A Stolen Heart Read Online Free Page B

lived in India. Do you know Indian art?”
    “I have seen very little of it,” Alexandra confessed, “but I am quite interested in it. I have read descriptions, of course, of the bright colors and the patterns, and I have seen some drawings made from them, but never the actual thing.”
    At first she studied the paintings intently, unaware of Thorpe’s gaze lingering on her. Then she turned and caught him watching her, and she flushed. There was something about the look in his eyes that made her feel suddenly warm all over. She glanced away quickly, casting about for something to say to cover her reaction. “I, ah, have purchased a few things—a small jade Buddha and, um, a Paisley shawl, of course, and a few ivory carvings, but Indian things are somewhat rare in the United States.”
    “Perhaps, after tea, you would like to see some of my collection?”
    Alexandra’s face lit up, causing Thorpe to draw in his breath sharply. “Oh, yes, I would like that more than anything else.” She sat as the butler entered with the tea tray and set it on a low table, but she continued to talk excitedly. “I have a confession to make. That was one of the reasons I bullied Mr. Jones into bringing me here today. I was hoping to catch a glimpse of some of your Indian treasures. I have heard so much about your collection….”
    “Indeed?” Thorpe studied Alexandra, wondering what bizarre thing would come out of her mouth next. He had never met a woman who enthused over his Indian objects, except perhaps for a luxurious Paisley shawl or a spectacular piece of jewelry.
    “Oh, yes, I wrote you, in fact, a few months ago, when I knew I was going to be in London, asking you if I could see your collection, but you turned me down flat.”
    “I did? How rude of me.” He frowned. “But I don’t remember…. No, wait, there was a letter from some fellow in the United States, but I thought—wasn’t it Alexander Ward?”
    “Alexandra. People often make the mistake. They don’t expect an enthusiast of art objects to be a woman.”
    “At least not to be writing letters to strange men and trying to set up appointments.”
    “And what would you have me do?” Alexandra asked, her dark eyes firing up. “Ask my uncle or cousin to write a letter for me, as if I were incapable of writing a coherent letter myself?”
    “It is not a question of your competence, Miss Ward, but a matter of taking care of, of protecting, a woman.”
    “From what? The rudeness of a letter such as yours, denying me admittance?” She chuckled. “I was not pleased, of course, but it did not send me to my bed in a state of despair and shame. I have been told no before, I assure you.”
    “I find that hard to believe,” Thorpe retorted, grinning. “Well, please allow me to make up for my rudeness by showing you as much as you would like to see.”
    “That would be the entirety, I’m sure.”
    They talked a little while they drank their tea and ate the small cakes and biscuits that accompanied it. It was general talk, about the weather and London and the state of Massachusetts, where Alexandra lived. He inquired how she was enjoying her visit, hoping that it was not all business, and she dutifully related the sights she had seen and the things she had done. They spoke of Burchings Tea and of her own company, though Alexandra could see in Thorpe’s face that he found it odd to speak of such things with a woman. She wondered if he usually talked to women only about the weather and such and concluded that he must find it dull, indeed.
    Mr. Jones returned to his office soon after tea was finished, assured by Lord Thorpe that he would see Miss Ward home in his own carriage. Thorpe offered his arm to Alexandra, a faint, almost challenging smile on his lips. Alexandra slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow and tilted up her chin, tossing back the challenge, although she was not entirely sure what it was.
    “You know,” Thorpe said in a low, conversational