A Stolen Heart Read Online Free Page A

willing to try what I asked even though he thought you would not like it, leads me to think that your wrath is not such that it renders your employees terrified and therefore useless.”
    “Then you approve of my business?” he asked, tight-lipped. “I am indeed honored at the encomium.”
    “I am sure you are being sarcastic,” Alexandra replied. “However, the truth is that you should be pleased. There are those who value my opinion in business.”
    “The United States must be quite different.”
    “Yes, it is. I believe we are more inclined to value honesty.”
    “Bluntness, I would say. A lack of tact, even.”
    “I find that tact is generally not a valuable commodity in doing business. I would much rather know where I stand. You, I take it, prefer to remain in the dark?”
    For a moment Lord Thorpe simply stared at her. Then he chuckled, shaking his head. “My dear Miss Ward, you almost leave me speechless. Do you conduct all of your business in this fashion? I am surprised that you have any customers.”
    Alexandra smiled back at him, finding it difficult not to respond to the softening of his face. “No,” she replied frankly. “You seem to raise my hackles more than most. However, I do find that, being a woman in business, I have to spend an inordinate amount of time arguing with men before they will accept me on equal terms.”
    “Equal?” His lips curved up. “I would think that would be too paltry for you. I would imagine utter subjugation would be your goal.”
    “Oh, no,” Alexandra retorted blithely. “I, you see, have no inclination toward arrogance.”
    “A direct hit,” Thorpe murmured. It occurred to him that the purpose of this odd American’s visit had been accomplished, and that the interview should be at an end. But he found himself curiously reluctant to send her on her way. He wasn’t sure whether she more annoyed or aroused him, but he realized that he wanted her to stay.
    He hesitated for an instant, then said, “Now that we have met, Miss Ward, perhaps you would care to have a cup of tea with me.” He turned a bland gaze toward Lyman Jones’s astonished face. “You, too, of course, Jones—unless you have pressing matters at the office?”
    “Oh, no, sir,” Jones replied, blushing with pleasure at the honor of taking tea with his lordship. “That is,” he added hastily, realizing that his words might sound wrong, “of course I have things to do. There are always things to do at the office. What I meant was that today I think everything will run quite well without me for an hour or so. I’m ever so grateful—it is such an honor—if you’re sure, of course.” His voice trailed off uncertainly.
    “Of course he is sure,” Alexandra said firmly, coming to the floundering man’s rescue. “I doubt that Lord Thorpe is ever anything but sure.” She turned to Thorpe. “Thank you, my lord. Tea would be most welcome.”
    Thorpe rang for his butler and ordered tea in the blue saloon, then led his visitors down the hall and into a gracious room, the walls of which were decorated in a delicate blue-and-white wallpaper above the wainscoting. It was an airy room, the heavy drapes pushed aside to let in the afternoon sun, and it was furnished not in the heavy, dark woods that Alexandra had found common in London, but in a wickerwork that gave the room a look both informal and exotic. The foreign air was heightened by the lush carpet in a design of stylized flowers and vines, and the rich, jewel-tone patterns of the chair cushions. A trumpeting elephant carved out of ivory stood on a small table, and on the wall hung a series of small, colorful paintings.
    Alexandra drew in her breath and went to the paintings. “Are these Rajput?” she asked, referring to a kind of manuscript illustration of Hindu epics that had flourished in India in earlier times.
    Mr. Jones looked blank, and Lord Thorpe’s eyebrows shot up in astonishment. “Why, yes, I started collecting them when I