lord Exmoor returned her gaze inquiringly, and Thorpe, with a sigh, went on. “Miss Ward, allow me to introduce you to the Earl of Exmoor. Lord Exmoor, Alexandra Ward.”

“How do you do?” Alexandra nodded politely toward him.

“Are you an American?” Exmoor asked.

“Yes.”

“How interesting. I thought I detected it in your speech. You are here visiting relatives?”

“No. I have no relatives in England,” Alexandra replied, finding that she had little desire to tell the man anything about herself. “I am traveling with my mother and my aunt.”

“Ah. I see. I hope you are enjoying your visit.”

“Very much, thank you.”

“I had no idea you knew anyone from the United States, Thorpe,” Exmoor went on.

“I am sure that I have many acquaintances about which you know nothing, Lord Exmoor.”

“Yes. No doubt.” He sketched a bow toward them. “Good evening. It was nice to meet you, Miss Ward. I look forward to running into you again.”

He turned and walked away. Alexandra glanced at her companion. “Why don’t you like him?”

Thorpe looked at her coolly. “Exmoor? What makes you say that?”

Alexandra raised a sardonic brow. “I was standing right here. Even one as ignorant as I of the behavior of the English nobility could tell that you were nothing more than polite to him.”

Thorpe shrugged. “We are not friends,” he said carefully. “We are not enemies, either. Merely two people who are not interested in extending our acquaintanceship. Now…would you care to dance?”

It was hardly a subtle change of subject. Alexandra felt that there must be more to the story, but she let him lead her onto the dance floor without protest. The waltz began, and they swept around the ballroom with the other dancers in time to the music. Alexandra’s hand rested lightly in Thorpe’s; his other hand was at her waist. It was quite proper, yet a little titillating, too, to be standing so close to him, gazing into his eyes only inches from hers, feeling the heat of his hand at her waist, as if at any moment he might pull her tightly against him.

Alexandra wondered how he felt about her. It was not a question that normally concerned her. She was sure of her own worth, and while men usually were attracted by her beauty, it did not worry her if they were equally dismayed by her brains or bluntness. But this time, it did matter, just as this time she found his nearness, his touch, his smile, all disconcerting.

After the waltz, Alexandra danced with several other men, but she found them dull compared to Thorpe. She was relieved when Thorpe reclaimed her after the cotillion and escorted her to the informal supper on the floor below. Alexandra sat in a chair against the wall while Thorpe went to get plates of food for them. She started to protest that she was quite capable of getting her own food, but she saw that most of the other couples were doing the same thing, and she decided to say nothing. It seemed remarkably silly to her, but the English were attached to their customs.

As she sat, idly watching the other people in the large room, she noticed that a woman across the room was watching her. She was a small woman, even delicate, and that image was amplified by the gauzy, floating dress she wore. She was quite beautiful, with fair skin and golden hair. Alexandra wondered who she was and what she found so interesting about her.

The woman cast a quick look at the buffet tables, where Thorpe stood, then floated—there was no other word for the graceful, dainty way she walked—over to where Alexandra sat. Alexandra watched her approach with interest. As she drew nearer, Alexandra could see that the woman was older than she had initially thought, with fine lines around her eyes and mouth and a certain brassiness to the gold in her hair that Alexandra thought betokened the touch of something other than Nature. Still, she was lovely in a cool, elegant way.

“I see Thorpe has taken you up,” she said without preamble.

“I beg your pardon?” Alexandra looked at her in surprise. Did the woman not realize how rude she sounded?

“They say you are an American,” the woman went on, ignoring Alexandra’s comment.

“Yes, I am. What does—”

“Then you obviously don’t know about his reputation.”

“Lord Thorpe’s?”

“Of course,” the woman answered impatiently. “Mamas keep close watch on their daughters when Sebastian is around.”

This woman must know him well to refer to him casually by his given name, Alexandra reasoned. She had discovered that the British were amazingly formal about such things.

“They do so with good reason,” the woman went on, her blue eyes frosty.

“And what is that reason?” Alexandra asked, matching the freezing tone of the other woman’s voice.

The woman gave a small, twisted smile. “Ah, I can see that he has already worked his spell on you. Just take my word for it—he is well-known for his seductions.”

“I am surprised that he is received in polite society, then.”

“Money and a title have an amazing power to make up for all sins.”

“Lady Pencross.” Both women, engrossed in their conversation, started and glanced up at the sound of a masculine voice a few feet from them.

It was Lord Thorpe, and his eyes were fixed on Alexandra’s visitor. His face held no emotion, but the tone of his voice was as unyielding as iron. A little shiver ran down Alexandra’s spine. She would not relish having Thorpe look at her in that way.

“Sebastian.” Lady Pencross opened her eyes a little wider, her mouth turning down in a hurt way. “You don’t sound pleased to see me.”

“I doubt you are surprised,” Thorpe replied dryly. “I am sure you have business somewhere else, don’t you?”

Alexandra drew in a sharp breath at his blatant rudeness. The blond woman’s eyes flashed, and for an instant Alexandra thought she was going to lash back with something venomous, but then she merely smiled and moved away.

“Another person with whom you are not interested in extending your acquaintanceship?” Alexandra asked lightly.

Thorpe, who had turned to watch the woman walk away, swiveled to Alexandra. His eyes were dark, his face etched in bitter lines. He looked at Alexandra for a moment, then relaxed, letting out a little laugh. “Yes. Lady Pencross and I have had far too much acquaintanceship as it is.”

Alexandra was filled with curiosity about the incident, particularly what had caused the ill will between the lady and Thorpe, but, infuriatingly, Thorpe did not elaborate on the matter. He seemed to shrug it off, handing Alexandra her plate and sitting beside her.

“I hope I did not keep you waiting too long,” he said. “The tables were rather busy.”

“No. I was well entertained.”

He glanced at her sharply. “Did Lady Pencross disturb you?”

“No. Not disturb, precisely. She was, ah, concerned about my virtue in your company.”

He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Trust me, she is not disturbed about anyone’s virtue, especially her own. I would not refine too much on what Lady Pencross says.”

“I won’t. I am well able to make up my own mind.”

Thorpe looked at her, a smile beginning in his eyes. “Of course. How could I have forgotten that?”

They ate their food, a delicious repast that had Alexandra regretting the supper she had eaten earlier, and occupied their time with discussing the various people around them. Thorpe knew most of them and their foibles, and painted them with an acid wit that kept Alexandra chuckling.

“How hard you are on your peers,” she told him.

He shrugged. “I am a mere novice compared to many of them. Malice and vitriol are the oils that keep the ton running.” He set aside their plates. “Are you ready to return to the dancing?”

“Of course. It will be much more enjoyable watching everyone now that I know all their secrets.”

“You have barely scratched the surface, my dear girl.”

They left the room and made their way to the stairs, but Alexandra paused to look at some of the paintings that hung on the walls of the huge entry hall.

“That is the present Duke’s mother,” Thorpe told her, pointing to a picture of a woman with her arms around a young girl and two toy spaniels at their feet. “Painted by Gainsborough.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“He has some fine art, nearly all portraits, of course—that is what the former Duke valued in art.”

“His favorite, doubtless, was the horse.” Alexandra nodded toward the massive portrait of the animal that she had noticed when they first walked in.

“Definitely. Would you like to see some of the other things?”

“Why, yes, if you think it would be all right.”

“I’m sure of it.” He guided her up the stairs and away from the ballroom, heading down the long gallery. Just past the stand of armor began a row of portraits, many dark with age.

“Why, this looks like—”

Thorpe nodded. “A Holbein. It is of Isabella Moncourt, the lovely young wife of the then Marquess of Moncourt. The young woman met an untimely end.”

Alexandra eyes widened. “Really? She was murdered?”

Thorpe shrugged. “Who knows? She died young—a fall down the stairs one night. Murder was definitely rumored—a charge the Moncourts vehemently deny to this day. But it is said that she had caught the eye of one of the Howards. And her husband was known to be a jealous man.”

“Caught his eye? That was all? Why didn’t the husband kill the Howard, then? It sounds to me as if he were more at fault.”

Thorpe chuckled. “No one even knows if it is true. But if it is, I would guess that the lady was not entirely blameless.”

They continued along the hallway, peering to see the portraits in the light of the wall sconces. “I would love to see them by day,” Alexandra commented.

“I can show you an even better collection another day, if you’d like.”

“Your family’s ancestors?”

“No. My family’s art, such as it is, is primarily at the estate in the country. I spend little time there. And my house, as you know, is given over to ‘heathen art,’ as Lady Ursula has told me.”

“Who?”

“The daughter of a very good friend of mine. I hope you will be able to meet her tonight.”

“Lady Ursula?”

“No, although I dare swear we will be unable to avoid that if the Countess is here. But it is the Countess I want you to meet.”

“She is someone special to you?”

Thorpe nodded. “Yes. Her grandson and I were friends at school, and I often visited with them. The Countess was—Well, let’s just say I found more understanding and love there than was ever at my home. Sometimes I feel that she is almost my mother—or grandmother.”

“I look forward to meeting her, then.”

They reached the end of the gallery and turned to look back down the empty hallway. There was a pool of darkness at the end of the long corridor, the golden circles of light cast by the wall sconces ending several steps before them.

Alexandra turned, her eyes going to Thorpe’s. His face was shadowed, but the gleam in his eyes was unmistakable. Her breath caught in her throat. Was he going to kiss her? He took a step toward her. She knew that if she turned away, it would break the moment, and he would not touch her. But she found that she had no interest in turning away. She waited, her eyes locked on his.

He smiled faintly as he reached out and brushed his knuckles down her cheek. “You intrigue me, Miss Ward.”

“Indeed?” Alexandra struggled to keep her voice light, even though the whisper-light touch of his skin upon hers made her blood race. “Is this your common practice with women who intrigue you, my lord? To lure them down dark, deserted corridors on the pretext of showing them art?”

His eyes danced. “’Twas no pretext. We have been looking at art. And you are free to go any time you wish. I am not holding you here.”

Alexandra could feel the pulse pounding in her throat, the heat rising in her face. She did not move.

A smile touched his lips, and his hand moved to cup the back of her neck. She watched him, her breath coming faster in her throat as he leaned in. She had no thought of scandal or propriety, only of the fact that she wanted to feel his kiss. She turned her face to him.

His lips were soft and hot on hers, and she shivered a little at the new sensation. Only one man had ever tried to kiss her on the mouth, and his wet, inebriated kiss had felt nothing like this. She had given that man a good, hard shove, and he had ended up sitting on his backside in the snow. This time, however, she had no desire to push Thorpe away.

Little tendrils of sensation darted through her, raising tingles and heat throughout her body and a sudden strange weakness in her knees. She leaned in, her hands going up to grasp his lapels for support, for she felt as if her legs might give way beneath her. She heard Thorpe’s breath draw in sharply at her movement, and his arms slid around her, pulling her tightly into him. His body was deliciously hard against her softness, pressing into her all up and down. Their mouths blended; their arms sought to pull each other closer and closer still; their skin surged with heat.

Alexandra was lost in the experience, dazzled and dazed. Her flesh quivered, and blood pooled in her loins, throbbing and heated. There was an ache between her legs, and her breasts felt swollen and tender, her nipples hardening.

His tongue swept her mouth, exploring and arousing her. Alexandra moaned, clinging to him, as she tentatively answered with her own tongue. Thorpe made a noise deep in his throat, and his hands moved down her back and onto the rounded flesh of her buttocks. His fingers dug into the firm mounds, lifting her up and into him. She could feel the ridge of his desire against her, hard and insistent, and somehow the knowledge of his hunger for her aroused her even more.

Finally Thorpe raised his head and looked at her, his face flushed, his eyes glittering in the dim light. “Good God! I had not meant—”

Alexandra gazed at him, stunned momentarily into speechlessness. Her thoughts tumbled crazily, scattered by the tumult of sensations coursing through her.

“This is far too public a place,” he said finally. He drew a deep breath and stepped back, his arms falling away from her. He glanced over his shoulder, relieved to see that the corridor was still empty. “I do not want either of us to be fodder for the rumor mill.”

“What do you want?” Alexandra asked, the first words that came into her mind.

The sensual curve of his mouth as he smiled was answer enough. “You must know what I want.”

“Indeed. I think I have some idea.” Alexandra struggled to pull herself together. She was well aware of what he wanted; the same desire was pounding through her veins. Keeping her virtue had never been a difficult decision before; indeed, it had not required any thought at all. She had never felt tempted to give it up. Now, for the first time, she had to struggle to make the right decision. “You, I take it, do not have honorable intentions.”

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.