A Stolen Heart. Candace Camp

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, the lovely young wife of the then Marquess of Moncourt. The young woman met an untimely end.”

      Alexandra eyes widened. “Really? She was murdered?”

      Thorpe shrugged. “Who knows? She died young—a fall down the stairs one night. Murder was definitely rumored—a charge the Moncourts vehemently deny to this day. But it is said that she had caught the eye of one of the Howards. And her husband was known to be a jealous man.”

      “Caught his eye? That was all? Why didn’t the husband kill the Howard, then? It sounds to me as if he were more at fault.”

      Thorpe chuckled. “No one even knows if it is true. But if it is, I would guess that the lady was not entirely blameless.”

      They continued along the hallway, peering to see the portraits in the light of the wall sconces. “I would love to see them by day,” Alexandra commented.

      “I can show you an even better collection another day, if you’d like.”

      “Your family’s ancestors?”

      “No. My family’s art, such as it is, is primarily at the estate in the country. I spend little time there. And my house, as you know, is given over to ‘heathen art,’ as Lady Ursula has told me.”

      “Who?”

      “The daughter of a very good friend of mine. I hope you will be able to meet her tonight.”

      “Lady Ursula?”

      “No, although I dare swear we will be unable to avoid that if the Countess is here. But it is the Countess I want you to meet.”

      “She is someone special to you?”

      Thorpe nodded. “Yes. Her grandson and I were friends at school, and I often visited with them. The Countess was—Well, let’s just say I found more understanding and love there than was ever at my home. Sometimes I feel that she is almost my mother—or grandmother.”

      “I look forward to meeting her, then.”

      They reached the end of the gallery and turned to look back down the empty hallway. There was a pool of darkness at the end of the long corridor, the golden circles of light cast by the wall sconces ending several steps before them.

      Alexandra turned, her eyes going to Thorpe’s. His face was shadowed, but the gleam in his eyes was unmistakable. Her breath caught in her throat. Was he going to kiss her? He took a step toward her. She knew that if she turned away, it would break the moment, and he would not touch her. But she found that she had no interest in turning away. She waited, her eyes locked on his.

      He smiled faintly as he reached out and brushed his knuckles down her cheek. “You intrigue me, Miss Ward.”

      “Indeed?” Alexandra struggled to keep her voice light, even though the whisper-light touch of his skin upon hers made her blood race. “Is this your common practice with women who intrigue you, my lord? To lure them down dark, deserted corridors on the pretext of showing them art?”

      His eyes danced. “’Twas no pretext. We have been looking at art. And you are free to go any time you wish. I am not holding you here.”

      Alexandra could feel the pulse pounding in her throat, the heat rising in her face. She did not move.

      A smile touched his lips, and his hand moved to cup the back of her neck. She watched him, her breath coming faster in her throat as he leaned in. She had no thought of scandal or propriety, only of the fact that she wanted to feel his kiss. She turned her face to him.

      His lips were soft and hot on hers, and she shivered a little at the new sensation. Only one man had ever tried to kiss her on the mouth, and his wet, inebriated kiss had felt nothing like this. She had given that man a good, hard shove, and he had ended up sitting on his backside in the snow. This time, however, she had no desire to push Thorpe away.

      Little tendrils of sensation darted through her, raising tingles and heat throughout her body and a sudden strange weakness in her knees. She leaned in, her hands going up to grasp his lapels for support, for she felt as if her legs might give way beneath her. She heard Thorpe’s breath draw in sharply at her movement, and his arms slid around her, pulling her tightly into him. His body was deliciously hard against her softness, pressing into her all up and down. Their mouths blended; their arms sought to pull each other closer and closer still; their skin surged with heat.

      Alexandra was lost in the experience, dazzled and dazed. Her flesh quivered, and blood pooled in her loins, throbbing and heated. There was an ache between her legs, and her breasts felt swollen and tender, her nipples hardening.

      His tongue swept her mouth, exploring and arousing her. Alexandra moaned, clinging to him, as she tentatively answered with her own tongue. Thorpe made a noise deep in his throat, and his hands moved down her back and onto the rounded flesh of her buttocks. His fingers dug into the firm mounds, lifting her up and into him. She could feel the ridge of his desire against her, hard and insistent, and somehow the knowledge of his hunger for her aroused her even more.

      Finally Thorpe raised his head and looked at her, his face flushed, his eyes glittering in the dim light. “Good God! I had not meant—”

      Alexandra gazed at him, stunned momentarily into speechlessness. Her thoughts tumbled crazily, scattered by the tumult of sensations coursing through her.

      “This is far too public a place,” he said finally. He drew a deep breath and stepped back, his arms falling away from her. He glanced over his shoulder, relieved to see that the corridor was still empty. “I do not want either of us to be fodder for the rumor mill.”

      “What do you want?” Alexandra asked, the first words that came into her mind.

      The sensual curve of his mouth as he smiled was answer enough. “You must know what I want.”

      “Indeed. I think I have some idea.” Alexandra struggled to pull herself together. She was well aware of what he wanted; the same desire was pounding through her veins. Keeping her virtue had never been a difficult decision before; indeed, it had not required any thought at all. She had never felt tempted to give it up. Now, for the first time, she had to struggle to make the right decision. “You, I take it, do not have honorable intentions.”

      Thorpe smiled sardonically. “My dear Miss Ward, my intentions are rarely honorable. Surely someone must have told you that by now.”

      “It has been mentioned to me that you have…something of a reputation.”

      “You put it delicately.” He crossed his arms. “The truth is, I am scandalous, Miss Ward. I am considered a roué. While I am welcome husband material, having a fortune, I must be watched at all times by any young girl’s chaperone.”

      “You are in the habit of seducing young girls?” Alexandra asked, her back stiffening. Could it really be true that he vilely preyed on innocent maidens? That he sought out and seduced vulnerable girls whose heads were easily turned by a man of looks and fortune?

      “No. I am not. I find simpering young debutantes deadly dull. There are many mamas who would love to think that I covet their darlings’ virtue, but I rarely find virtue interesting. Nor am I interested in tricking a woman of any age or amount of innocence into my bed.”

      “Then what do you seek, if I may ask?”

      “A night of pleasure