A Stolen Heart

“Just what I was thinking, Miss Hortense. I’ll have someone set up a cot for me.”

Alexandra watched her mother leave with the servant, and tears welled in her eyes. “Oh, Mother,” she breathed. She looked at her aunt. “What is the matter with her? What should we do?”

“She’ll be all right in the morning,” Aunt Hortense told her matter-of-factly. “You’ll see. The noise woke her up, and she got scared. Probably heard all the servants jabbering and running around.”

“But what was she talking about? Why did she think there was a mob?”

“Oh, that. She used to do that a lot when you were little. You just don’t remember. She would wake up from nightmares, terrified and talking about the mob coming to get her and you. It was that thing she went through in France, I think. That revolution, with all those people rioting and running around with torches pulling people out of their houses. Rhea never wanted to talk about it, but I think it scared her to death. She was afraid they were going to try to kill her and you, too—mistake you for aristocrats or something, I guess.”

“But why now?”

“Oh, I doubt it was anything but being jerked out of her sleep and seeing the servants acting scared. She probably heard you screaming. It scared me, I’ll tell you. She was confused. Ah, there’s that brandy.” Her aunt turned as the butler entered the room, wearing a dressing gown over his nightshirt, a nightcap on his head, and carrying a silver tray with a bottle of brandy and two snifters on it.

Alexandra subsided, a troubled expression on her face, as her aunt bustled to the small table where the butler set the tray and began to pour her a healthy dose of brandy.

“Here, you’ll feel much better after this.”

Alexandra took the snifter from her with both hands, surprised to find that she was trembling too much to hold it with one, and took a gulp. The liquor burned like fire all the way down to her stomach, making her eyes water. She coughed and tried to hand the glass to her aunt, but Hortense crossed her arms and told her to finish the liquor.

“Brandy was always Father’s cure for a case of the nerves—and anything else that ailed you, actually. And he lived to be eighty-six, so he must have gotten something right.”

“All right.” Alexandra tried not to breathe and took another gulp. A shiver ran through her, and her stomach felt as if it had burst into flames, but she could feel relaxation stealing through her.

“Good God, you fool, let go of me!” A man’s angry voice came ringing down the hall. “What the devil is going on?”

“Thorpe!” Alexandra surged to her feet just as Thorpe stalked into the room, shaking off the restraining hand of one of the footmen. The sudden movement made her feel dizzy, and she swayed.

“Alexandra!” he exclaimed, taking in her disheveled condition in a glance, as well as her wobbliness, and he crossed the room in two quick strides, then caught her in his arms. “My God, what happened to you? And why is your front door open and all the servants prowling about with lanterns?”

Alexandra sagged against his chest, warmth flooding her. “Oh, Thorpe. There was a man and he—he jumped out—”

“What!” Thorpe looked stunned, then thunderous.

“I—I—” Suddenly, surprising everyone, including herself, Alexandra burst into tears.

“Alexandra! My dear girl.” Lord Thorpe’s arms went around her, and he cuddled her close to him, bending his head over hers. “It’s all right. I’m here. I won’t let anyone get you. It’s all right.”

Gently he stroked her hair and back, murmuring softly. Aunt Hortense, who had watched in wonder the joy that spread over her niece’s face when she saw this man, as well as the way she collapsed against him, stood for a moment looking thoughtful, then tiptoed out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Alexandra snuggled into Thorpe’s arms, luxuriating in the feeling of warmth and security, and gradually her tears abated. She stood for a moment with her head against his chest, listening to the soothing beat of his heart. It felt so nice here that she didn’t want to leave.

She lifted her tear-streaked face to Thorpe. “I’m sorry.”

Thorpe looked at her, her cheeks soft and damp, the big, dark eyes luminous. He smiled. “No need to apologize.”

He took out his handkerchief and began to blot the tears on her cheeks. She was beautiful, and so soft in his arms. Her hair was in charming disarray, curls escaping from their pinnings and tumbling over her shoulders. His gaze slid farther, to where her dress had been torn in the struggle. It had come completely off one shoulder, the little puff of a sleeve torn away, and the front of the bodice had fallen on that side, exposing the creamy top of her breast, swelling above the lacy camisole.

Thorpe’s mouth went dry. He was unable to look away from that delectable mound of flesh. He could see the dark circle of her nipple through the sheer material of the camisole. He thought about putting his lips to the soft, quivering orb; he thought of taking the pink-brown nipple into his mouth and teasing it into diamond hardness. Desire swelled in him.

He dragged his eyes to her face, but he found that her beauty did not decrease his desire in the slightest. Her lips were full and deep red, moist and soft from her bout of tears. As she looked at him, they parted slightly.

Thorpe pulled her tightly against him, and his lips came down on hers. He kissed her fully and deeply, drinking in the sweetness of her mouth, his desire as suddenly full and tumultuous as it had been in the gallery. Alexandra pressed into him eagerly, her arms going around his neck and holding on. He let out a soft moan, his lips pressing harder against hers. Passion thrummed in him. She was soft and pliant against him, and the little sounds that rose from her throat stoked his desire.

His hand slipped to her breast, covering it and stroking the quivering flesh, bare above her camisole. He could feel her nipple hardening beneath his palm, and he wanted to feel it without any cloth between them. He pushed down the camisole, sliding it across the budding nipple, and took her nipple between his thumb and finger. Gently he rolled and pressed, caressing it, delighting in the way it thrust out even more, firm and proud.

He had to taste it. Pulling his mouth from Alexandra’s, he kissed a trail down the slender column of her throat and across her chest. His mouth moved tenderly over the slope of her breast until he found the prize he sought. Softly his tongue traced the button of engorged flesh.

A groan escaped Alexandra’s lips. She sagged against Thorpe’s arm, her eyes closed, lost in the sensations he was creating in her. With every movement of his tongue, her loins quivered and grew hotter. She felt like wax melting in his arms. When he took her nipple into his mouth and began to suckle, she cried out softly, her body jerking in a paroxysm of delight. She had never felt anything like this, had never even known that such sensations existed. Her body was consumed by heat; each rhythmic pull of his mouth sent another shock of desire through her. There was a deep ache growing between her legs, a yearning that she didn’t know how to satisfy.

Alexandra moved her hips against him instinctively, searching for satisfaction, and Sebastian shuddered. His hands went to her buttocks, digging into them and shoving her even more tightly against him. His desire throbbed against her, hot and rigid. Slowly he moved her hips over him, and Alexandra gasped at the new sensation, her passion spiraling.

In the hall there was the sound of footsteps and a man’s voice saying, “Nothing, Miss Ward.”

“No trace of him?” Aunt Hortense bellowed, sounding irritated.

Alexandra gasped and stepped back, jolted from her haze of passion by the sounds. She put her hand to her mouth, her eyes huge, looking at Thorpe.

Fury stabbed through Thorpe, and he wished the servants and Aunt Hortense to hell for interrupting them. He wanted to reach out and pull Alexandra into his arms, ignoring the world outside the room, but then reason returned to him. This was hardly the time or place for lovemaking. Anyone could walk in at any moment, and the scandal would be all over London within a day. He realized, too, with something of a jolt, that he was acting like a cad. Alexandra had just gone through a frightening experience; she was unusually vulnerable—and he was taking advantage of that vulnerability. He certainly had no qualms about having a mutually satisfying affair with a woman, but he knew that it would be unfair and dishonest to lure her into lovemaking when she was so shaken and frightened by an attack.

Irritated at himself, he turned away, saying gruffly, “Forgive me. I should not—”

Alexandra wrapped her arms around herself, feeling very empty and alone. She cleared her throat, telling herself not to be a fool. “There’s no need. I was not myself. The circumstances were—”

“What happened?” He turned, seizing on the topic. It was doubly irritating, he found, that he was still throbbing with desire, even if his good sense had taken over enough to stop him before they tumbled together on the floor.

“I’m not sure.” Alexandra frowned. “He jumped out at me from behind some shrubs. He followed me—at least, I think he did. I started hearing footsteps, and then they were gone, and the next thing I knew, he was rushing out of the shrubs down the street. He grabbed me from behind and he said—this is what is so very strange—he said, ‘Go home!’”

“’Go home?’” Thorpe repeated in disbelief.

“Yes. Or go back where you came from. Something like that.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I am!” Alexandra snapped. “I could scarcely mistake something like that. He distinctly told me to leave. Why would anyone care? Why would someone attack me just to tell me to go back to the United States?”

Thorpe stared at her dumbfounded. “I cannot imagine. You must have heard him wrong.”

“I did not hear him wrong. That is what he said.”

Thorpe looked at her for a moment. He felt quite sure that the man had not grabbed her to tell her to leave the country. It was absurd. No doubt his intent had been to rape her; Alexandra was probably just too naïve to realize that. The thought made his blood boil. He thought with great satisfaction of what he would do to the man if he had him in his hands.

Frustrated, he snapped, “What the devil were you doing out there in the first place? Haven’t you any sense?”

Stung, Alexandra retorted, “I was walking home. If you will remember, you left me at the ball.”

“I told you to wait.”

“I didn’t feel like it. I was tired, and I didn’t know anyone. The footman told me you had gone away in the carriage with the Countess, and I had no idea when you would be coming back—or even if you would.”