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“Lord Thorpe’s?”
“Of course,” the woman answered impatiently. “Mamas keep close watch on their daughters when Sebastian is around.”
This woman must know him well to refer to him casually by his given name, Alexandra reasoned. She had discovered that the British were amazingly formal about such things.
“They do so with good reason,” the woman went on, her blue eyes frosty.
“And what is that reason?” Alexandra asked, matching the freezing tone of the other woman’s voice.
The woman gave a small, twisted smile. “Ah, I can see that he has already worked his spell on you. Just take my word for it—he is well-known for his seductions.”
“I am surprised that he is received in polite society, then.”
“Money and a title have an amazing power to make up for all sins.”
“Lady Pencross.” Both women, engrossed in their conversation, started and glanced up at the sound of a masculine voice a few feet from them.
It was Lord Thorpe, and his eyes were fixed on Alexandra’s visitor. His face held no emotion, but the tone of his voice was as unyielding as iron. A little shiver ran down Alexandra’s spine. She would not relish having Thorpe look at her in that way.
“Sebastian.” Lady Pencross opened her eyes a little wider, her mouth turning down in a hurt way. “You don’t sound pleased to see me.”
“I doubt you are surprised,” Thorpe replied dryly. “I am sure you have business somewhere else, don’t you?”
Alexandra drew in a sharp breath at his blatant rudeness. The blond woman’s eyes flashed, and for an instant Alexandra thought she was going to lash back with something venomous, but then she merely smiled and moved away.
“Another person with whom you are not interested in extending your acquaintanceship?” Alexandra asked lightly.
Thorpe, who had turned to watch the woman walk away, swiveled to Alexandra. His eyes were dark, his face etched in bitter lines. He looked at Alexandra for a moment, then relaxed, letting out a little laugh. “Yes. Lady Pencross and I have had far too much acquaintanceship as it is.”
Alexandra was filled with curiosity about the incident, particularly what had caused the ill will between the lady and Thorpe, but, infuriatingly, Thorpe did not elaborate on the matter. He seemed to shrug it off, handing Alexandra her plate and sitting beside her.
“I hope I did not keep you waiting too long,” he said. “The tables were rather busy.”
“No. I was well entertained.”
He glanced at her sharply. “Did Lady Pencross disturb you?”
“No. Not disturb, precisely. She was, ah, concerned about my virtue in your company.”
He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Trust me, she is not disturbed about anyone’s virtue, especially her own. I would not refine too much on what Lady Pencross says.”
“I won’t. I am well able to make up my own mind.”
Thorpe looked at her, a smile beginning in his eyes. “Of course. How could I have forgotten that?”
They ate their food, a delicious repast that had Alexandra regretting the supper she had eaten earlier, and occupied their time with discussing the various people around them. Thorpe knew most of them and their foibles, and painted them with an acid wit that kept Alexandra chuckling.
“How hard you are on your peers,” she told him.
He shrugged. “I am a mere novice compared to many of them. Malice and vitriol are the oils that keep the ton running.” He set aside their plates. “Are you ready to return to the dancing?”
“Of course. It will be much more enjoyable watching everyone now that I know all their secrets.”
“You have barely scratched the surface, my dear girl.”
They left the room and made their way to the stairs, but Alexandra paused to look at some of the paintings that hung on the walls of the huge entry hall.
“That is the present Duke’s mother,” Thorpe told her, pointing to a picture of a woman with her arms around a young girl and two toy spaniels at their feet. “Painted by Gainsborough.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“He has some fine art, nearly all portraits, of course—that is what the former Duke valued in art.”
“His favorite, 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 with a woman who knows what she wants.”
“I see. Love, I take it, plays no part in your plan.”
His lip curled slightly. “Love, Miss Ward, is a notion for young fools, neither of which I am any longer.”
Any longer. “I see,” Alexandra said again, thinking that indeed she did. Thorpe’s words were bitter, not indifferent, the words not of a man who had no use for love but of one who had been disappointed in it. “So you are offering me a brief, loveless moment of mating? I must say, it seems hard to turn down.”
Her words surprised a grin from him. “You have a way with words. I would hope it is not exactly that.” He reached out and looped a single finger through hers—the briefest of touches, yet it sent heat shimmering through her. “I would say a time of passion, hopefully not brief, a mutual sharing of pleasure between adults without any efforts to control or gain an advantage.”
Alexandra looked down, smoothing her skirt. “I fear you must think I am someone other than who I am.”
“Are you going to tell me that you are a conventional shrinking maiden?” he asked, humor lacing his voice. “My dear woman, I just kissed you. I would have to differ.”
She raised her eyes, looking at him in her usual honest way. “I would be a fool to deny what I felt. And I realize that I am rather unconventional in many of the things I do. Nor am I a young girl. I am twenty-four years old and used to making decisions.”
“I am quite aware of that.”
“However, I think you seek a woman of experience.”
His eyes seemed suddenly to burn hotter. “And you are not?”
“Not of the sort I believe you require.”
“Excuse me. I had thought—when I kissed you—”
Alexandra blushed. “I am sorry to disappoint you.”
He smiled slowly. “Oh, no, you did not disappoint me. But I can see now that I rushed my fences. I am not usually so foolish.” He took her hand and raised it formally to his lips. “My dear Miss Ward, please forgive my importunities. I can see that we need to take our time.”
“Then you are setting out to seduce me?” Alexandra asked curiously.
“If you mean to trick you into my bed, no,” he replied. He kissed each of her fingers lightly on the tip as he went on. “But to supply you with the information you need to make a decision, yes. As a businesswoman, I am sure that you would appreciate the distinction.”
A laugh burst from Alexandra. “You are clever, my lord. But I think we are miles apart. I, you see, believe in love. Without it, passion is a hollow pleasure.”
“This, I believe, is an argument we shall have ample time to discuss,” he said, a sensual smile playing on his lips. “In the meantime, perhaps we should return to the party. Otherwise tongues will indeed be wagging.”
He offered her his arm, and Alexandra slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow. They strolled down the hallway to the ballroom.
They had just stepped into the room when Thorpe’s gaze lit on a group of people, and he smiled with satisfaction. “Ah. There she is.”
“Who?” Alexandra turned and looked in the direction of his gaze, her curiosity aroused.
He was looking at a group of four people who were chatting with Nicola Falcourt. There was a balding, plump man, rather ordinary-looking, and beside him a formidable middle-aged woman in deep royal blue. She was squarely built with a jutting bosom like the prow of a ship. A young slip of girl was with them, colorless in a maidenly white dress. Her hair was a nondescript brown, and Alexandra could not tell the color of her eyes, for they were hidden behind spectacles. The last member of the party, who was bending to kiss Nicola’s cheek, was, in Alexandra’s view, the most interesting. She was older than the formidable woman, but infinitely more attractive and intriguing. There was the air about her of a woman who had always been attractive to men, a certain confidence of carriage, a poise and even a hint of flirtatiousness as she smiled. She was tall and slender, with a mass of white hair, and her blue eyes, hooded by age, were still keen and twinkling with amusement.
“The elegant lady in gray and silver crepe?” Alexandra asked Thorpe. “Is she your Countess?”
