he said in a soft, accented voice. “Was Lord Thorpe expecting you today? I am most sorry. I have no knowledge of your visit.”
“No, uh…” Lyman Jones had spoken to Lord Thorpe’s butler many times, but he always found the event unnerving. He invariably stumbled over the man’s name, and his unswerving dark gaze made Jones uncomfortable. “Lord Thorpe does not know about it. I—it was quite unexpected. I had hoped to introduce Miss Ward to his lordship, although of course if this is an inopportune moment, we can—”
The butler’s eyes moved consideringly to Alexandra. She, seeing that Jones was making a mess of things, took over in her usual way. “I am Alexandra Ward, Mr….”
“Punwati is my name, miss.”
“Mr. Punwati. I have business dealings with the Burchings Tea Company, and I had hoped to meet Lord Thorpe while I was in London. I think it is very important to know exactly with whom one is dealing. Don’t you agree?”
There was a flicker of something—humor, perhaps—in Punwati’s dark eyes as he said, “Oh, yes, miss.”
“So Mr. Jones kindly agreed to introduce me to Lord Thorpe. I do hope it is not too much of an inconvenience.”
“I am sure that Lord Thorpe will be most interested to hear of your visit, Miss Ward,” the servant said, bowing slightly. “I shall tell him that you are here and see if he is receiving guests this afternoon.”
“Thank you.” Alexandra rewarded the man with a smile that had dazzled more than one man into doing what she wanted.
After Punwati had left the foyer in the same quiet way in which he had entered, Mr. Jones smiled a little awkwardly. “As I told you, Lord Thorpe is a…trifle different. His servants are somewhat odd. The butler, as you saw, is foreign, and some of the servants look, frankly, as if they would be more at home among the criminal class. I am sorry if you were, um, taken aback.”
Alexandra cast him a puzzled glance. “What do you mean? There’s nothing to apologize for. This is wonderful! I have never before met a person from India. I have a thousand questions I would love to ask him, but I am sure it would be much too impolite. And did you see this exquisite elephant mask? And the rug…the chest!”
Alexandra’s eyes glowed with excitement, and her cheeks were delicately flushed. Jones, looking at her, realized that she was even more lovely than he had originally thought. He wondered if her beauty would soften Lord Thorpe, one of the most dedicated bachelors in London. But then, he doubted that Thorpe would ever even see Miss Ward. No doubt his Indian servant would reappear in a few moments with the news that his lordship was unable to receive them, and that would be that—except, of course, for whatever Thorpe decided to do because of Jones’s presumption in coming to his door unannounced, a visitor in tow.
So sunk was he in his gloomy thoughts that Jones did not notice someone had quietly entered the foyer from the opposite end until the man spoke. “Ah. Mr. Jones. Punwati tells me you have brought a guest with you.”
Mr. Jones jumped. “Lord Thorpe!”
Alexandra, who had been squatting beside the chest, tracing the intricate carvings, stood and turned toward the voice. It was all she could do to keep her jaw from dropping. From the moment she had received the letter from Lord Thorpe, she had envisioned him as a crotchety old man, averse to company and probably quite eccentric. She had been sure that once she met him, she could talk her way around his oddities and convince him to let her see his collection. But now, seeing him, she realized that she had been completely wrong.
The man standing at the other end of the foyer was in the prime of his life, no more than in his thirties. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with long, muscular legs, accentuated by close-fitting buff-colored pantaloons and rich, butter-soft brown boots. He was dressed well, but simply. He started toward them, and Alexandra realized with a funny jump of her stomach that Lord Thorpe was not only young, but also quite handsome. His hair was a thick, dark brown, cropped close to his head. He had a sculpted face, with high, jutting cheekbones, an aquiline nose and a squared jaw, the rather stern features softened by a wide, sensual mouth. His eyes were large and intelligent, gray in color and ringed by thick, black lashes that gave them a smoky look. His expression gave little away, but Alexandra thought she detected the faintest bit of humor in his eyes. When his gaze fell on her, the oddest feeling started up deep inside Alexandra, a strange, effervescent, tumultuous sensation she had never experienced before. All thoughts seemed to scatter.
“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
