Page 4 of A Stolen Heart

“I’m sorry, my lord,” Jones began awkwardly. “I should not have come here unasked, I know, but I—I was sure you would wish to meet Miss Ward.”

“One wonders why,” Lord Thorpe drawled, his words dipped in sarcasm.

Alexandra, seeing Jones pale at his employer’s words, shook off the peculiar feeling in her midsection and stepped forward, assuming a pleasant, confident smile. “Pray, do not blame Mr. Jones, Lord Thorpe. It is all my fault. He did not wish to bring me at all. It was I who insisted.”

“Indeed?” Thorpe arched one black brow in an expression of polite disdain that had intimidated more than a few people.

Alexandra scarcely noticed. She was far more aware of the fact that his eyes were so light a gray they were almost silver, and that her knees had begun to tremble in a most unaccustomed manner.

“Yes. You see, I believe in meeting the people with whom I do business.”

“Business?” Thorpe looked genuinely puzzled, and he turned inquiringly toward his employee. “I don’t understand.”

“It is Miss Ward with whom I have been negotiating a contract this week—I believe I mentioned it. With Ward Shipping, to transport Burchings Tea to the United States.”

Thorpe looked at Alexandra blankly. “You work for Ward Shipping?”

“Mm. My family owns it, actually. Unlike you, I prefer to keep an active hand in my businesses. While I have found Mr. Jones to be both agreeable and acute, still, I feel that I get a better impression of a company from meeting the owner. Ultimately, all decisions come back to you. Or do I have that wrong?”

“No. I am in charge of my company,” he answered a little wryly. “You, I take it, do not approve of the way I run my business.”

“Well, it is your business, and you may do as you choose,” Alexandra began.

“How kind of you.” Thorpe sketched a satiric bow in her direction.

Alexandra cast him a quelling look and continued. “However, I have always felt, as have my managers, that a business runs more smoothly if the owner takes an active role in it—unless, of course,” she added smoothly, “the owner is not competent to run it.” She ended on a slightly questioning note, casting Thorpe a sideways glance that contained more than a little challenge. She was not sure exactly why—whether it was Thorpe’s arrogant air or a dislike of the unaccustomed response he had aroused in her—but she felt a certain need to set Lord Thorpe in his place.

To her surprise, he let out a short bark of laughter. “And that, I presume, is what you are suggesting about me? That I am incapable of running a business?”

Lyman Jones let out a small groan and closed his eyes.

“Ah,” Thorpe went on, a faint smile hovering about his mouth. “Mr. Jones brought you here so that you could see that at least I am not drooling or locked in a cage in the attic?”

“My lord!” Mr. Jones exclaimed, shocked. “No, nothing like that was ever suggested. I swear to you, it was—”

“Stop teasing Mr. Jones,” Alexandra retorted bluntly. “You know as well as I that Mr. Jones had no wish to bring me here. I was the one who insisted on it. I was not worried that you were completely incompetent. But I do think one can tell a lot about a company by the owner’s personality.”

“And what can you tell about Burchings Tea, Miss Ward?” he asked, the faint smile lingering on his lips. “Now that you have met me?”

“For one thing,” Alexandra said tartly, “I have a better understanding of why your employees are scared of you.”

“Scared of me!” The smile disappeared at her words, and he looked nonplussed.

Lyman Jones covered his face with his hands, certain that all was lost, so he did not see the short, considering glance Lord Thorpe shot at him.

“Yes. Oh, they do not tremble at your name, but Mr. Jones’s reluctance to bring me over here was quite obvious. Why? I wondered.”

“I think I can answer that,” Thorpe replied coldly.

Sebastian, Lord Thorpe, had been amazed when Punwati had told him that his business agent was at the door with a young woman in tow, and he had been sufficiently intrigued that he had decided to see them. He had not known what to expect, but it had certainly not been to find this tall, black-haired beauty in his entryway examining his property. Even more unexpected had been the sudden, hard jolt of desire that had shot through him at the sight of her. She was dressed in a demure sprig muslin day dress, but its high waist emphasized the voluptuous curve of her breasts, and its soft folds could not conceal the long, slender legs beneath it. Her skin was touchably soft and smooth, and her full lower lip fairly cried out to be kissed. Thorpe was not a man who was immune to feminine charms, but he had learned his lessons early and hard, and his passions were usually kept under strict control. It had been some time since he had felt such a swift and deep response to a woman.

As he listened to her speak, he had been by turns amused, bemused and irritated, and underneath it all had lain the hot, heavy thrum of arousal. Miss Ward was unlike any woman he had ever met, and Thorpe was a man who appreciated the unusual. But now, with her last statement, she had decisively pushed him over the line into the realm of anger. How dare this upstart American question his running of his business or imply that he terrorized his employees?

“Mr. Jones is well aware that I value my privacy,” he said, his jaw set and his eyes flashing silver. “I am not accustomed to every person who does business with my company showing up at my home.”

“Mm. Yes, I can see that you believe yourself superior to the rest of us humans.”

“I beg your pardon.” Thorpe stared. Each statement this woman made was more outrageous than the last.