A Stolen Heart. Candace Camp
in extending our acquaintanceship. Now…would you care to dance?”
It was hardly a subtle change of subject. Alexandra felt that there must be more to the story, but she let him lead her onto the dance floor without protest. The waltz began, and they swept around the ballroom with the other dancers in time to the music. Alexandra’s hand rested lightly in Thorpe’s; his other hand was at her waist. It was quite proper, yet a little titillating, too, to be standing so close to him, gazing into his eyes only inches from hers, feeling the heat of his hand at her waist, as if at any moment he might pull her tightly against him.
Alexandra wondered how he felt about her. It was not a question that normally concerned her. She was sure of her own worth, and while men usually were attracted by her beauty, it did not worry her if they were equally dismayed by her brains or bluntness. But this time, it did matter, just as this time she found his nearness, his touch, his smile, all disconcerting.
After the waltz, Alexandra danced with several other men, but she found them dull compared to Thorpe. She was relieved when Thorpe reclaimed her after the cotillion and escorted her to the informal supper on the floor below. Alexandra sat in a chair against the wall while Thorpe went to get plates of food for them. She started to protest that she was quite capable of getting her own food, but she saw that most of the other couples were doing the same thing, and she decided to say nothing. It seemed remarkably silly to her, but the English were attached to their customs.
As she sat, idly watching the other people in the large room, she noticed that a woman across the room was watching her. She was a small woman, even delicate, and that image was amplified by the gauzy, floating dress she wore. She was quite beautiful, with fair skin and golden hair. Alexandra wondered who she was and what she found so interesting about her.
The woman cast a quick look at the buffet tables, where Thorpe stood, then floated—there was no other word for the graceful, dainty way she walked—over to where Alexandra sat. Alexandra watched her approach with interest. As she drew nearer, Alexandra could see that the woman was older than she had initially thought, with fine lines around her eyes and mouth and a certain brassiness to the gold in her hair that Alexandra thought betokened the touch of something other than Nature. Still, she was lovely in a cool, elegant way.
“I see Thorpe has taken you up,” she said without preamble.
“I beg your pardon?” Alexandra looked at her in surprise. Did the woman not realize how rude she sounded?
“They say you are an American,” the woman went on, ignoring Alexandra’s comment.
“Yes, I am. What does—”
“Then you obviously don’t know about his reputation.”
“Lord Thorpe’s?”
“Of course,” the woman answered impatiently. “Mamas keep close watch on their daughters when Sebastian is around.”
This woman must know him well to refer to him casually by his given name, Alexandra reasoned. She had discovered that the British were amazingly formal about such things.
“They do so with good reason,” the woman went on, her blue eyes frosty.
“And what is that reason?” Alexandra asked, matching the freezing tone of the other woman’s voice.
The woman gave a small, twisted smile. “Ah, I can see that he has already worked his spell on you. Just take my word for it—he is well-known for his seductions.”
“I am surprised that he is received in polite society, then.”
“Money and a title have an amazing power to make up for all sins.”
“Lady Pencross.” Both women, engrossed in their conversation, started and glanced up at the sound of a masculine voice a few feet from them.
It was Lord Thorpe, and his eyes were fixed on Alexandra’s visitor. His face held no emotion, but the tone of his voice was as unyielding as iron. A little shiver ran down Alexandra’s spine. She would not relish having Thorpe look at her in that way.
“Sebastian.” Lady Pencross opened her eyes a little wider, her mouth turning down in a hurt way. “You don’t sound pleased to see me.”
“I doubt you are surprised,” Thorpe replied dryly. “I am sure you have business somewhere else, don’t you?”
Alexandra drew in a sharp breath at his blatant rudeness. The blond woman’s eyes flashed, and for an instant Alexandra thought she was going to lash back with something venomous, but then she merely smiled and moved away.
“Another person with whom you are not interested in extending your acquaintanceship?” Alexandra asked lightly.
Thorpe, who had turned to watch the woman walk away, swiveled to Alexandra. His eyes were dark, his face etched in bitter lines. He looked at Alexandra for a moment, then relaxed, letting out a little laugh. “Yes. Lady Pencross and I have had far too much acquaintanceship as it is.”
Alexandra was filled with curiosity about the incident, particularly what had caused the ill will between the lady and Thorpe, but, infuriatingly, Thorpe did not elaborate on the matter. He seemed to shrug it off, handing Alexandra her plate and sitting beside her.
“I hope I did not keep you waiting too long,” he said. “The tables were rather busy.”
“No. I was well entertained.”
He glanced at her sharply. “Did Lady Pencross disturb you?”
“No. Not disturb, precisely. She was, ah, concerned about my virtue in your company.”
He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Trust me, she is not disturbed about anyone’s virtue, especially her own. I would not refine too much on what Lady Pencross says.”
“I won’t. I am well able to make up my own mind.”
Thorpe looked at her, a smile beginning in his eyes. “Of course. How could I have forgotten that?”
They ate their food, a delicious repast that had Alexandra regretting the supper she had eaten earlier, and occupied their time with discussing the various people around them. Thorpe knew most of them and their foibles, and painted them with an acid wit that kept Alexandra chuckling.
“How hard you are on your peers,” she told him.
He shrugged. “I am a mere novice compared to many of them. Malice and vitriol are the oils that keep the ton running.” He set aside their plates. “Are you ready to return to the dancing?”
“Of course. It will be much more enjoyable watching everyone now that I know all their secrets.”
“You have barely scratched the surface, my dear girl.”
They left the room and made their way to the stairs, but Alexandra paused to look at some of the paintings that hung on the walls of the huge entry hall.
“That is the present Duke’s mother,” Thorpe told her, pointing to a picture of a woman with her arms around a young girl and two toy spaniels at their feet. “Painted by Gainsborough.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“He has some fine art, nearly all portraits, of course—that is what the former Duke valued in art.”
“His favorite, doubtless, was the horse.” Alexandra nodded toward the massive portrait of the animal that she had noticed when they first walked in.
“Definitely. Would you like to see some of the other things?”
“Why, yes, if you think it would be all right.”
“I’m sure of it.” He guided her up the stairs and away from the ballroom, heading down the long gallery. Just past the stand of armor began a row of portraits, many dark with age.
“Why, this looks like—”
Thorpe nodded. “A Holbein. It is of Isabella Moncourt,