The Theft

  "Very good, sir." Bowing, the butler took his leave.

  "Monsieur Sardo," Eric began, leveling his gaze at the artist. "I fear I've made an imprudent decision. Perhaps it would be best if you didn't—"

  "I understand, sir," André interrupted hastily. "You have a commitment—one you need to fulfill. Forgive my presumptuousness. Of course my sessions with Lady Noelle can wait a week or two." His brow furrowed ever so slightly. "The only excuse I can offer for my impatience—other than being eager to paint so lovely a young woman as your daughter—is that my debts are—" He broke off. "Never mind. That is no concern of yours. Again, my apologies." He made a move toward the door.

  "Wait." Whatever Eric had been about to say was silenced by André's reluctant admission—an admission that plainly reminded Eric why he'd agreed to this arrangement in the first place. He reached into his pocket, extracted a twenty-pound note, and pressed it into the artist's palm. "You're quite correct—this commitment is important. But so is the commitment I made to you. I hadn't considered the fact that you might not receive any payment until the painting was under way. So, here. This will cover any inconvenience a two-week delay might cost you."

  André's pupils widened with astonishment. "Your generosity is humbling, my lord. I don't know quite what to say."

  "You needn't say anything. Just remember the stipulations I put forth earlier. And keep in mind that this is a business arrangement. I hope that's entirely clear." A meaningful pause before Eric continued. "As for timing, Noelle will begin posing for you directly after we return from Markham. I'll send a message advising you once we're home and settled. Until then—good day, Monsieur Sardo."

  Thoughtfully, André rubbed the pound note between his tapered fingers. Then he bowed, slipping the bill into his pocket. "Of course, my lord. As you wish." His velvety brown eyes swept the room, lingering briefly on Noelle. "I'll look forward to hearing from you soon."

  * * *

  Darkness had just blanketed the streets of London when André knocked at the rear door of the Franco Gallery. He brushed a few stray snowflakes off his coat, turning up his collar against the January chill.

  An instant later Williams admitted him. "He's awaiting you in his office" was all he said.

  André nodded, walking past Williams and going directly across the hall. His purposeful rap was answered with an equally purposeful "Come in."

  He complied, stepping into the office and readying himself for the conversation that was about to take place.

  "At last." Baricci rose from behind his desk, an expectant look on his face. "What happened?"

  "Your daughter is breathtaking." André went to the sideboard, poured himself a generous glass of Madeira. "This assignment is truly going to be a labor of love."

  Baricci made an impatient sound and waved away André's admission. "I didn't ask for an assessment of Noelle's attributes. Although I do agree that her beauty and fire should make your task a good deal more enjoyable. And believable. Tell me what Farrington said."

  A deep swallow of Madeira. "He was reluctant, just as you suspected. Until I spoke of my poverty, my near-destitution. That did the trick." André turned and raised his glass with a flourish. "Your gift has been accepted. The commission is mine."

  "Excellent." Baricci rubbed his palms together. "When do you begin?"

  "That is the only catch, other than Farrington's annoying protectiveness. Protectiveness, incidentally, that extended to his demanding that Noelle's lady's maid be present during our sittings. Ridding myself of this maid, getting Noelle alone is going to be quite a challenge."

  "In that case, there will be quite a profit—even greater than originally promised."

  André's eyes gleamed. "I'm glad to hear it."

  "The other catch you spoke of?" Baricci prompted.

  "Ah, yes. That. It seems the entire Bromleigh family will be away for a good portion of the week after next. Lord Farrington announced that I won't be starting the portrait until they return."

  "I see." Baricci pursed his lips. "I suppose we'll have to be patient, then. I'm not pleased about the delay, but at least I know Noelle will be unreachable—by anyone."

  "Think again." André steeled himself for the inevitable reaction. "You haven't yet asked where they're going. Nor will you like my reply. They've been invited to the Duke and Duchess of Markham's charity affair."

  Thunder erupted on Baricci's face. "Dammit." He slammed his fist to the desk. "That son-of-a-bitch Thornton is the fastest, most resourceful—"

  "Yes, Farrington also believes Lord Tremlett had a hand in this. He as much as said so. And if it's any consolation to you, Eric Bromleigh isn't a big fan of his either."

  "Probably because he fears Thornton intends to bed Noelle. Which I'm sure he does—and will, given half a chance." Baricci sucked in his breath, visibly regaining his composure. "Fine. The Markham charity event lasts three days. It's also attended by hundreds of guests. Which makes Thornton's goal virtually impossible. He'd have to steal Noelle out from under Eric Bromleigh's vigilant eye, whisk her away from crowds of guests, and seduce her—all in a matter of days. I doubt even the accomplished Lord Tremlett can manage that."

  A sudden, palatable option caused Baricci's spirits to lift. "I, on the other hand, am being granted three days without Tremlett's insufferable presence," he murmured, his eyes beginning to gleam. "That means no questions, no prying, no scrutiny. Imagine how much I can accomplish in that amount of time."

  "You're planning another theft?" André inquired, calmly finishing his Madeira.

  "Oh, indeed I am." Baricci strolled around front of his desk. "I lost the Gainsborough. I intend to make up for that with another, even more valuable painting. And now appears to be the perfect time to procure that painting; while Tremlett is away and the authorities are still immersed in their investigation to recover the Gainsborough."

  "Which work of art have you selected this time?"

  "That needn't concern you."

  "I beg to differ with you," André countered. "I'm the one who provides you with the paintings behind which you conceal these masterpieces. I believe that entitles me to a few details."

  "Fine. Then I'll provide you with them once they've been finalized." Baricci ran a thoughtful hand over his jaw. "As it stands, your part in this matter has already been completed. I'll simply use the painting you finished last month—the one intended to fit atop the Gainsborough. What's more, I have a week to finalize my plan. I won't act until Tremlett is safely ensconced at his parents' home."

  "And what of your competitor—this mysterious thief who reads your mind and beats you to your prize? How do you know he won't also beat you to your next target?"

  "Because this time my choice of paintings is not nearly as conspicuous as was the Gainsborough. On the contrary, it was acquired several years ago, so announcements of its purchase have long since vanished from the newspapers and ceased to be a topic of discussion among the ton."

  "I'm relieved to hear that."

  "Are you?" Baricci's chin came up, his features hardening as he regarded Sardo. "I'm touched that you've given my affairs so much thought, André. But let me put your concerns to rest. In the long run, I always prevail. Always. Never forget that."

  "I never do." Carefully, André set down his glass. "It's the main reason I enjoy working with you so very much." He smoothed his palms down the front of his coat. "In any event, I shall now leave you to your planning. I have my own planning to do—planning I can hardly wait to put into place."

  "Noelle is beautiful, isn't she?" Baricci commented with the kind of proud detachment one afforded a thoroughbred. "She's the image of her mother."

  "If that's the case, I can see why you were so captivated. I know I am."

  "Good." A smile played about Baricci's lips. "In that case, I can be assured of Noelle's allegiance. Just as I am of yours."

  "Unquestionably." André's smile was equally practiced. "I never lose sight of what—and who—I need."

>   "Or of who decides your fate."

  André's smile faded. "I need no reminder of that." He walked to the door and opened it. "Good night, Franco. I'll expect to hear from you."

  * * *

  To Noelle, the next week felt more like a year. When, finally, she and her family climbed into their carriage and left Farrington, she was so excited she could scarcely stay in her seat. She resented each and every stop they made—posting their horses, staying overnight at a village inn—every delay was endless.

  A day and a half later—a virtual eternity—they finally reached Northampton.

  Chloe was almost as exhilarated as she, constantly poking her head out the window and exclaiming, "How much farther is it, Mama?"

  "Just a mile or two," Brigitte finally replied, smiling at her daughter's enthusiasm. "I hope the duke's staff is equipped to handle your zealous arrival."

  With a self-deprecating grin, Chloe dropped back into her seat. "I hope so, too."

  "Chloe's not the only overzealous guest who's about to descend on Markham," Eric added with a meaningful look at Noelle.

  Noelle sighed, rubbing the folds of her carriage gown between impatient fingers. "I can't help my excitement, Papa. This is my first official party—one in which I'll be included among the adults."

  "Lord help them," Eric muttered. "And me." Laughing, Brigitte slipped her hand in his. "I don't think we need to worry over the guests' reaction to Noelle. She'll enchant them. She can't help but do so."

  "That's precisely what I am worrying about," Eric retorted. "The Earl of Tremlett, for one, is far too enchanted already."

  "Papa, stop." Noelle averted her gaze, staring out the window and watching the passing trees. "The earl and I hardly know each other."

  "Try to remember that when you see him."

  As if on cue, the carriage slowed, turning down a private drive.

  "We're here." Chloe bolted up, poking her head out the window. "I can see Markham's iron gates; they're just ahead." A minute later her eyes widened in awe. "Look!"

  They all stared as their carriage passed through the formidable gates and rolled onto the drive beyond.

  "Oh, my," Noelle breathed.

  Markham was by far the most intimidating estate she'd ever seen. Sprawling, endless acres of land greeted her eyes, beyond which sat a towering gothic mansion. "It's huge." She swallowed, feeling suddenly nervous. "I expected it to be imposing. But I never expected this."

  "Nor did I," Brigitte admitted. "It is a bit overwhelming."

  Their driver pulled around front of the manor, where four footmen were awaiting to assist with the bags. An elderly butler stood in the entranceway, bowing as they made their way to the door.

  "Good day, my lord," he greeted Eric.

  "Good day," Eric replied, guiding Brigitte and his daughters into the manor. "I'm the Earl of Farrington. I believe my family and I are expected."

  "Indeed. His Grace advised me you'd be arriving sometime this afternoon. Welcome to Markham." He bowed to each of them in turn. "My name is Langley. If there's anything you need during your stay, don't hesitate to ask." With that, he gestured toward a waiting footman. "Woods will show you to your quarters. The duke and duchess are in the green salon, taking tea with a few of their guests. I'll summon them at once."

  "That's not necessary, Langley," Eric assured him. "Let them relax before the hectic pace of the next few days. We'll have plenty of time to chat later. Besides, my family and I have had a long journey. I'm sure we'd all like a chance to freshen up."

  "Very good, sir. I'll advise the duke and duchess of your arrival. Once you've freshened up, you're welcome to join them, to stroll about the grounds, or to rest in your chambers until dinner. Whatever pleases you. Dinner will be served at seven." Langley lifted his head as a small, happy shriek from somewhere outside reached their ears. "That would be Lady Cara," he explained with as much pride as if she were his. "The duke and duchess's granddaughter. She's playing a rousing game of hide-and-seek with her uncle."

  "She sounds like she's enjoying herself immensely," Brigitte returned with a smile. "There's nothing as magical as the sound of a child's laughter."

  Noelle had stopped listening after the word uncle. Instead, she was staunchly trying to figure out which "uncle" in particular Lady Cara might be frolicking with. Did Ashford have brothers? If so, it could just as easily be one of them. Still…

  Turning, she inched toward the door and peered across the grounds, trying to place precisely where the laughter had come from.

  "Noelle." Brigitte lay a hand on her daughter's arm. "Let's get settled in."

  "Mama, would you mind very much if I took a walk first?" Noelle requested, her voice kept purposely low. "I'm filled with so much energy after that endless carriage ride. And the grounds are lovely."

  Brigitte cast a quick glance over her shoulder, only to see Eric and Chloe still standing in the hallway, Eric's dark head bent to Chloe's as he answered one of her countless questions.

  "Very well," Brigitte decided, turning back to Noelle. "But only for a few minutes. Your father won't be happy if you're away too long. Especially once he deduces the real reason for your excess energy—and your stroll."

  Mother and daughter exchanged a long, understanding look.

  "Thank you, Mama," Noelle whispered.

  "Use this time to make certain this is right for you, darling."

  "I will." Noelle slipped out of the manor.

  The late afternoon was cool, but not frigid, and the fresh air actually did feel quite good, as did stretching her legs. Noelle walked a bit, then halted as another peal of laughter accosted her.

  It came from a grove of trees a short distance away.

  Gathering up her skirts, she scooted toward it.

  She hadn't gone ten steps when a little girl exploded from the trees and crashed directly into her.

  "Oh, I'm sorry." The child, who appeared to be about seven years old, pressed her palm to her mouth, staring up at Noelle through distressed grey eyes. "I didn't know anyone was out here except us."

  Noelle squatted down and smiled. "You don't need to apologize. It was I who collided with you." A mischievous twinkle. "I'm actually quite a good runner myself."

  "Really? Would you like to join our game then? I'm sure Uncle Ashe wouldn't mind."

  "Uncle Ashe?" Noelle nearly leaped to her feet, her heart skipping a beat.

  "Um-hum." The child twisted a strand of tawny hair about her forefinger. "My name's Cara—after my great-grandmother. What's yours?"

  "Noelle—after Christmas. That's when I was born."

  "Do you get two celebrations or one?"

  Noelle's lips twitched. "Two. I insisted on that when I was a child."

  "I don't blame you."

  A rustle from within the cluster of trees interrupted them, and Cara tugged at Noelle's skirts. "We'd better hurry or we'll get caught."

  "I hear you, moppet," came an all-too-recognizable baritone, drawing nearer with each word. "And I suggest we head back to the manor. Your mama will worry herself sick if we're out here after dark."

  Cara's eyes widened. "What time is it?" she hissed to Noelle.

  "About half after four, I think," Noelle whispered back. "Uncle Ashe is right. Mama will be upset."

  Cara backed off in the direction of the manor. "You finish the game for me—okay, Noelle? Better yet, start a new one." She pressed a conspiratorial forefinger to her lips, lowering her voice to a hush. "Tell Uncle Ashe I'm making a dash for the manor." Her dimples flashed. "Oh, and tell him I win." She shot off like a bullet.

  "Where are you, moppet?" Ashford called, emerging from the trees.

  "By now? Inside the manor," Noelle supplied, savoring the look of utter astonishment that crossed his face. "She said to tell you she wins."

  "Noelle." He breathed her name in a way that made her bones turn to water.

  "Hello, my lord. Your niece is precious. We had a lovely chat, during which she instructed me to take over her p
art in your game." Noelle had no idea what she was saying. All she knew was that she couldn't tear her eyes off Ashford. Even mussed, his hair and clothing tousled from running about with a child, he was magnificent.

  He strode right over to her, capturing both hands and bringing them to his lips. "When did you arrive?"

  "A few minutes ago." She stared at his mouth as it brushed her palms, shivering at the incredible sensations caused by his lips against her skin. His effect on her was astounding—even more so than a fortnight ago. "I never got farther than the entranceway. I heard your niece playing… I was restless… I stepped out for some air… I…" She inhaled sharply. "I came out here looking for you," she confessed in a rush.

  Tiny flames flared in Ashford's eyes. "Damn propriety to hell," he muttered. Abruptly, he drew Noelle against him, tipping up her chin and covering her mouth with his. "God, I've dreamed of doing this."

  Noelle was sure her knees would give out. She clutched Ashford's forearms, her lips tingling at their first contact with his. His mouth was warm, insistent, molding to hers in a series of slow, drugging kisses she felt to the tips of her toes. Beginning lightly, coaxingly, the kisses intensified until they were heated explorations, his lips urging hers to part. As if in a dream, she complied, opening to the penetration of his tongue, moaning softly as his tongue captured and caressed hers, his arms tightening like steel bands around her, drawing her closer.

  Then, forcibly, almost against his will, Ashford tore his mouth away, his gaze probing hers with fiery intensity. "I know I should apologize," he stated flatly, his arms still holding her close. "But I have no intentions of doing so. Not given the number of times I've imagined doing that since I left you at the station."

  "I'm glad," Noelle managed, her entire body trembling with reaction. "Because an apology is the last thing I want."

  "Should I ask what the first thing is?"

  "Not until I can form a coherent thought."

  Ashford's chuckle was a warm breath against her overheated skin. "Does that mean you're as glad to see me as I am to see you?"