A Stolen Heart. Candace Camp
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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 toward 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