A Stolen Heart by Candace Camp Page A

am!” Alexandra snapped. “I could scarcely mistake something like that. He distinctly told me to leave. Why would anyone care? Why would someone attack me just to tell me to go back to the United States?”
    Thorpe stared at her dumbfounded. “I cannot imagine. You must have heard him wrong.”
    “I did not hear him wrong. That is what he said.”
    Thorpe looked at her for a moment. He felt quite sure that the man had not grabbed her to tell her to leave the country. It was absurd. No doubt his intent had been to rape her; Alexandra was probably just too naïve to realize that. The thought made his blood boil. He thought with great satisfaction of what he would do to the man if he had him in his hands.
    Frustrated, he snapped, “What the devil were you doing out there in the first place? Haven’t you any sense?”
    Stung, Alexandra retorted, “I was walking home. If you will remember, you left me at the ball.”
    “I told you to wait.”
    “I didn’t feel like it. I was tired, and I didn’t know anyone. The footman told me you had gone away in the carriage with the Countess, and I had no idea when you would be coming back—or even if you would.”
    “You think that I would simply abandon you there?”
    “Well, you did.”
    “I was coming back. I wanted to see the Countess home, to make sure she was all right. I specifically told you to wait. If you had listened to me instead of charging off on your own, it wouldn’t have happened.”
    “Oh!” Alexandra glared at him. “Now you are blaming me because some man decided to attack me?”
    “I’m not blaming you. I am simply saying that it was foolish of you to walk home without an escort.”
    “May I remind you that I am perfectly able to take care of myself. I don’t have to sit around kicking my heels, waiting for my escort to reappear and trundle me home like some piece of baggage.”
    “Able to take care of yourself?” He raised a scornful brow. “It hardly appears that way.”
    “What do you mean?” Alexandra clenched her hands, jutting her chin forward pugnaciously. “I did take care of myself. I kicked him and tore away from him and ran to the house. No one helped me but myself!”
    “The point is that you wouldn’t even have been attacked if you had not been walking alone. He probably thought you were—”
    “Were what?” Alexandra’s eyes flashed fire, and she set her hands on her hips.
    “Easy prey,” Thorpe said, tight-lipped. “And, blast it, you were.”
    “I think it’s time for you to leave,” Alexandra said coldly.
    Thorpe started to speak, then stopped. “Yes. No doubt you are right. I will take my leave of you.” He turned and strode toward the door. He stopped as he reached it and turned. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow afternoon,” he said peremptorily. “I promised the Countess that I would bring you over then. She wants very much to meet you.” He gave her a nod and added, “Good night. Make sure all your doors are locked.”
    Alexandra’s jaw dropped. How dare he tell her where she was going and what she was doing tomorrow afternoon? She whirled and took out some of her frustration by kicking a stool across the room.
    “Ow!” She hurt her toe and hopped over to the sofa, holding it. “Blast that man!”
    Lord Thorpe, she decided, was the most arrogant, aggravating, high-handed man she had ever had the misfortune to meet. First he left her at the party, telling her to wait there, as if she were a dog or a servant. Then he had the nerve to tell her that she should not have left the party without him, that she had not heard what she had, and that it was her fault someone had attacked her because she had walked home alone. And he had finished it all off by telling her that he was taking her to the Countess’s the next afternoon, as if she had nothing to say in the matter!
    The awful thing, she had to admit to herself, was that despite all that, no matter his arrogance or his ordering her about, she was still all