A Stolen Heart. Candace Camp

misfortune to meet. First he left her at the party, telling her to wait there, as if she were a dog or a servant. Then he had the nerve to tell her that she should not have left the party without him, that she had not heard what she had, and that it was her fault someone had attacked her because she had walked home alone. And he had finished it all off by telling her that he was taking her to the Countess’s the next afternoon, as if she had nothing to say in the matter!

      The awful thing, she had to admit to herself, was that despite all that, no matter his arrogance or his ordering her about, she was still all aquiver from those moments when they had kissed. His kisses had stirred her in ways she had never known before, and even now she felt hot and jittery—and if he walked in the door this instant, she would have to struggle to keep from running to him to kiss him again! How could a man infuriate her so much and at the same time make her want him so? Alexandra would not have thought it possible.

      Her aunt bustled in. “Has he left?” Her eyes searched Alexandra’s face carefully.

      “Yes. Why are you looking at me like that?”

      “Like what?”

      “I don’t know—as if you are searching for something.”

      “No. It’s only…I’ve never seen you look at someone that way.”

      “What way?”

      “The way you looked at Mr. Thorpe.”

      “Lord Thorpe.”

      “Of course. Lord Thorpe.” Her aunt rolled her eyes. “These Englishmen and their infernal love of titles. As if that makes any difference to what the man is.” She paused. “Alexandra, do you…have feelings for this man?”