A Stolen Heart. Candace Camp

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      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.”

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