by Candace Camp
“Then we shall have to leave, won’t we?” Alexandra returned lightly.
“On the other hand, he might very well agree to see us just to tell us what he thinks of such impertinence.” Jones felt slightly sick at the thought.
“Buck up, Mr. Jones,” Alexandra said, trying to instill some spirit in the poor man. “I promise you I have dealt with many an old grump, and I generally handle them rather well.”
“But he’s not an—”
“Whatever he is, I feel sure that I shall be able to deal with him.”
Mr. Jones subsided, reflecting that perhaps she would be able to sweep Lord Thorpe before her, just as she had him.
“Don’t worry,” Alexandra went on. “If he rings a peal over your head, I shall tell him that it was all my fault.”
Jones doubted that such a statement would change his employer’s opinion about his intruding on him this way, but he said nothing. He was almost resigned to the berating he would doubtless receive. He opened the door and stepped from the carriage, turning and reaching to help Alexandra.
Alexandra politely took his hand and stepped down, turning to look at the graceful white stone house in the Georgian style. It was built close to the street, as so many houses in London were, with a black wrought-iron fence stretching the length of it to separate it from the traffic. A set of six steps led from the street to the imposing front door, centered by a rather fierce-looking door knocker in the shape of a lion’s head. Her companion, gazing in the same direction, faltered, and Alexandra took his arm, gently pushing him in the direction of the door. She felt a little guilty at using the poor fellow so. However, she was determined to see Lord Thorpe’s collection of Indian treasures. She had read much about it in her correspondence with other aficionados of the style. Lord Thorpe’s collection was generally considered to be the finest in the world, and it had been one of the things she had been most looking forward to on her first trip to England. She was not about to let this man’s faint heart keep her from seeing it. Lord Thorpe himself would have to bar her from the door.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Jones,” she said, to soothe the prickings of her conscience, “if Lord Thorpe lets you go for bringing me here, I shall employ you myself.”
Jones gave her a small smile. Miss Ward, for all her odd ways and bossy nature, was a kindhearted person. “Thank you, miss. I am sure that won’t be necessary.”
He wished he felt as confident as his words sounded. Though Lord Thorpe was a fair employer, there was a hard, implacable quality to him that made one leery about crossing him. He had made the bulk of his fortune in India, and there were many rumors, some of them unsavory, about how he had gone about doing so. Mr. Jones discounted most of them, but there were times, when Lord Thorpe’s face hardened and his eyes turned that flat, almost silvery color, that Jones wondered if at least some of the rumors were true.
Drawing a steadying breath, he took the ring of the knocker and brought it down heavily, sending a resounding thud through the house. A moment later, a liveried footman opened the door. He looked from Jones to Alexandra, then reluctantly stepped back and let them into the house.
“I am here to see Lord Thorpe,” Lyman said.
“Wait here,” the footman said shortly and left them standing in the foyer.
It was, Alexandra thought, rather rude behavior for a footman, but she did not dwell on it. She was too busy looking around her. At her feet the parquet floor was overlaid with a plush woven carpet of wine red depicting a hunting scene, with a turbanned man spearing a tiger. On one wall hung an elephant mask of beaten silver, and below it stood a wooden trunk, the top of which was intricately carved into a garden scene of two Indian maidens standing amidst drooping trees.
She was bent over, examining the trunk more closely, when there was a soft shuffle of footsteps and a man entered the foyer, followed by the footman. Alexandra raised her head and barely suppressed a gasp of pleasure. The man whom the footman had brought in was swarthy-skinned, with large, liquid dark eyes, and he was dressed all in white from the top of his turbanned head to the bottom of his soft-shoed feet. As Alexandra stared in fascination, he placed his hands together at chest level and bowed to them politely.
“Mr. Jones?” he said in a soft, accented voice. “Was Lord Thorpe expecting you today? I am most sorry. I have no knowledge of your visit.”
“No, uh…” Lyman Jones had spoken to Lord Thorpe’s butler many times, but he always found the event unnerving. He invariably stumbled over the man’s name, and his unswerving dark gaze made Jones uncomfortable. “Lord Thorpe does not know about it. I—it was quite unexpected. I had hoped to introduce Miss Ward to his lordship, although of course if this is an inopportune moment, we can—”
The butler’s eyes moved consideringly to Alexandra. She, seeing that Jones was making a mess of things, took over in her usual way. “I am Alexandra Ward, Mr….”
“Punwati is my name, miss.”
“Mr. Punwati. I have business dealings with the Burchings Tea Company, and I had hoped to meet Lord Thorpe while I was in London. I think it is very important to know exactly with whom one is dealing. Don’t you agree?”
There was a flicker of something—humor, perhaps—in Punwati’s dark eyes as he said, “Oh, yes, miss.”
“So Mr. Jones kindly agreed to introduce me to Lord Thorpe. I do hope it is not too much of an inconvenience.”
“I am sure that Lord Thorpe will be most interested to hear of your visit, Miss Ward,” the servant said, bowing slightly. “I shall tell him that you are here and see if he is receiving guests this afternoon.”
“Thank you.” Alexandra rewarded the man with a smile that had dazzled more than one man into doing what she wanted.
After Punwati had left the foyer in the same quiet way in which he had entered, Mr. Jones smiled a little awkwardly. “As I told you, Lord Thorpe is a…trifle different. His servants are somewhat odd. The butler, as you saw, is foreign, and some of the servants look, frankly, as if they would be more at home among the criminal class. I am sorry if you were, um, taken aback.”
Alexandra cast him a puzzled glance. “What do you mean? There’s nothing to apologize for. This is wonderful! I have never before met a person from India. I have a thousand questions I would love to ask him, but I am sure it would be much too impolite. And did you see this exquisite elephant mask? And the rug…the chest!”
Alexandra’s eyes glowed with excitement, and her cheeks were delicately flushed. Jones, looking at her, realized that she was even more lovely than he had originally thought. He wondered if her beauty would soften Lord Thorpe, one of the most dedicated bachelors in London. But then, he doubted that Thorpe would ever even see Miss Ward. No doubt his Indian servant would reappear in a few moments with the news that his lordship was unable to receive them, and that would be that—except, of course, for whatever Thorpe decided to do because of Jones’s presumption in coming to his door unannounced, a visitor in tow.
So sunk was he in his gloomy thoughts that Jones did not notice someone had quietly entered the foyer from the opposite end until the man spoke. “Ah. Mr. Jones. Punwati tells me you have brought a guest with you.”
Mr. Jones jumped. “Lord Thorpe!”
Alexandra, who had been squatting beside the chest, tracing the intricate carvings, stood and turned toward the voice. It was all she could do to keep her jaw from dropping. From the moment she had received the letter from Lord Thorpe, she had envisioned him as a crotchety old man, averse to company and probably quite eccentric. She had been sure that once she met him, she could talk her way around his oddities and convince him to let her see his collection. But now, seeing him, she realized that she had been completely wrong.
The man standing at the other end of the foyer was in the prime of his life, no more than in his thirties. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with long, muscular legs, accentuated by close-fitting buff-colored pantaloons and rich, butter-soft brown boots. He was dressed well, but simply. He started to
ward them, and Alexandra realized with a funny jump of her stomach that Lord Thorpe was not only young, but also quite handsome. His hair was a thick, dark brown, cropped close to his head. He had a sculpted face, with high, jutting cheekbones, an aquiline nose and a squared jaw, the rather stern features softened by a wide, sensual mouth. His eyes were large and intelligent, gray in color and ringed by thick, black lashes that gave them a smoky look. His expression gave little away, but Alexandra thought she detected the faintest bit of humor in his eyes. When his gaze fell on her, the oddest feeling started up deep inside Alexandra, a strange, effervescent, tumultuous sensation she had never experienced before. All thoughts seemed to scatter.
“I’m sorry, my lord,” Jones began awkwardly. “I should not have come here unasked, I know, but I—I was sure you would wish to meet Miss Ward.”
“One wonders why,” Lord Thorpe drawled, his words dipped in sarcasm.
Alexandra, seeing Jones pale at his employer’s words, shook off the peculiar feeling in her midsection and stepped forward, assuming a pleasant, confident smile. “Pray, do not blame Mr. Jones, Lord Thorpe. It is all my fault. He did not wish to bring me at all. It was I who insisted.”
“Indeed?” Thorpe arched one black brow in an expression of polite disdain that had intimidated more than a few people.
Alexandra scarcely noticed. She was far more aware of the fact that his eyes were so light a gray they were almost silver, and that her knees had begun to tremble in a most unaccustomed manner.
“Yes. You see, I believe in meeting the people with whom I do business.”
“Business?” Thorpe looked genuinely puzzled, and he turned inquiringly toward his employee. “I don’t understand.”
“It is Miss Ward with whom I have been negotiating a contract this week—I believe I mentioned it. With Ward Shipping, to transport Burchings Tea to the United States.”
Thorpe looked at Alexandra blankly. “You work for Ward Shipping?”
“Mm. My family owns it, actually. Unlike you, I prefer to keep an active hand in my businesses. While I have found Mr. Jones to be both agreeable and acute, still, I feel that I get a better impression of a company from meeting the owner. Ultimately, all decisions come back to you. Or do I have that wrong?”
“No. I am in charge of my company,” he answered a little wryly. “You, I take it, do not approve of the way I run my business.”
“Well, it is your business, and you may do as you choose,” Alexandra began.
“How kind of you.” Thorpe sketched a satiric bow in her direction.
Alexandra cast him a quelling look and continued. “However, I have always felt, as have my managers, that a business runs more smoothly if the owner takes an active role in it—unless, of course,” she added smoothly, “the owner is not competent to run it.” She ended on a slightly questioning note, casting Thorpe a sideways glance that contained more than a little challenge. She was not sure exactly why—whether it was Thorpe’s arrogant air or a dislike of the unaccustomed response he had aroused in her—but she felt a certain need to set Lord Thorpe in his place.
To her surprise, he let out a short bark of laughter. “And that, I presume, is what you are suggesting about me? That I am incapable of running a business?”
Lyman Jones let out a small groan and closed his eyes.
“Ah,” Thorpe went on, a faint smile hovering about his mouth. “Mr. Jones brought you here so that you could see that at least I am not drooling or locked in a cage in the attic?”
“My lord!” Mr. Jones exclaimed, shocked. “No, nothing like that was ever suggested. I swear to you, it was—”
“Stop teasing Mr. Jones,” Alexandra retorted bluntly. “You know as well as I that Mr. Jones had no wish to bring me here. I was the one who insisted on it. I was not worried that you were completely incompetent. But I do think one can tell a lot about a company by the owner’s personality.”
“And what can you tell about Burchings Tea, Miss Ward?” he asked, the faint smile lingering on his lips. “Now that you have met me?”
“For one thing,” Alexandra said tartly, “I have a better understanding of why your employees are scared of you.”
“Scared of me!” The smile disappeared at her words, and he looked nonplussed.
Lyman Jones covered his face with his hands, certain that all was lost, so he did not see the short, considering glance Lord Thorpe shot at him.
“Yes. Oh, they do not tremble at your name, but Mr. Jones’s reluctance to bring me over here was quite obvious. Why? I wondered.”
“I think I can answer that,” Thorpe replied coldly.
Sebastian, Lord Thorpe, had been amazed when Punwati had told him that his business agent was at the door with a young woman in tow, and he had been sufficiently intrigued that he had decided to see them. He had not known what to expect, but it had certainly not been to find this tall, black-haired beauty in his entryway examining his property. Even more unexpected had been the sudden, hard jolt of desire that had shot through him at the sight of her. She was dressed in a demure sprig muslin day dress, but its high waist emphasized the voluptuous curve of her breasts, and its soft folds could not conceal the long, slender legs beneath it. Her skin was touchably soft and smooth, and her full lower lip fairly cried out to be kissed. Thorpe was not a man who was immune to feminine charms, but he had learned his lessons early and hard, and his passions were usually kept under strict control. It had been some time since he had felt such a swift and deep response to a woman.
As he listened to her speak, he had been by turns amused, bemused and irritated, and underneath it all had lain the hot, heavy thrum of arousal. Miss Ward was unlike any woman he had ever met, and Thorpe was a man who appreciated the unusual. But now, with her last statement, she had decisively pushed him over the line into the realm of anger. How dare this upstart American question his running of his business or imply that he terrorized his employees?
“Mr. Jones is well aware that I value my privacy,” he said, his jaw set and his eyes flashing silver. “I am not accustomed to every person who does business with my company showing up at my home.”
“Mm. Yes, I can see that you believe yourself superior to the rest of us humans.”
“I beg your pardon.” Thorpe stared. Each statement this woman made was more outrageous than the last.
“That quality generally does not make one a pleasant companion,” Alexandra said blithely, ignoring the thunder beginning to grow in his face. “However, as you know, that is not my primary concern. My concern, of course, is how does this attitude affect Burchings Tea?”
“Ah, yes, Burchings. For a moment there I thought we had wandered far afield.”
“I am inclined to think that your belief in your superiority would carry over into your company, that you would not allow an inferior product or any sort of base dealing that would reflect badly upon you,” Alexandra decided.
“Thank you,” he responded sardonically. “I think.”
“Also, the awe and even fear in which your employees regard you would ensure that they pay careful attention to the details so as not to incur your displeasure. Sometimes such fear can be so extreme that it has the opposite effect—people are so worried that they make more mistakes than they would normally. However, having seen that you are more sarcastic and biting than in a rage over Mr. Jones having invaded your privacy, along with the fact that Mr. Jones was willing to try what I asked even though he thought you would not like it, leads me to think that your wrath is not such that it renders your employees terrified and therefore useless.”
“Then you approve of my business?” he asked, tight-lipped. “I am indeed honored at the encomium.”
“I am sure you are being sarcastic,” Alexandra replied. “However, the truth is that you should be pleased. There are those who value my opinion in business.”
“The United States must be quite different.”
“Yes, it is. I believe we are more inclined to value honesty.”
“Bluntness, I would say. A lack of tact, even.”
“I find that tact is generally not a valuable commodity in doing business. I would much rather know where I stand. You, I take it, prefer to remain in the dark?”
For a moment Lord Thorpe simply stared at her. Then he chuckled, shaking his head. “My dear Miss Ward, you almost leave me speechless. Do you conduct all of your business in this fashion? I am surprised that you have any customers.”
Alexandra smiled back at him, finding it difficult not to respond to the softening of his face. “No,” she replied frankly. “You seem to raise my hackles more than most. However, I do find that, being a woman in business, I have to spend an inordinate amount of time arguing with men before they will accept me on equal terms.”
“Equal?” His lips curved up. “I would think that would be too paltry for you. I would imagine utter subjugation would be your goal.”
“Oh, no,” Alexandra retorted blithely. “I, you see, have no inclination toward arrogance.”
“A direct hit,” Thorpe murmured. It occurred to him that the purpose of this odd American’s visit had been accomplished, and that the interview should be at an end. But he found himself curiously reluctant to send her on her way. He wasn’t sure whether she more annoyed or aroused him, but he realized that he wanted her to stay.
He hesitated for an instant, then said, “Now that we have met, Miss Ward, perhaps you would care to have a cup of tea with me.” He turned a bland gaze toward Lyman Jones’s astonished face. “You, too, of course, Jones—unless you have pressing matters at the office?”
“Oh, no, sir,” Jones replied, blushing with pleasure at the honor of taking tea with his lordship. “That is,” he added hastily, realizing that his words might sound wrong, “of course I have things to do. There are always things to do at the office. What I meant was that today I think everything will run quite well without me for an hour or so. I’m ever so grateful—it is such an honor—if you’re sure, of course.” His voice trailed off uncertainly.
“Of course he is sure,” Alexandra said firmly, coming to the floundering man’s rescue. “I doubt that Lord Thorpe is ever anything but sure.” She turned to Thorpe. “Thank you, my lord. Tea would be most welcome.”
