A Stolen Heart. Candace Camp

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      Mr. Jones looked blank, and Lord Thorpe’s eyebrows shot up in astonishment. “Why, yes, I started collecting them when I lived in India. Do you know Indian art?”

      “I have seen very little of it,” Alexandra confessed, “but I am quite interested in it. I have read descriptions, of course, of the bright colors and the patterns, and I have seen some drawings made from them, but never the actual thing.”

      At first she studied the paintings intently, unaware of Thorpe’s gaze lingering on her. Then she turned and caught him watching her, and she flushed. There was something about the look in his eyes that made her feel suddenly warm all over. She glanced away quickly, casting about for something to say to cover her reaction. “I, ah, have purchased a few things—a small jade Buddha and, um, a Paisley shawl, of course, and a few ivory carvings, but Indian things are somewhat rare in the United States.”

      “Perhaps, after tea, you would like to see some of my collection?”

      Alexandra’s face lit up, causing Thorpe to draw in his breath sharply. “Oh, yes, I would like that more than anything else.” She sat as the butler entered with the tea tray and set it on a low table, but she continued to talk excitedly. “I have a confession to make. That was one of the reasons I bullied Mr. Jones into bringing me here today. I was hoping to catch a glimpse of some of your Indian treasures. I have heard so much about your collection….”

      “Indeed?” Thorpe studied Alexandra, wondering what bizarre thing would come out of her mouth next. He had never met a woman who enthused over his Indian objects, except perhaps for a luxurious Paisley shawl or a spectacular piece of jewelry.

      “Oh, yes, I wrote you, in fact, a few months ago, when I knew I was going to be in London, asking you if I could see your collection, but you turned me down flat.”

      “I did? How rude of me.” He frowned. “But I don’t remember…. No, wait, there was a letter from some fellow in the United States, but I thought—wasn’t it Alexander Ward?”

      “Alexandra. People often make the mistake. They don’t expect an enthusiast of art objects to be a woman.”

      “At least not to be writing letters to strange men and trying to set up appointments.”

      “And what would you have me do?” Alexandra asked, her dark eyes firing up. “Ask my uncle or cousin to write a letter for me, as if I were incapable of writing a coherent letter myself?”

      “It is not a question of your competence, Miss Ward, but a matter of taking care of, of protecting, a woman.”

      “From what? The rudeness of a letter such as yours, denying me admittance?” She chuckled. “I was not pleased, of course, but it did not send me to my bed in a state of despair and shame. I have been told no before, I assure you.”

      “I find that hard to believe,” Thorpe retorted, grinning. “Well, please allow me to make up for my rudeness by showing you as much as you would like to see.”

      “That would be the entirety, I’m sure.”

      They talked a little while they drank their tea and ate the small cakes and biscuits that accompanied it. It was general talk, about the weather and London and the state of Massachusetts, where Alexandra lived. He inquired how she was enjoying her visit, hoping that it was not all business, and she dutifully related the sights she had seen and the things she had done. They spoke of Burchings Tea and of her own company, though Alexandra could see in Thorpe’s face that he found it odd to speak of such things with a woman. She wondered if he usually talked to women only about the weather and such and concluded that he must find it dull, indeed.

      Mr. Jones returned to his office soon after tea was finished, assured by Lord Thorpe that he would see Miss Ward home in his own carriage. Thorpe offered his arm to Alexandra, a faint, almost challenging smile on his lips. Alexandra slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow and tilted up her chin, tossing back the challenge, although she was not entirely sure what it was.

      “You know,” Thorpe said in a low, conversational tone, “your staying and walking through these rooms with me by yourself is not recommended behavior for a young lady.”

      “Oh?” Alexandra rounded her eyes into a look of great innocence. “Are you in the habit, then, of attacking defenseless young women in your home?”

      “Of course not. Although I would hardly call you defenseless.”

      “Then I have nothing to fear, have I?” Alexandra went on coolly, “You, being a gentleman and so concerned about protecting women, will doubtless see that no harm comes to me.”

      “You’ve the tongue of an adder, my dear Miss Ward.”

      “Why, what have I said, my lord?”

      He cast her a look heavy with irony and abruptly turned into a room, pulling her in with him. Gripping her upper arms, he looked into her eyes, so close to her that his face filled her startled vision. His bright silvery eyes bored into hers, and she could feel the heat of his body, the power of his hands on her arms. She was intensely aware of his mobile mouth hovering only inches above hers. She could not move.

      “You know, sometimes even a gentleman can be pushed beyond his control by a beautiful young woman.”

      Alexandra had the wild thought that he was going to kiss her right there, and she realized with a start of amazement that the thought was more exciting than scary. “But I am sure that you never lose control,” she replied, annoyed at the shakiness of her voice.

      “It would be foolish to count on that. If you had talked to the good ladies of London, you would know that I am considered capable of almost anything. I am, my dear naïve Miss Ward, the black sheep of my family. Not one to be trusted alone around young ladies.”

      “Then it is a good thing that I am not a young English lady, but an American woman who learned early on how to discourage unwelcome attentions, is it not?”

      “Indeed.” He leaned a little closer. “And would my attentions be unwelcome?”

      Alexandra drew in her breath sharply, her heart hammering within her chest. She found it difficult to think, with his eyes staring into hers.

      “No.” The word came out breathily as she swayed toward him.

      CHAPTER TWO

      “NO!” ALEXANDRA REPEATED, HORRIFIED at what she had been about to do. She jerked away from Lord Thorpe, moving farther into the room as she tried to bring her rapid breathing back to normal. “What—what nonsense you talk!”

      Thorpe followed her into the room, but he did not touch her again, as she had feared. She felt curiously let down. Sternly, she tried to focus on the room. It was large and furnished entirely in teak. From the desk and the shelves of books behind it, Alexandra identified it as Lord Thorpe’s study. An ornately engraved rifle hung on one wall, and below it hung a sword with a wide hilt made of ebony and steel, also engraved. In one corner stood an unusual shirt of chain mail armor with metal plates across the chest and a long mail neck guard hanging down around the helmet on three sides. The edge of the neck guard was bordered in red velvet, and gold inlay was worked across the chest plates.

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