Page 20 of A Stolen Heart

“Mother!” Lady Ursula declared in startled accents. “Good God, why did she—” She bent over her mother. “Is she all right?”

Thorpe felt the older woman’s pulse. “I think she just fainted. Let’s get her out of here.”

“Yes, of course.” Ursula glanced uneasily around at the room, where faces were turning curiously toward them.

Thorpe put his other arm under the Countess’s knees and stood up, lifting her easily.

“What made her say that name? It’s so bizarre.” She turned to look accusingly at Alexandra, as if somehow the incident were her fault. She stopped in midsentence, staring at Alexandra. “Good God!”

Alexandra gazed at her wonderingly. The other woman whirled abruptly and hurried after Thorpe.

“Wait here.” Thorpe tossed the words over his shoulder toward Alexandra, and then he was gone, striding out the door with Lady Ursula, her husband and her daughter scurrying after him like a flock of agitated chickens.

Nicola and Alexandra turned toward each other in astonishment.

“How extraordinary,” Nicola commented. “I’ve known the Countess all my life, and I’ve never seen her faint. She’s a very strong woman.”

“She seemed to, ah, find the sight of me disturbing.”

“I am sure it wasn’t that,” Nicola reassured her.

Alexandra, however, was not so sure. Lady Ursula had reacted strongly to the sight of her, as well, even though she had not fainted. “Why do you think she said that name? Was she calling me Simone?”

“I don’t know. Why would she call you that?”

Alexandra shook her head. “Perhaps I reminded her of someone?”

Nicola shrugged gracefully. “I don’t know of anyone named Simone among our acquaintances. It sounds French, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it does.”

Alexandra glanced to the side and saw a man making his way purposefully toward them. It was the Earl of Exmoor, to whom Thorpe had introduced her earlier in the evening. Nicola let out what sounded very much like a curse beneath her breath.

“I hope there was nothing wrong with the Countess,” the man said smoothly as he joined them.

“I am sure she will be all right,” Nicola said coolly. “No doubt it was the heat of the room.”

“Mm. I am sure you are right. The Countess is getting a trifle advanced in years, perhaps, to be attending such a crush.”

“You make her sound as if she were feeble, Richard. She’s a strong, vibrant woman.”

“My dear sister, I meant no insult to the woman. She is a remarkable woman, and I admire her tremendously.”

“I am not your sister.”

Alexandra glanced at Nicola, recognizing the iron in her voice. Thorpe’s earlier coolness toward this man was as nothing compared to Nicola’s obvious dislike.

“Come, come, Nicola, you will give our visitor here the wrong impression.”

“If I have given her the impression that I do not like you, then it is a very accurate one.”

Alexandra was impressed. Nicola might look as fragile as a flower, but her backbone was obviously made of steel. She stood facing the man, her body stiff, her arms rigid at her sides, her eyes flashing.

Exmoor made a wry face, looking at Alexandra. “I am sorry, Miss Ward. Miss Falcourt and I have the problem of perhaps being too close.”

His words seemed deliberately suggestive, and the look he shot Nicola was challenging.

Nicola answered by curling her lip into a sneer. “Don’t make a fool of yourself, Exmoor.” She turned toward Alexandra. “Please excuse me, Miss Ward.”