A Stolen Heart by Candace Camp

doubtless be outshone by many of the gowns on the ladies present at the ball. Her clothes, while of good cut and material, were not in the first stare of fashion in London, and she had not brought her very best ball gown with her, not thinking that she would attend anything dressier than the opera. Still, she knew that the dress was fashionable enough to cause no comment, and she had the satisfaction of knowing that its rose color was excellent on her, bringing out the rose in her cheeks and contrasting stunningly with her black hair. Her hair was done up in a mass of curls, thick and shining, with a pale pink rose nestled on one side as adornment. In her hand she carried, besides her fan, a small corsage of rosebuds delivered an hour earlier and sent, she was sure, by Lord Thorpe, though the card had contained no message.
    Her eyes sparkled with anticipation as she walked into the formal drawing room. Much to her chagrin, she saw that Thorpe was already seated there with her aunt. Alexandra had made it a point to come downstairs as soon as the maid had brought her word of Thorpe’s arrival precisely because she did not want Lord Thorpe to be subjected to her aunt’s inquisition. From the frozen look on Thorpe’s face, she guessed that he had already been here for several minutes, and Alexandra was struck with the suspicion that her aunt had deliberately bade the servants to delay taking Alexandra the message that his lordship had arrived.
    As she started into the room, Lord Thorpe was saying tightly, “I assure you, madam, it is a most respectable party, given by one of the leading peers of the realm.”
    Alexandra had to stifle a smile at the man’s barely concealed look of affront.
    Her aunt continued blithely. “Be that as it may, Lord Thorpe, I don’t know any of your peers of the realm, so their respectability is unknown to me. I’ve heard stories of some of the doings of so-called noblemen, and it’s not what would be called suitable in America. The Hellfire Club, gaming hells, houses of—”
    “Miss Ward!” Lord Thorpe looked shocked. “You can’t believe that I would take your niece to such places!”
    Alexandra wasn’t sure whether his dismay came from the idea that her aunt thought him capable of such ungentlemanly actions or because she so bluntly brought up the subject.
    “Too bad,” Alexandra interjected lightly. “They sound terribly fascinating, I must say.”
    “Miss Ward.” Thorpe jumped to his feet, relief spreading across his face.
    “Good evening.”
    “You look—”
    Alexandra raised an eyebrow as he paused. “I hope you are not going to say ‘like a country bumpkin.’”
    “No, indeed. It is simply that you render me speechless.” His gray eyes shone in the candlelight as they drifted involuntarily down the front of her body, taking in the curves to which the rose satin clung. “You look stunning. I fear you will cast our London beauties into the shade.”
    Alexandra chuckled. “Very pretty words, my lord, but I am not so naïve as to believe that.” She turned toward Hortense. “Good night, Aunt. I am going to take your victim away from you.”
    “Victim!” Aunt Hortense assumed a look of great offense. “I was merely looking out for my niece’s best interests.”
    “Your aunt is a very careful woman,” Thorpe remarked politely. “You are quite rightly cherished.”
    Alexandra grinned. “You see, Aunt Hortense, how polite he is.”
    A servant brought her Paisley shawl, which Thorpe took and draped across her shoulders with a courtly air. The brush of his fingertips against her bare arms sent a tingle through Alexandra, intensified when he leaned in to murmur, “It seems a shame to cover up such beauty.”
    Alexandra ignored the little thrum that started along her nerves and smiled at him. “It is a lovely dress.”
    “It was not the dress of which I spoke.” His gaze dropped significantly, if fleetingly, to the expanse of bosom that swelled above the