A Stolen Heart

by Candace Camp

  “It is a possibility I have to consider,” he said in a clipped voice. “You acted as though you had never heard of Exmoor before now. As if you did not know the Countess or anything about her family.”

  “I don’t—or, at least, I did not until she told me!”

  “Then what were you doing going to Exmoor House?”

  “I don’t even know what Exmoor House is! Who lives there? It isn’t the Countess’s house.”

  Thorpe grimaced. “You know very well that it belongs to the Earl of Exmoor.”

  “Do you mean that man I met last night? The one Nicola disliked? What does that have to do with the Countess?”

  “It is the seat of the family. It is where the Countess lived before the death of her husband, who was then Earl—and exactly where you could find a servant who would remember details about the family, about Chilton and his wife and their children. The very sort of facts you need to convince the Countess that you are her granddaughter.”

  “What!” Hurt mingled with anger, and Alexandra trembled under the force of her emotions. “You dare to accuse me of—of pretending to be the Countess’s dead granddaughter? To what purpose? Why?”

  “For money. Isn’t that always the reason?” Thorpe’s mouth twisted.

  “Money!”

  “Yes. The Countess is a wealthy woman. Even though the title and the estates passed to Richard when the Earl and his son both died, her husband left her a great deal of money. A woman who was the granddaughter she had long believed dead would likely get things showered on her by her wealthy grandmother—and a good portion of her estate when she died.”

  “But I don’t need money from the Countess, or anyone. I have plenty of money of my own.”

  “So you say.”

  “Oh. Of course. Nothing I say can be held as truth. Exactly why is that? Because I am not British? Or because by some strange quirk of fate I resemble the Countess’s daughter-in-law? I suppose you think that somehow I managed to make myself a replica of this Simone person, too.”

  “Hair has been known to change color and can be curled. The likeness could be emphasized.”

  “Her portrait was enough like me to be my twin!” Alexandra cried. “You can’t explain that away with talk of dyeing and curling.”

  Thorpe was silent for a moment, looking at her. “So now you are claiming a connection with Simone?” His mouth twisted. “And to think that I was fool enough to believe you, to think that you were interested in my collection or in me, when all you really wanted was entrée to the Countess.”

  “I didn’t even know the Countess. What did I care about meeting her?” Alexandra cried. “You were the one who introduced me to her. You were the one who invited me to that ball.”

  “Ah, but that was part of your scheme, wasn’t it?”

  Alexandra looked at him for a long moment, almost breathless from the pain of his words. She would never have guessed that it could hurt so much to have a man look at her the way Thorpe was looking at her, as if she were dirt beneath his feet.

  “I would hate to be you,” she said finally. “To see the world the way you see it. You know me, you talked to me, you even acted as though you were attracted to me.”

  “I was attracted to you, dammit! My folly, obviously!”

  “It makes me ill to think that I kissed you, that I let you put your arms around me—”

  “You did much more than that!” Thorpe retorted hotly, surprised at the knife that twisted through his gut at her words.

  “Get out of my house,” Alexandra said, her voice level and cold, each word dropping like a stone.

  “If you are innocent, tell me why you went to Exmoor House this evening. Tell me who that woman was!”

  “I do not have to prove myself to you or anyone.” Alexandra refused to tell him for any reason. Bile rose in her. She was afraid that she might burst into tears at any moment. “Please leave my house, or I will have to call one of the footmen.”

  “Gladly.” The word sounded ripped from him.

  Thorpe strode out of the room. He stopped just outside the doorway and turned, saying coldly, “Stay away from the Countess. I’ll do whatever I have to to keep you from hurting her.”

  He turned and left, closing the front door behind him with a quiet, final click. Alexandra remained staring at the empty doorway for a moment. Then she reached down and grabbed the closest thing to her—a book, it turned out—and threw it after him. It hit the side of the doorway with a satisfying crash and fell to the floor. Alexandra liked the sound of it so much that she followed it with a vase of roses, and after that a couple of cushions that decorated the couch, a small statue, a paperweight and a set of bookends.

  How dare he? How dare he imply that she was a criminal? A swindler! An adventuress out to get money from a sad old woman! How could he have kissed her the way he had and then think such a thing of her?

  Rage and hurt churned in her. She realized how foolish she had been, how she had allowed her passion to take control of her usually level head. “I hate him!”

  “Child, what is going on?”

  Alexandra looked up at the sound of her aunt’s voice. Aunt Hortense was standing in the hall outside the drawing room, looking in amazement at the variety of objects strewn over the floor, some intact, many broken.

  Alexandra sighed. “A fit of temper. I’m sorry, Aunt. Did I disturb you?”

  “Somewhat. I decided I should leave Rhea in Nan’s care and come down here to see about you.”

  “I’m all right.”

  “Really?”

  Alexandra shrugged. “I have been a fool.”

  “Mm. About the Englishman?”

  Alexandra nodded. “I thought he—”

  “Cared for you?” Aunt Hortense asked gently.

  “Yes. But he had no real interest in me. He desired me, but he had no liking for me, no understanding of me.” She raised her eyes to her aunt’s with a sigh. “He accused me tonight of being an imposter.”

  “An imposter? Whatever do you mean?”

  “He said that I had pretended to be interested in his Indian collection in order to wangle a way to meet the Countess. He said that I was after her money.”

  “Good Lord.” Aunt Hortense goggled at the thought. “Whatever made him think that?”

  “He saw me follow Mother to Exmoor House. Apparently that is where the Countess used to live with her family. He saw me with Mother outside the house, and he assumed that I was bribing a servant to tell me all sorts of things I could use to convince the Countess that I am her granddaughter.”

  “Why didn’t you tell him that it was Rhea?”

  Alexandra cast her a look. “And have to explain what Mother was doing there? What could I say? Should I have had him meet Mother and realize that she is…” Alexandra sighed. “I didn’t want him to think that of Mother. I didn’t want to see the way he would look at her…at me. And then—when I realized what he thought of me—there was nothing on earth that would have convinced me to tell him what I was doing there. He is nothing to me, and there is no reason I should tell him anything.”

  “Of course not, dear.”

  “Don’t look at me in that sympathetic way. Perhaps my heart has been bruised a little, but I’ll get over it quickly enough.” Unexpected tears pricked her eyelids, but Alexandra blinked them away. “I think that I will settle my business here as quickly as possible. And then we should go back to Massachusetts. Let Thorpe have his precious Countess to himself. I have no interest in the woman.”

  Alexandra sighed, then went on. “That’s not true. I like the Countess. She seemed to me to be someone I would enjoy knowing. I had wanted to go back to her and tell her about what you and I talked about this afternoon, only now he’s spoiled it. I can’t even talk to her without his claiming I’m shamming her.”

  “What does it matter what he thinks?” Aunt Hortense asked. “As long as you know the truth.”

  “It shouldn’t, I know, but…” Alexandra frowned. “
Aunt Hortense, Mother said something to me this evening. I didn’t have a chance to tell you, but when I found her this evening, she looked at me and started to cry. Then she said, ‘I’m sorry, Simone.’”

  “What?” Aunt Hortense gaped at her.

  Alexandra nodded. “Just like the Countess did. It cannot be coincidence.”

  “No. I suppose not,” Aunt Hortense agreed unhappily.

  “Could Mother have known the woman? They were in Paris at the same time. Could it be that Father and this woman—”

  “No! I don’t know.” Her aunt’s frown deepened. “I have an awful feeling about all this. I wish we had never come to London.”

  “So do I.” Alexandra shrugged. “Well, we will be leaving soon.”

  There was a pause, then she burst out, “Damn that man! I hate to run off and let him think that he scared me away. That I left because he had exposed my scheme and warned me away from the Countess!”

  “I don’t know what you can do,” Aunt Hortense pointed out reasonably. “Unless you want to pretend to be the granddaughter in order to spite him.”

  Alexandra made a face at her aunt. “No, of course not. I would never do that to the Countess. Poor woman.” She tilted her head, considering. “Though I might just go and see her before I leave, to say goodbye and wish her well.” Her dark eyes flashed. “And make him worry a little.”

  ALEXANDRA SPENT THE NEXT FEW days working on her business affairs, trying to get all the loose ends tied up so that they could return to the United States. She had found that there was a ship sailing for Boston in a little over a week, and she was determined to be on it. All too often, however, her mind wandered from the subject at hand, and she found herself rehashing her bitter confrontation with Lord Thorpe or remembering the look in her mother’s eyes when she had called Alexandra Simone.

  What had happened in Paris? Had her mother known Simone? Could she have rescued the baby, then adopted her? But if she had, why had she kept Alexandra’s origins secret all these years? Alexandra could see nothing shameful in taking in an orphaned child.

  Alexandra wished intensely that she could get her mother to talk to her. But though she had gone into her mother’s bedroom several times, she had not managed to get the woman to say a word to her. Rhea had lain on her bed, sunk into silence, her eyes closed or staring off into space. Alexandra had seen her mother like this a few times before, and she did not understand it any more than she understood why Rhea secreted bottles of liquor about the house and drank from them furtively.

  Three days after her confrontation with Lord Thorpe, she took a hackney to the office of her London agent, with whom her company had worked for years. Mr. Merriman greeted her with his usual politeness, but as they talked, Alexandra could see that there was something troubling him. Finally, he stopped in the middle of a discussion about a shipping contract, and said, “Miss Ward…”

  He stopped and shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

  Alexandra waited, and when he did not continue, she prompted, “Yes?”

  “I—well, an odd thing happened two days ago. I don’t know what it means, but I feel it incumbent upon me to tell you.”

  Alexandra stiffened. “Please do.”

  “Mr. Jones came to visit me. Lyman Jones, the businessman for Lord Thorpe. I don’t know if you remember him—”

  “Oh, yes, very well.” Alexandra’s face hardened. “Do go on.”

  “He asked me a number of questions about you—how long I had been your agent and how much business I had done with you over the years, things like that.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “Well, I said I had done business with you for many years, and our exact dealings were none of his business. As if I would tell him the details of one of my client’s business transactions!” Merriman’s eyes lit with remembered indignation. “I told him he was a presumptuous upstart and sent him on his way. I also reminded him that we had a signed contract with Burchings Tea, and if he tried to weasel out of it now, I would have him in court faster than he could blink. He was all apologies, of course.” The agent looked a little smug. “Said he wasn’t interested in backing out of anything, but his client, Lord Thorpe, had told him to find out all he could about you and your company.”

  “I am sure he did,” Alexandra replied grimly, wishing that she had Lord Thorpe before her right now so she could tell him exactly what she thought of him.

  “Then you know about it?” he asked, relieved.

  “I did not know that Lord Thorpe sent Mr. Jones to question you. However, I am aware that he has taken some rather peculiar notions into his head.”

  “The oddest thing he asked was if I was sure that you were you.”

  Alexandra ground her teeth. “That blackguard.”

  “I told him that of course I had never met you personally before, but I had no reason to doubt that you were Alexandra Ward. Your credentials and letters of credit all were in order.” He frowned, and Alexandra could see the faint touch of uncertainty on his face.

  “I am so sorry.” Alexandra was seething inside, but she forced herself to put on a pleasant face. “I can see that Mr. Jones’s questions have upset you. There is nothing to worry about, I assure you. As you said, my credentials are in order. I am most definitely Alexandra Ward. Lord Thorpe seems to have become somewhat…disturbed.”

  Mr. Merriman’s mouth formed an O of amazement, and he leaned forward confidentially, saying, “You mean he’s touched in the upper works? I’ve heard some of those noblemen are mad as hatters.”

  For one gleeful instant Alexandra was tempted to let loose the rumor that Thorpe was indeed mad, but she did not. She was far too sensitive to the charge of madness to put it on anyone, even someone she disliked as thoroughly as she did Lord Thorpe at the moment.

  “No,” she said reluctantly. “He is not insane. He has an odd suspicion that I am an imposter.”

  Her agent looked at her expectantly, and Alexandra knew that he would like a full explanation. However, she was not about to plunge into the long, confused and highly personal story.

  “It is far too silly to give credence to,” she told the man. “I am sure you can tell that I am far too knowledgeable about every aspect of Ward Shipping to be anything but the woman you have dealt with in the past. As you mentioned, my company has done business with you for several years. I would certainly hate for this matter to end our business relationship.”

  Merriman blanched at the thought of losing his lucrative share of the Ward business dealings. “No, Miss Ward, of course not. I have every confidence in you, of course. I trust that we will continue to do business for a good many years.”

  “Good. Now, if you will excuse me, I should like to put off discussions of these other matters until another time. I think that I had better visit Lord Thorpe and put an end to this.”

  She went first to Lyman Jones’s office, which was just down the street from Merriman’s, and rang a peal over his head that left him pale and shaken and babbling incoherent apologies. Next, she hailed a hackney to Thorpe’s house. Thorpe’s Indian servant opened the door, but before he could begin to speak, Alexandra sailed past him.

  “No, Mr. Punwati, don’t even bother to lie that he is not here. I intend to see Lord Thorpe, even if I have to wait on the doorstep until he comes home.”

  Punwati looked distressed at the thought. “Oh, no, Miss Ward, he is here. He is in his study. Let me—”

  “Never mind.” Alexandra strode past him. “I know where it is.”

  “Miss Ward!” He came after her agitatedly. “You must let me announce you.”

  But at that moment Lord Thorpe himself walked out of the study, his face set in lines of aristocratic disdain. “Miss Ward. I thought I heard your dulcet tones.”

  Alexandra ignored the skip her heart took when she saw him. She strode forward, letting her anger sweep through her. “How dare you? How dare you send Mr. Jones to my business agent and plant doubts in his mind about me?”

>   “I think I have a right to ask questions about someone with whom I am doing business.”

  “You implied to him that I was not Alexandra Ward. You shook his faith in me and damaged our relationship.” Her dark eyes flashed, and her cheeks were high with color. She was aware of an intense desire to fly at him, claws out.

  “If you are who you say you are, it should be no problem.”

  “Please! Don’t pretend to be any more foolish than you are! We both know that confidence is at the basis of business dealings, especially when an ocean separates you. Since I am sure that an appeal to your human decency would fall on deaf ears, I will address your pocketbook. If I hear of your spreading another word of slander or innuendo about me, I will go straight to a solicitor. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Perfectly.”

  “Good.” Alexandra whirled and started to walk away, then turned abruptly. Tears glimmered in her eyes. “And to think that I actually liked you! How could you turn out to be such a…such a snake?”

  She left, Punwati scurrying to open the door for her. Lord Thorpe stood looking after her, his face bleak.

  TO ALEXANDRA’S SURPRISE, SHE burst into tears in the hackney on the way home, and it took her a good two hours alone in her room to return to some semblance of normalcy. Finally, when she judged herself calm enough, she went down the hallway to her mother’s bedroom to see how she was doing.

  Nancy drew Alexandra into the hallway. “If you could sit with her a spell, Miss Alexandra, I could get a bite to eat.” She glanced at Rhea’s sleeping form on the bed. “She shouldn’t be any trouble.” She touched the bandage on her head unconsciously.

  “I know.” Rhea was never any trouble when she was sunk in one of her glooms, though Alexandra found them almost more painful to watch than some of her other odd starts.

  “She’s just been holding on to that box,” Nancy went on, shaking her head. “And looking inside it and crying, all silent like.”

  Alexandra nodded. “I will sit with her. Take your time.”

  Nancy left, and Alexandra went into the room. She stood beside her mother’s bed and gazed down on her. Rhea was sleeping as peacefully as a baby, curled on her side. Alexandra’s gaze went to the box beside her on the bed.