Page 62 of A Stolen Heart

Still, a small voice replied, that did not change the fact that she was drugged.

Sebastian closed his eyes, struggling to steady his breathing and bring his raging blood under control. Lying on the bed beside him, Alexandra watched him. She felt spent and satisfied, yet there was still something niggling at her, a feeling of incompletion. There was more, she was sure, judging from what she had seen during her stay with Madam Magdalena. The woman had told her she was going to start her education before the gentlemen arrived and had proceeded to have two men and women show Alexandra an astonishing array of things. Even though Alexandra had been hazy with drugs, she remembered them well enough.

She reached to Sebastian’s trousers, running her finger down the hard bulge there. Sebastian barely stifled a groan. “Bloody hell, woman, are you trying to drive me mad?”

“There’s more,” she began tentatively. “Don’t you want—”

“Of course I want!” he interrupted her savagely. “Do you think I’m made out of stone?”

“Then why did you pull away?” Alexandra asked, beginning to work on the buttons of his breeches.

“Because you are not competent to—to make the judgment that—” He broke off, his eyes glazing, as her fingers slipped inside his breeches and grazed along his flesh.

“What judgment?” Alexandra could feel the heat inside her that had been sated begin to stir again. Just the sight of Sebastian’s face going slack with desire was enough to arouse her.

She teased her fingers up and down the iron rod of his manhood experimentally, watching his face tighten, a flush rising from his neck. With every indication of his desire, her own built, too.

“No,” he whispered, his eyes closed, his entire being focused on the pleasurable sensations Alexandra’s fingers were creating.

“No, what?” she asked softly. His earlobe looked terribly inviting to her, and she raised herself off the bed to take it gently between her teeth. A soft grunt broke from Sebastian.

“Don’t do this….”

“Do what? This?” She snaked her tongue into his ear, and a tremor ran through him. “Or this?” She curled her fingers around him.

He sucked in a sharp breath. For a moment he hung on the brink, uncertain whether he could stop the course of the passion that was sweeping through him like an avalanche. Then, with a muttered curse, he jerked away from Alexandra and stood from the bed.

“No,” he said harshly, his face as stony as if carved from granite. “This is wrong. I will not.”

He bent and grabbed his shirt from the floor, shrugging it on as he strode to the door. Alexandra watched, too stunned to speak or move. He yanked open the door and half turned back, not looking at her. “I shall send one of the maids to help you.”

“Don’t bother,” Alexandra retorted acidly. She would like to say a great deal more, but her brain, assaulted by drugs and recently washed with passion, would not work quickly enough to make sense of the hurt and fury that were pouring through her. He was out the door before she could say anything else.

So she had to content herself with throwing every pillow from the bed after him. Then she threw herself facedown on the velvet cover and gave way to tears.

ALEXANDRA WOKE LATE THE NEXT morning. Her head ached fiercely, and her mouth tasted as if she had been eating ashes. Letting out a groan, she sat up slowly. She rubbed a hand over her face. It felt strangely disconnected from her.

There was a knock at the door, and she realized that that must have been what had awakened her. “Yes?” She croaked the word out, pulling the sheet up to cover her naked front.

A fresh-faced maid opened the door and stuck her head inside. “Good, you’re up.”

Alexandra wondered how she could have been anything else with the woman banging on the door, but she managed to keep her sour mood to herself and nodded. The girl moved the rest of the way into the room, closing the door after her, and came to the bed. Her face was agog with curiosity, her eyes taking in every detail of Alexandra’s appearance. Alexandra suspected that the girl would be the queen of the servants’ hall at mealtime as she regaled them with her story of the strange woman in the master’s bedroom. No doubt they would relegate her to the realm of fallen women. If only they knew!

The maid carried a dress across her arms, with a small pile of undergarments atop it. “His lordship said I was to bring you these clothes and to help you dress. I wouldn’t have disturbed you, but he said that your aunt would be getting worried.”

“Yes, of course.” Alexandra experienced a stab of guilt at the realization that she had not even thought of her aunt and the poor woman’s state of mind. She remembered vaguely that Thorpe had sent Aunt Hortense a message that she was all right, but that alone would not be enough to keep her from worrying. And what about her mother?

She flushed with shame. She had asked Thorpe about Rhea, and after that she had not given her a second thought. She had been too consumed in her passion for Thorpe to devote any time to anyone else. Alexandra groaned, burying her face in her hands. She had been such a fool last night! How would she ever be able to look Lord Thorpe in the face again? He must think her a veritable doxie now, she thought. His opinion of her was low enough, and now she had thrown herself at him, practically begged him to bed her, indulged in the most wanton behavior. What must he think of her?

“Are you all right, miss?” the maid asked in some concern.

Alexandra raised her head to meet the girl’s gaze. “Yes. Well, I’ve felt better, but no doubt it will improve.”

She let the maid help her dress—although she would have preferred to be alone, it was difficult to do up the buttons down the back without help—but then she sent her away, telling her that she would deal with her hair herself. She brushed her hair quickly, ignoring the pain that jerking through her tangled curls brought to her already beleaguered head. It seemed, somehow, just punishment for her foolish behavior the night before. She had thrown herself at a man who clearly did not return her passion—indeed, he thoroughly disliked her, thinking her a lying swindler.

It would have been nice, she thought, to have blamed her actions on the drug that Madam Magdalena had given her, but Alexandra was too honest for that. The drug had certainly taken away her inhibitions, allowing her to act in ways that pride and embarrassment would never have allowed her to normally. However, Alexandra knew that the desire upon which she had acted was very real, indeed. She had felt the passion and was sure she would have felt it without having taken the slightest thing. All the drug had done was make her act out what she really felt.

She remembered with a deep, burning shame the way Thorpe had left the room last night, turning her down flat. He had obviously not felt the sort of raging desire she did. No doubt it had been very embarrassing for him to have to deal with her advances.