A Stolen Heart. Candace Camp

the words not of a man who had no use for love but of one who had been disappointed in it. “So you are offering me a brief, loveless moment of mating? I must say, it seems hard to turn down.”

      Her words surprised a grin from him. “You have a way with words. I would hope it is not exactly that.” He reached out and looped a single finger through hers—the briefest of touches, yet it sent heat shimmering through her. “I would say a time of passion, hopefully not brief, a mutual sharing of pleasure between adults without any efforts to control or gain an advantage.”

      Alexandra looked down, smoothing her skirt. “I fear you must think I am someone other than who I am.”

      “Are you going to tell me that you are a conventional shrinking maiden?” he asked, humor lacing his voice. “My dear woman, I just kissed you. I would have to differ.”

      She raised her eyes, looking at him in her usual honest way. “I would be a fool to deny what I felt. And I realize that I am rather unconventional in many of the things I do. Nor am I a young girl. I am twenty-four years old and used to making decisions.”

      “I am quite aware of that.”

      “However, I think you seek a woman of experience.”

      His eyes seemed suddenly to burn hotter. “And you are not?”

      “Not of the sort I believe you require.”

      “Excuse me. I had thought—when I kissed you—”

      Alexandra blushed. “I am sorry to disappoint you.”

      He smiled slowly. “Oh, no, you did not disappoint me. But I can see now that I rushed my fences. I am not usually so foolish.” He took her hand and raised it formally to his lips. “My dear Miss Ward, please forgive my importunities. I can see that we need to take our time.”

      “Then you are setting out to seduce me?” Alexandra asked curiously.

      “If you mean to trick you into my bed, no,” he replied. He kissed each of her fingers lightly on the tip as he went on. “But to supply you with the information you need to make a decision, yes. As a businesswoman, I am sure that you would appreciate the distinction.”

      A laugh burst from Alexandra. “You are clever, my lord. But I think we are miles apart. I, you see, believe in love. Without it, passion is a hollow pleasure.”

      “This, I believe, is an argument we shall have ample time to discuss,” he said, a sensual smile playing on his lips. “In the meantime, perhaps we should return to the party. Otherwise tongues will indeed be wagging.”

      He offered her his arm, and Alexandra slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow. They strolled down the hallway to the ballroom.

      They had just stepped into the room when Thorpe’s gaze lit on a group of people, and he smiled with satisfaction. “Ah. There she is.”

      “Who?” Alexandra turned and looked in the direction of his gaze, her curiosity aroused.

      He was looking at a group of four people who were chatting with Nicola Falcourt. There was a balding, plump man, rather ordinary-looking, and beside him a formidable middle-aged woman in deep royal blue. She was squarely built with a jutting bosom like the prow of a ship. A young slip of girl was with them, colorless in a maidenly white dress. Her hair was a nondescript brown, and Alexandra could not tell the color of her eyes, for they were hidden behind spectacles. The last member of the party, who was bending to kiss Nicola’s cheek, was, in Alexandra’s view, the most interesting. She was older than the formidable woman, but infinitely more attractive and intriguing. There was the air about her of a woman who had always been attractive to men, a certain confidence of carriage, a poise and even a hint of flirtatiousness as she smiled. She was tall and slender, with a mass of white hair, and her blue eyes, hooded by age, were still keen and twinkling with amusement.

      “The elegant lady in gray and silver crepe?” Alexandra asked Thorpe. “Is she your Countess?”

      Thorpe smiled fondly. “Yes. She is indeed my Countess.”

      They started across the room toward the group. Thorpe said as they walked, “Her granddaughter, Penelope, is a pleasant girl, but don’t expect much from Lady Ursula. She was never fond of me—always thought I was a bad influence on her son, Artie.”

      “And were you?”

      “Doubtless,” he responded, smiling. “But, then, Artie desperately needed a bad influence. Poor lad, he grew quite dull after I left.”

      They drew close to the group. Lady Ursula turned and saw them, and her mouth drew up like a prune. “Thorpe,” she said without enthusiasm.

      The Countess turned at her daughter’s words, smiling brilliantly. “Thorpe! How wonderful to see you.” She held out her hands to him. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”

      Thorpe stepped forward, between Alexandra and the older woman. He took the Countess’s hands and raised them to his lips. “My lady. I, on the other hand, had hoped that I would find you here. There is someone I would like you to meet.”

      He stepped aside at his words, holding out a hand toward Alexandra. She moved toward them. “Countess, allow me to intro—”

      The Countess looked beyond him to Alexandra, and the blood drained from her face. “Simone!”

      She crumpled to the floor.