A Stolen Heart (18 page)

Alexandra leaned against his arm, stunned by the rush of desire through her at the touch of his hand. She could not think, only feel, as his hand moved ever downward. Her skirt and petticoats were rucked up almost to her knees, and his hand slid onto the calf of her leg, her flesh separated from him by only the sheer stocking. His fingers moved beneath the dress and petticoats, sliding up her leg.

The bold move startled Alexandra out of the haze of her desire. With a jolt, she realized what he was doing, the liberties she was allowing him to take without even a word of protest. It was no wonder he thought she was wicked, she told herself, given the brazen way she kept responding to him whenever he made advances no decent man would!

She jerked away, tumbling off his lap and onto the floor. For an instant they stared at each other. Thorpe realized, with a rush of shame, that he had forced a kiss—and more—upon her, a thing he could not remember ever before doing to a woman. He reached toward her inarticulately, apology and excuses tangling on his suddenly thick tongue.

Alexandra glared at him, scrambling away and flinging open the door to his carriage. He saw, with horror, that she meant to jump out of the moving vehicle, and he rapped frantically on the roof of the carriage. They slowed and stopped, and Alexandra was out of the door in an instant. He watched her hurry down the street, straightening her bonnet, and he was not sure which one of them he disliked more at the moment.

A
LEXANDRA’S EMOTIONS WERE AS
confused as Thorpe’s as she hurried along. She had walked for two blocks in the wrong direction before she realized it and turned to retrace her steps. No one, she thought, had ever managed to confuse her the way Lord Thorpe did. He had behaved perfectly despicably—so she could not understand how she could feel so warm and jangly inside just thinking about his kiss. Was she shallow? A creature ruled purely by physical needs? It had never seemed the case before. She had always been a practical person, the kind who thought before she acted, who made plans and had reasons for her actions.

Since she had met Lord Thorpe, she had become a stranger to herself. She was feeling things she had never felt, acting in ways she normally would not, pulled this way and that by her passions. Why, she was no longer even sure of her identity! Was she her mother’s daughter, her aunt’s niece, as she had always thought—or was she the granddaughter of a Countess?

As soon as Alexandra entered the house, she went upstairs to her mother’s room. She found her mother in a frenzy of anxiety, with Nancy trying vainly to calm her down. Nancy turned to her with some relief.

“Oh, miss, I’m glad you’re here. She’s all upset because something’s missing from that box.”

“I want it back!” Rhea cried. “They took it—I know they took it. They’re always wanting it.”

“No. I took it, Mother.” Alexandra held out the locket.

Rhea let out a cry and pounced on the necklace, grabbing it out of Alexandra’s hand. “
You
took it! You wicked, wicked girl!”

“Why don’t you want anyone to see that locket, Mother?” Alexandra asked, hardening herself to her mother’s obvious distress. “Why do you hide it?”

Rhea, who had turned away to put the locket in the little box, swung around, her face contorted with fury. Without warning, she reached out and slapped Alexandra. “How dare you? How dare you?”

Alexandra drew a sharp breath at the blow. Nancy let out a cry and rushed to Rhea, but Rhea was already turning away, cuddling the box.

“Miss Alexandra, I’m ever so sorry,” Nancy said, worried. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her.”

“I disturbed her. I—I hardly know what to do anymore.”

“Alexandra!” Aunt Hortense bustled into the room. “Where have you been? Why did you go rushing off like that? Did you take something out of Rhea’s box? She’s been in a state ever since she woke up.”

“Yes. I just gave it back to her,” Alexandra admitted wearily. “She slapped me for it.”

“
Slapped
you! Rhea?” Aunt Hortense goggled at her niece, then turned to look at her sister-in-law, huddled in a chair, the box clutched to her chest. “I’ve never known her to hurt a flea. What is going on?”

“There is a picture in the locket—two pictures, actually. They are the same people whose portraits I saw in the Countess’s house.”

“What?” Aunt Hortense turned pale. “Oh, my.”

“Yes. Oh, my. There is a letter
A
on it, for Alexandra. I took it to the Countess to see if she could identify it. She said that she gave that locket and another just like it, with the letter
M,
to her granddaughters the year before they were killed.”

“Oh, my,” Aunt Hortense repeated weakly and sank into the nearest chair.

“Mother, why do you have that locket?” Alexandra asked in the gentlest voice she could muster, going to her mother. “Who was she to you? Who was she to me?”

“Go away,” Rhea spat, bending over the box protectively. “You stole it! Nan, make her go away. I don’t want her here.”

“Why won’t you tell me!” Alexandra exclaimed, frustrated. “I just want to know who I am!”

“No! No!” Rhea shrieked and turned away from Alexandra.

“You won’t get anything out of her like this,” Aunt Hortense said sensibly. “Come with me, Alexandra. You can talk to her tomorrow when both of you are calmer. Nan, see if you can soothe Rhea.”

Alexandra strode out of the room. “I don’t mean to upset her!” she exclaimed as soon as the door shut behind her and her aunt. “But why won’t she tell me?”

“I don’t know, dear. Perhaps she no longer even knows why she can’t tell you. It’s aggravating. But you know she only gets worse if you get angry with her.”

“I’m not angry with her,” Alexandra protested. Then she sighed. “All right. I
am
angry with her. What has she kept hidden from me all this time? It’s horrible to know that she holds the secret, the key to all this, and she won’t tell me.”

“I know, dear. You would need the patience of Job to deal with your mother the way she’s been lately. I get terribly impatient with her, too, and she’s not even withholding something from me.” Aunt Hortense linked her arm with Alexandra’s and walked with her to her room. “I wish I could help you. I wish I knew what was going on. This must be horrible for you.”

“I don’t know if she’s really my mother,” Alexandra told her. “The Countess is convinced that I am her granddaughter, but…you are my family, you and Mother and Cousin Nathan and everyone at home. The Countess is a wonderful woman, but I scarcely know her!”

“Darling, no matter what, we will always be your family. You remember that. I don’t care if you’re the granddaughter of that crazy King himself, you will always be my beloved niece.”

Tears sprang into Alexandra’s eyes at her aunt’s words, and she bent to give the other woman a hug. “Thank you, Aunt Hortense. I love you.”

“Good. Then that’s settled. Now I suggest you come along, and we’ll get you a nice cup of tea. That’s one thing I agree with the English on. Nothing fixes you up like a spot of tea.”

A
LEXANDRA OPENED HER EYES
.
It was dark, and she was in bed. It took her a moment to orient herself. She had eaten supper and passed the evening with Aunt Hortense in a boring round of cards, then had taken herself off to bed. What had awakened her?

Something hit the other side of her wall. Alexandra leaped out of bed and ran out of her room, not even pausing to put on a robe or slippers. That wall connected to her mother’s room.

The key was in the lock. Her aunt had followed up on her intention to lock Rhea in. Alexandra turned the key and flung open the door. She stopped, frozen in shock. A huge, dark figure had his hands around her mother’s throat, and she was flopping and jerking, clawing at his hands. Nancy lay on the floor.

Alexandra let out a scream, and the large man whirled, his hands loosening. Alexandra grabbed the closest thing at hand, a candlestick, and ran at the man, bringing it down as hard as she could on his right arm. He let out a bellow and released Rhea, who fell to the floor. The man lashed out, knocking the candlestick from Alexandra’s hand. She leaped at him, kicking and swinging her fists. He planted a big hand in the middle of her chest and shoved.

She staggered backward and tripped over Nancy’s inert form, falling to the floor. Her head cracked against the hard wood floor, and everything went black.

The intruder took a step toward Alexandra and looked at her. His eyes traveled over her face and down her form to the shapely legs revealed by her rucked-up nightgown. He cast a glance at Rhea and started toward her.

“Alexandra? What’s the matter?” a woman’s voice trumpeted from the hall.

The man turned and scooped Alexandra up. He flung her over his shoulder as if she weighed no more than a child and strode to the window. He swung his leg out and onto the ladder propped beneath the window. With one arm wrapped around Alexandra to steady her weight, he backed out of the window just as Aunt Hortense hurried into the room.

Aunt Hortense gasped, staring, as the man started down the ladder, Alexandra over his shoulder. She let out a scream and ran to the window.

“Help! Stop him!” Aunt Hortense leaned out of the window. The man was at the foot of the ladder. “Help!”

A footman, the butler and a maid came rushing into the room and stopped, goggling at the sight of the two bodies on the floor and Hortense leaning out the window.

Aunt Hortense whirled to face them. “Stop him, you fools! He’s got Alexandra!”

She turned to the window just in time to see the man disappear around the house, Alexandra dangling over his shoulder.

T
HE FOOTMAN AND BUTLER STARED FOR A
moment longer at Aunt Hortense before the message sank in, then they turned and pelted down the stairs. Aunt Hortense hurried to Rhea and knelt beside her, lowering her head to Rhea’s face.

“She’s still breathing, thank God. Here, don’t just stand there, girls, help me get her into her bed.”

Her words jolted the maids from their trance, and they scurried to help Hortense lift Rhea and put her in the bed. She went to Nancy next and bent over her. It wasn’t hard to see that she had been knocked unconscious. A bruise was already forming on the side of her face. She, too, was breathing, her pulse steady, and the three women carried her to the cot.

Aunt Hortense wet a cloth in the washbasin and went to Rhea, bidding the maids to take care of Nancy. She washed Rhea’s face, hoping to revive her, but Rhea did not waken. If it had not been for the faint rise and fall of her chest, Aunt Hortense would have said she was dead.

“That brute must have choked her!” she exclaimed, leaning over to examine the red marks ringing her sister-in-law’s throat. “This is a mad country! I’ve never seen the likes of it.”

And what could have happened to Alexandra?

The footman entered the room on the run, followed by the rest of the servants. “He was gone, miss. We looked up and down the street and couldn’t find anyone.”

“Damn and blast!” Aunt Hortense shouted, using one of her brother’s favorite oaths. “The world has gone mad!”

She looked at her servants, and they all stared unhelpfully at her. She had always been a strong woman, but at the moment, she felt close to panic. She was alone in a strange country, her sister-in-law and Nancy unconscious and her niece kidnapped.

“What am I to do?” she asked, raising a hand to her whirling head.

“Shall I fetch a magistrate?” the butler asked.

“Yes. Get a doctor, too. And…” She hesitated. Alexandra would not like it, but Aunt Hortense could think of only one person she knew who could help. “And fetch Lord Thorpe, too.”

S
EBASTIAN FOLLOWED THE FOOTMAN
into Alexandra’s house, a scowl on his face. He had not been able to make head nor tail of the man’s story; he had come with him only because the man’s obvious anxiety had raised his own. When he strode into the house, the first sight that met his eyes was Alexandra’s aunt pacing up and down the entry hall. She whirled with relief at his entrance.

“Lord Thorpe! Thank God you’re here. What took so long?”

“I was asleep,” he replied acidly. “My valet was—rightfully—reluctant to awaken me because of the babbling of some footman. What the devil is going on? If this is some scheme of Alexandra’s to—”

“Oh, hush,” Aunt Hortense snapped, causing the footman’s eyes to nearly start out of his head. Americans, he was convinced, had no sense of correct behavior. Either of the Misses Ward would tell the Prince Regent himself to shut up if they felt like it. “This is a far graver matter than your loss of sleep. Someone has taken Alexandra.”

Thorpe felt as if a shard of ice had plunged into his chest. “What? I don’t believe it. Who? Why?”

“I don’t know that,” Aunt Hortense replied testily. “If I did, I would have gone after her. I don’t know where to turn, who to go to for help. You were the only one I could think of.”

“What happened?”

“Come here. I’ll show you.” Aunt Hortense motioned for him to follow her and started up the stairs. She led him into Rhea’s bedroom. Rhea, pale as a corpse, was stretched out on her bed, still unconscious. Nancy, looking little better, lay on her cot against the wall. Her eyes were open and she was moaning. A maid sat beside each bed.

Both maids bobbed curtseys when they walked in, and the one beside Nancy said, “She’s awake now, miss. She sicked up something terrible, but at least she can talk.”

“I found both of them on the floor, unconscious,” Aunt Hortense explained to Thorpe, pointing to the carpet where they had lain. “And a man was climbing out the window.” She swung her hand to point toward the open window. “He had Alexandra slung over his shoulder.”

“What!” Thorpe rushed to the window and peered out, as if he could somehow still see the scene. “Where did this ladder come from?”

“I have no idea.”

“It’s the one from the back, miss,” one of the maids explained helpfully. “The footmen use it for washing the outside of the windows.”

“It makes no sense!” Thorpe exclaimed. “Why would anyone abduct Alexandra?”

“Nothing has made sense the whole time we’ve been in this infernal country,” Aunt Hortense snapped. “I wish to God we had never come. First that man attacked Alexandra, then there was the rat, and now this….”

“Whose room is this?”

“Rhea’s.” Aunt Hortense nodded toward the woman in the large bed. “Alexandra’s mother. He obviously tried to kill her. Look at her throat.”

Thorpe stepped to the side of the bed and gazed down at Rhea’s abused throat. “Has she awakened?”

“No, my lord,” the maid replied softly, ducking her head in awe at speaking to a lord.

“Why did he take Alexandra?” Thorpe turned to Aunt Hortense.

“I don’t know. This is the only room he entered. He must have been after Rhea. He struck Nancy, apparently, but he did not try to choke her. I can only assume that Alexandra must have heard the struggle and come running in here to help her mother. I heard her scream, and by the time I got here, he was dragging her out the window.”

Thorpe clamped down on the fear swelling in his chest and trying to push out his throat. “Well, one thing’s for certain, he won’t find her an easy captive. Perhaps that will at least make it easier to track his movements. Who would want to harm Alexandra’s mother?”

“No one! It makes no sense. She doesn’t know anyone in London any more than I do. Less—she rarely leaves the house.”

Sebastian ran his hand over his face, trying to force his brain to work. “It could be that he was after Alexandra all along, but came in the wrong window. How would he know which one was hers? Mrs. Ward and the maid woke up and struggled with him, and he subdued them. It could have been that he did not mean to kill Mrs. Ward, only to render her unconscious, as in fact he did. Then either Alexandra came into the room by luck, having heard the struggle, or he found her room and seized her, and came back through here and down his ladder.”

“But why? What could he want with her?”

Thorpe clamped his lips together. It was obvious to him what a criminal would be likely to do with a beautiful woman like Alexandra, but he could scarcely worry the girl’s aunt with such news.

However, Aunt Hortense read the truth in his eyes and recoiled a step. “No…no.”

“I’ll find her,” Thorpe promised grimly, his hands knotting into fists. “I’ll send my men out to ask questions immediately. If anyone can find word of her, it’ll be Murdock.”

“But surely he wouldn’t do all this just to—despoil Alexandra. He went to a great deal of trouble. It seems to me that there must be something more behind it.”

“Yes. I imagine there is.” He paused, studying her. “What other schemes has your niece been involved in?”

“Schemes?” Aunt Hortense looked at him blankly. “What are you talking about?” Then her face cleared. “Oh—I had forgotten. Alexandra told me you had decided she was a swindler.”

“The most likely reason for her abduction would be a grudge that some former cohort has against her—or even perhaps the victim of one of her swindles.” He faltered in the face of Aunt Hortense’s basilisk glare.

“If
that
is what you’re going to be looking for, it was obviously no use calling you. You won’t find any connection like that with Alexandra because there is none. You will waste your time—and, unfortunately, Alexandra’s.” She turned and began pacing. “There must be someone else who can help me.”

“Miss Ward,” Thorpe said in his most freezingly aristocratic voice, “I will help you far more than anyone else. However, it would make it much easier if you did not persist in keeping secrets from me. I am aware that you must to some extent be involved in Alexandra’s activities and so you would not want to admit anything. But in this instance, I think that Alexandra’s safety outweighs any other considerations.”

“Of course it does. But I can’t tell you about any victims or cohorts because there haven’t
been
any. Alexandra has never been involved in any sort of trouble—at least, not until she came here and met you lot. From the moment you walked in our door, there has been nothing but trouble.” She crossed her arms and glowered at him.

Thorpe sighed. “Obviously I am getting nothing accomplished here.” He turned toward the door, saying, “I will let you know as soon as I find out anything.”

He strode out of the room and out of the house. By the time he reached the street, he was moving almost at a run. He could not remember ever having felt quite so helpless or frightened. Murdock would have more success than most people in finding out if a young lady had been abducted. Unfortunately, the scope of the investigation was so large and vague that it seemed almost impossible. London was teeming with criminals—how could they find one among so many? Nor did he imagine that there would be many witnesses to a kidnapping in the middle of the night. Eventually, he hoped, they would ferret out where she was. But how long would it take?
And what would happen to Alexandra in the meantime?

A
LEXANDRA WAS AWARE OF A
tremendous ache in her head. She had no thoughts at first, only a throbbing awareness of pain that ran up one side of her face and exploded in her brain. There were voices, too, and her first conscious thought was that she wished they would go away, for they only added to the pain in her head.

“Very, very nice, Peggoddy,” a woman said in a flat, nasal voice. “I must say your taste has improved. How did you find her?”

A deep rumble answered her, but Alexandra could understand only a word or two of the thickly accented male tongue. “Don’t know. Seemed…waste, like.”

“Yes, it certainly would have been,” the woman agreed, with a chuckle. “You did right to bring her to me. Now you’ll get paid twice for doing one job.”

“That’s right!” The male voice brightened, as if he had only just realized that fact.

Alexandra stirred. She wished they would go away. She would like to tell them to, but she couldn’t quite summon the words. She tried to roll over, but couldn’t. Her hands seemed to be awkwardly stuck above her head.

“Looks as if she’s waking up,” the woman said. “You’d best hold her, Peggoddy.”

There was a grunt of assent, and something clamped on Alexandra’s ankles, pinning them down. There was the sound of scissors, and she felt her gown move a little. The sound came closer and closer, and as it did, she felt air touch her skin. Suddenly the two sides of her gown were pulled apart, exposing her entire body to the air. At this Alexandra’s eyes popped open.

She found herself staring into the face of one of the oddest women she had ever seen. The woman’s face was wrinkled and lined, like an old woman’s, yet her hair was not white, but an impossibly fiery shade of red. The mass of hair was done in an intricate style, and on one side three bright, long feathers were pinned in adornment. Gold and diamonds winked at her neck and pulled down her earlobes. She wore an emerald dress, cut indecently low to expose her wrinkled breasts almost to the nipples. But it was her face that was the most peculiar. She had covered it with powder and paint in the fashion that had been popular twenty or thirty years earlier, the skin utterly white, her lips and cheeks rouged red. Heavy black pencil lined her eyes and brows, and a beauty patch had been stuck on her upper lip near the corner of her mouth.

The woman was looking at Alexandra’s body, bared to her gaze. She nodded, smiling a little in satisfaction. “Ah, this is a ripe ‘un.” She cupped one of Alexandra’s breasts and jiggled it, studying the way Alexandra’s nipple tightened in response. “Oh, yes, I think we’ll make quite a bit on her.”

Alexandra gasped when the woman touched her breast, and the woman glanced at her. “Awake now, are you?” she asked pleasantly, as if there were nothing bizarre about the situation. “Pretty eyes, too.” She frowned. “Too bad you hit her on her face, though, Peggoddy. That bruise’ll mar her face—and I don’t want to make her up. She’s too fresh-looking for that.” She sighed. “I guess we’ll have to wait a day or two for that bruise to go away.”

“What—” Alexandra’s word came out as a croak, and she swallowed and tried again. “What are you talking about? Who are you? What do you think you’re doing?” She looked at the large man, and suddenly memory came rushing back to her. “What did you do to my mother?”

“I’m Magdalena,” the woman said. “Catchy, isn’t it? There’s them say I’m wicked for using a name from the Bible, but I ask you—isn’t it a name they always remember? Don’t you worry, you’re in good hands. Magdalena knows how to make use of a girl when she gets her. I’m not one what just throws them in there. I make sure I present her right when I get a fresh one like you.”

Alexandra stared at her, uncomprehending. She tried to sit up, but once again was thwarted by her hands. She craned to look behind her and saw, to her astonishment, that a short velvet rope bound her hands and tied them to a hook in the wall behind her.