Candace Camp - A Stolen Heart

“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.

“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.”