A Stolen Heart

by Candace Camp

  Thorpe rang for his butler and ordered tea in the blue saloon, then led his visitors down the hall and into a gracious room, the walls of which were decorated in a delicate blue-and-white wallpaper above the wainscoting. It was an airy room, the heavy drapes pushed aside to let in the afternoon sun, and it was furnished not in the heavy, dark woods that Alexandra had found common in London, but in a wickerwork that gave the room a look both informal and exotic. The foreign air was heightened by the lush carpet in a design of stylized flowers and vines, and the rich, jewel-tone patterns of the chair cushions. A trumpeting elephant carved out of ivory stood on a small table, and on the wall hung a series of small, colorful paintings.

  Alexandra drew in her breath and went to the paintings. “Are these Rajput?” she asked, referring to a kind of manuscript illustration of Hindu epics that had flourished in India in earlier times.

  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.

  “Indian armor?” Alexandra asked with real interest, going over to study it. She tried not to think about how his hands had felt on her arms or the way she had yearned to
press herself against him.

  “Yes. It belonged to a Mogul officer from the last century.” Lord Thorpe’s voice was as calm as if the moment in the doorway had never happened. “The rifle was a present to me from a rajah.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded. “I happened to be with him on a hunt and shot a tiger that had him targeted for lunch. He gave me the rifle and several trinkets in gratitude. The trinkets turned out to be sapphires and rubies.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “No. I sold them and bought my first piece of land.”

  “A tea plantation?”

  Thorpe nodded, somewhat surprised to find himself telling Alexandra the story of his early years in India. He had told very few people anything about what happened to him there. But, somehow, looking into Alexandra’s huge brown eyes, alive with interest, he felt little hesitation. She might know as little about the place or people as any of the other young ladies he knew, but one thing he was certain of was that her interest was genuine. It occurred to him that perhaps there was something to be said for Miss Ward’s policy of frankness. “I spent every bit of profit I made investing in land. Eventually I bought a piece that connected the rest of my plantation to the sea. It had a lovely white beach. I was walking along it one day and stepped on this dull round stone, but when I lifted it up, I saw that it wasn’t like other stones. It was an unpolished ruby.”

  “On the sand?” Alexandra asked in astonishment.

  He nodded. “Yes. About the size of a gold sovereign. I’ve never been so shocked in my life.” He smiled faintly, remembering the heat of the sun on his shoulders, the sound of the surf crashing nearby, the pounding excitement in his heart as he had stared at the stone. “A stream ran through there, joining the sea, and it had washed the ruby and several other stones down, depositing them on the beach. I found some other small rubies and a number of sapphires. So I started mining the stream and the area around it. And that is how the tea plantation became my secondary business.”

  “So you own a ruby mine?”

  “Mostly sapphires. But I sold it before I moved back to England. I kept the plantation because I had a very good manager, but the mine—well, I find, like you, that things don’t run very well without one’s personal effort.” He shot her an amused glance.

  “You have lived a very exciting life.” It was no wonder, she thought, that a dangerous air clung to him.

  Thorpe shrugged. “I have done what I had to do.”

  Alexandra raised a brow. “You have to admit that you have done things few of the rest of us have—lived in exotic lands, shot tigers, found gemstones littering the sands….”

  He chuckled. “It sounds more exciting than it seemed at the time. Then it mostly seemed like heat and sweat and trying to escape death.”

  “That is what my uncle says about the War. He says everyone always wants to think of it as romantic and brave and daring, but mostly it was dirt and sweat and fear.”

  “The War?”

  “Yes. You know. That small war thirty-odd years ago in America…”

  “Ah, yes.” He quirked a smile. “The conflict in the colonies. Fortunately, I wasn’t in the tea business at the time.”

  Alexandra chuckled. “You take, I see, a large view of world affairs.”

  Thorpe went to his safe, unlocked it and took out two packets of soft cloth. He laid them on his desk and unwrapped the first one. On the velvet lay an old necklace. Seven separate pieces of enameled gold dangled from the circlet by separate strings of emerald beads.

  “It’s beautiful. It looks quite old.” Alexandra leaned closer.

  “It is. It’s called a satratana. Each of these sections represents a planet in the Indian astrological system.”

  “Fascinating,” Alexandra murmured. “It is such beautiful workmanship.”

  He unrolled the other cloth, revealing a necklace of startling beauty made of sapphires and diamonds, with a large sapphire pendant hanging from the center.

  “Are these from your mine?” Alexandra asked.

  Thorpe suppressed a smile. Every other woman who had seen the necklace had practically salivated over it, caressing the jewels and holding it up to her throat. He supposed it should not surprise him that Miss Ward seemed more interested in the background of the jewels.

  “Yes.” Perversely, he found himself wanting to see the jewels around her neck, though she had not asked.

  “Was this a gift to your wife?”

  “I have no wife. I intended this piece for no one,” he answered harshly, pushing aside the memory of the woman whose neck he had envisioned it on, knowing even as he did so that he would never see it.

  He began to roll the necklace up in its velvet, then paused and looked at her consideringly. “Did you think I had a wife and yet was—” He glanced toward the doorway.

  “Making advances to me?”

  “Yes, making advances to you in my own wife’s home. You must think me a very low creature.”

  Alexandra shrugged. “I know nothing about you, sir. I mean, my lord. You were, after all, intimating that I was putting myself in danger by being alone with you. If you are the sort to take advantage of a woman alone, I would suppose the fact of a wife would not stop you.”

  He winced. “You don’t pull your punches, do you?”

  “I try not to.” Alexandra softened her words with a smile, a dimple peeking in one cheek. “Actually, I did not think you were the sort. But I have always found it best not to assume too much.”

  “Mm.” He wrapped the other necklace and returned them to the safe.

  “Where is the original ruby?” Alexandra asked. “Did you keep it?”

  He smiled at her intuition. “Yes. Would you like to see it?”

  “Very much—if you don’t mind showing it to me.”

  He reached into the safe again and pulled out a small pouch. Bringing it to where Alexandra stood, he opened the pouch and turned it upside down. The uncut ruby rolled into his hand. “I’m afraid it’s not as impressive as the necklace. It’s not polished or cut. I left it as it was.”

  Alexandra smiled with something like approval. “That is exactly what I would have done.”

  He held it out to her, and she took it, holding it in her palm and looking at it from this angle, then that, and finally handed it back to him. He replaced the ruby in its bag and closed it up in the safe. He turned to her. Normally he would have shown a visitor no more than what he already had, if that much. But he found himself wanting to show her more. He took her arm.

  “Come upstairs. I will show you the India room.”

  They climbed the wide, curving staircase to the next floor. Alexandra knew that this must be the floor on which the family bedrooms and more private sitting rooms lay, and it made her feel a little odd to be here alone with him. But she put the thought aside; she was not going to allow proprieties to spoil her enjoyment of this day. She had waited for years, it seemed, for a chance to view the kind of things Lord Thorpe was showing her.

  Thorpe ushered her into a room, and Alexandra let out an exclamation of pleasure. The entire room had been given over to India. Huge jewel-toned cushions were scattered around the floor, which was softened by a wine-colored rug in the stylized Mogul fashion. Precisely realistic portraits of men in Indian dress hung on the walls, along with two more ornate swords. A chest of beaten brass, a low, round table of intricately carved wood and several pedestals and shelves held more treasures. There was a large head of Buddha made from gold and decorated with jewels. A vase of obvious antiquity filled with long, lovely peacock feathers stood on the floor, and several other pieces of pottery, some painted or gilded, others glazed, sat atop pedestals. There were ivory and jade statues of various animals, from elephants to tigers to coiling cobras, as well as figures of Hindu gods and goddesses and legendary heroes. Alexandra could not resist picking up first this one, then that, running her finger over the delicate carving.

  “They’re beautiful,” she breathed. “Lo
ok at this knife.” She picked up a small, curved knife with an ivory hilt carved into the figure of a tiger, smoothing her finger over the hilt. “It seems odd that there would be such beauty expended on a thing of destruction.”

  Thorpe watched her as she examined the things in the cabinet. Her face glowed as if lit from within, making her even more beautiful. He wondered if she would glow like that, her eyes soft and lambent, when she was making love. He knew, with a heat low in his abdomen, that it was something he would like to discover. Her fingers moved over the objects sensually, as though she gained as much enjoyment from touching them as from looking at them. Thorpe imagined the cool, smooth feel of the jade and ivory beneath her skin. He imagined, too, the warmth of Alexandra’s skin as she touched them, the softness and the faint texture, and the fire deep in his loins grew. This was a woman who used and enjoyed her senses, a woman who could dwell in the physical plane as easily as the intellectual. Nor did she try to hide her pleasure behind a cool mask of sophistication. She would be a passionate lover, he thought, as uninhibited in bed as she was in her speech, as eager to taste all the pleasures of lovemaking as she was to enjoy the beauty of his works of art.

  Was she experienced? She was a woman of some wealth and position, at least in her country, and she was not married. Normally he would assume that she was, indeed, a virgin. But there was little that was normal about Miss Ward, he knew, and therefore he wondered if in this regard she flouted convention, also. It would be an interesting topic to pursue.

  Alexandra laid the knife down with a sigh and looked around her one more time. “They are all exquisite. Thank you so much, Lord Thorpe, for allowing me to see them.” She smiled. “I realize that I pushed myself on you quite rudely. I have no excuse except my intense desire to see your treasures for myself. You have acted in a most generous manner.”

  “It was a pleasure,” he responded truthfully.