"Did you question her about this unusual mood she was in?"
"I did. She waved away my concern, saying only that her paramour was so intense, he sometimes overwhelmed her senses. And that this particular night she felt unusually on edge—eager to see him, agitated by the worry that she might not be able to satisfy him. And that if she let him down, the outcome would be unbearable. But it was the way she said it—almost as if she were afraid of him. I have no proof, mind you. Not even the word of my mistress. She never actually said she was frightened. It was only a feeling on my part, an instinct, if you will."
"You never saw him arrive that night?"
"No. Not that night or any other night." Mary withdrew her hand, taking out a handkerchief and dabbing at her eyes. "As I said, Lady Mannering was very discreet. I never witnessed her suitor coming or going from the Town house. She was always alone when I left her. Except that on that particular night—when I returned the next day…"—a broken sob—"she was dead."
Noelle stood, wrapping the earrings in a handkerchief and carefully placing them in her pocket. Then she lay a gentle palm on Mary's quaking shoulder. "Thank you. I can't tell you how important what you've just relayed might be to finding your mistress's killer. But Mary…"—Noelle waited until the maid raised her head and met Noelle's purposeful gaze—"I'm going to ask of you the very favor you asked of me. Don't repeat this conversation to another soul. No one. And not only to protect Lady Mannering's reputation or to safeguard your job. To ensure your wellbeing. If the man we've just discussed is guilty of murder, he won't hesitate to kill anyone who might possess damning information about him. So please, for your own safety, let Lord Tremlett deal with this matter. Forget everything you just told me."
Wide-eyed, the maid nodded. "I will."
"As will I." Noelle squeezed Mary's shoulder, then turned to leave. "And thank you again, Mary. Lady Mannering would be extremely proud and grateful for your loyalty and friendship."
* * *
Ashford was pacing the grounds just inside the gates of the Bromleigh Town house when Noelle arrived home a half hour later. He came to an abrupt halt when he saw her climb down from the carriage.
"Ashford!" Noelle's face lit up, and she swung open the gate and hurried in. "When did you—?"
"Where's Grace?" he demanded, scanning the empty street behind her.
"I talked Papa into letting me go alone. Grace is so overbearing, I was afraid I'd accomplish nothing if she were with me. But Papa's driver took me to and fro. I'm fine, truly." Noelle inclined her head, gave him a teasing look. "Is this your idea of a proper greeting? You haven't seen me in two days."
Ashford made a raw sound and, abandoning any aura of reserve or adherence to protocol, he reached out and tugged her to him. "I worry every time you're out of my sight," he muttered, enfolding her close. "And I miss you so damned much it's unbearable."
"That's better. Much better." With a soft sigh, Noelle rubbed her face against his coat. "I'm so glad you're here. When did you arrive?"
"I rode like a highwayman fleeing through the streets. My carriage will never be the same. I stopped off at my Town house, flung my bags into the hallway, and raced right over here. I've been waiting for you for an hour."
Leaning back, Noelle smiled. "You could have gone in, you know. Papa would have enjoyed the company. I'm sure he's pacing inside much like you're pacing outside."
"But if I'd gone in and paced with your father, I couldn't have greeted you like this." With an irreverent glance at the few passing carriages, Ashford drew Noelle behind the shelter of a tree, tipped up her chin, and covered her mouth with his. He kissed her slowly, tenderly, cradling her head in his hands and gliding his fingers through the silken strands of her hair. "I ached for you," he murmured against her lips. "I lay awake all night aching for you. I'm not sure which is worse: sleeping under the same roof as you and exercising self-restraint, or knowing I'm miles away from you and can't hold you in my arms."
"Both." Noelle's fingertips caressed his jaw, and she studied his face intently, searching for the answer she prayed she'd see—the answer he'd gone in search of, and which would determine their future. "Did you accomplish what you set out to? Did you resolve that commitment you needed to reassess?"
Conflicting emotions warred in Ashford's eyes—affirmation tempered by caution. He looked eager to blurt something out, yet obligated to keep it concealed. "Yes," he said carefully. "As a matter of fact, I did."
"At Markham."
Ashford didn't look away. "Yes, at Markham."
Relief swept through Noelle at the immediacy of his response. Perhaps she'd been wrong about the inner struggle she'd perceived. Perhaps he was ready to tell her everything, to let go of whatever ties were binding him to the past and keeping him from her.
"Then we can talk?" she asked pointedly. "I have much to tell you, but nothing as significant as what you have to tell me."
No, she hadn't been wrong. There was that conflict again, raging in his eyes: understanding of her meaning, certainty of his feelings—and a compulsion to remain silent. But why?
"Ashford?" she pressed.
"Yes, we can talk—soon." He softened the vagueness of his reply by turning his lips into her palm, brushing it with a tender kiss. "But for now, I want to hear what you accomplished at the Mannerings'. That is where you just came from, isn't it?"
"Yes." Noelle frowned, Ashford's evasiveness was far too ambivalent to suit her. "But—"
"Come, tempête," he urged, plainly trying to lighten the mood and change the subject. "Much as I'd like to stay out here and kiss you until the last rays of sunshine fade into dusk, I think it would be unwise. Eventually the passing phaetons would begin to stop and their occupants to stare. We'll succeed in causing a scandal, not to mention enraging your father." A grin. "And he was just beginning to like me."
"You're talking in riddles," Noelle pronounced. "And you're trying to distract me. Don't think for a minute I don't realize that." Sighing, she dismissed the matter—for now. "Fine. We'll deal with my meeting with Mary first. As for Papa, he'll want to hear those details, too. He's been on edge all day."
Ashford's grin faded and his eyes narrowed. "On edge—why? Did that son of a bitch Sardo—?"
"No." Noelle waved away that worry. "André showed up on our doorstep yesterday, about an hour after we arrived. We were still settling in. Papa told him in no uncertain terms that I was unavailable, utterly exhausted, and not receiving callers for at least another two days—in a tone that left no room for argument. André accepted Papa's decree and went away. He hasn't been back since."
"Lucky for him. Now he can continue to live—for now."
Noelle couldn't help but smile at the intensity of Ashford's words. "I adore your jealousy, unwarranted though it may be. I only wish that you—" She broke off, shelving her myriad questions, at least until the outcome of her meeting with Mary had been discussed, and she and Ashford could find a few minutes alone.
Besides, she was eager to share the results of her day with him and to show him the possible clue Mary had given her.
Anticipation restored, Noelle caught Ashford's hand, tugged him towards the house. "Come. Let's go inside and I'll tell you my news."
The excitement in Noelle's voice found its mark, and Ashford reacted instantly. "Mary told you something?"
"She told me something and she gave me something. Now it's up to us to make good use of both."
* * *
"She was afraid of him?" Ashford's fingers paused in the act of unfolding Noelle's handkerchief. "Mary's sure?"
"It certainly seemed that way to her, yes." Noelle flitted about the sitting room, unable to stand still as she awaited Ashford's reaction when he saw the earrings. "He was from the Continent. He courted her heavily, beginning about two months ago. And he hailed from a world of cultural beauty—a world of color and passion. That was Emily Mannering's description."
"We know someone who fits that description exactly," Eric mu
ttered, tossing off his drink and eyeing the handkerchief expectantly. "Emily Mannering might just as well have supplied Baricci s name."
"Well, well." Ashford held up the dainty pieces of jewelry. "What have we here? A lover's gift?"
Noelle practically pounced on him. "Can we trace their origin? Find out where they were purchased and by whom? Will that lead us to Baricci?"
A corner of Ashford's mouth lifted in response to Noelle's accomplished and enthusiastic sleuthing. "That depends upon whether they were bought legally, locally, and by Baricci." Despite his teasing grin, the pride in Ashford's eyes was genuine. "But this is far more than we had before. Nice work."
Noelle's smile was smug. "I thought so."
Eric walked over and assessed the earrings. "They certainly aren't what I'd expect from Baricci. They're elegant, not flamboyant."
"True. Then again, we've never seen examples of gifts Baricci presents to his paramours—have we?" Ashford asked Eric tactfully.
"No."
"There's a good reason for that. Baricci has never been known to give keepsakes to the women he seduces. He relies strictly upon his charm. He must have been unusually eager to win Emily Mannering's attentions to give her these. As for their elegance—maybe Baricci's taste in jewelry is less ostentatious than he is. On the other hand, maybe his funds were limited and this was all he could muster—until he sold a few more stolen paintings."
"So where does this leave us?" Eric asked. "We already suspected Baricci and Emily Mannering were lovers. For all we know, the police have already confirmed that fact, interrogated Baricci about their relationship, and found out he was with her on the night of the theft. That doesn't prove he stole the painting or killed Emily Mannering."
"True," Ashford concurred. "So it's up to us to encourage the police to become more suspicious. For instance, if Baricci is proven to be Emily's lover, perhaps we can establish a pattern for his visits and ascertain when his affections suddenly surfaced and intensified. The latter we'll accomplish by confirming if and when he purchased those earrings, the former by questioning the servants about the exact dates they were sent away. And if those visits all occurred within a cluster of time just before the robbery, we'll go back to the police, armed with Mary's suspicions that her mistress was afraid of her lover, and suggest that Baricci had a hand in the theft. We'll even propose the idea that he'd already threatened Emily—which would explain her nervousness."
"Will they arrest him on such sketchy evidence?"
"I doubt it. But they will go back and interrogate him again, this time not so pleasantly. And that will open up the Pandora's box Baricci is dreading, especially since I'm sure he's still in possession of that Rembrandt. No matter how valuable it is, it's now linked to a murder investigation. Which will make it nearly impossible to sell." Ashford shot Eric and Noelle a triumphant look. "In short, Baricci will become highly unnerved by another, more intensive police visit. And I'll be sure to add to that apprehension by being present, by adding whatever pressure I can."
"It sounds promising," Eric agreed.
"Oh, it is. And it all begins with these." Ashford studied the earrings, turned them over in his palm. "Noelle, you said that, according to Mary, Lady Mannering's suitor gave these to her a month or two ago. Fine. I'll assume it was before the holidays, use that as a starting point. I intend to find out exactly when they were bought and by whom." A quick glance at the clock. "It's too late in the day to check out the conventional locations, such as London jewelers. But if they were bought through other means…" Ashford tucked the earrings back into the handkerchief. "I'll see what I can accomplish."
"Tonight?" Noelle asked in dismay.
Ashford gave her a reassuring look. "Don't worry. I'm more than accustomed to this kind of work. I'll be fine."
"I wasn't worried about your ability to survive among London's reprobates," she retorted, too upset to mince words, despite her father's presence. "I was hoping you'd stay for dinner, that we'd have a chance to talk."
Steadily, he gazed at her. "Not tonight, Noelle. Much as I'd like to stay, I have a job to do."
Noelle wanted to strike him, that's how frustrated she was. She was certain his eagerness to leave had nothing to do with Baricci and everything to do with the conversation they'd begun outside and never finished.
Why was he so reluctant to talk? What had happened at Markham? What was it he was still determined to keep from her?
Ashford crossed over, touched her cheek. "I'll be back tomorrow after I speak with the jewelers."
Not tonight, Noelle. Much as I'd like to stay, I have a job to do.
Abruptly, Ashford's words sank in, and Noelle's insides twisted with realization.
When he walked out that door tonight, it wasn't just to seek out his contacts and get information on Lady Mannering's earrings. Whatever job he was referring to was far more critical than that. It was an obligation meant to resolve the last filaments of his conflict, to put to bed his reservations.
To satisfy the commitment he'd made, fulfill the confidence he'd kept.
In short, to make peace with himself.
And Noelle's instincts told her that whatever was required to attain that peace, whatever Ashford had planned for tonight, it was dangerous.
A terrifying premonition gripped her heart.
God, no, she thought wildly. We're only just discovering each other. If anything should happen to him…
Reflexively, she clutched his forearm. "Ashford, wait. Where exactly are you going?"
He covered her hand with his, gave her an odd, penetrating look. "This part is my responsibility, Noelle. It's tied to an uglier world, one I don't want you involved with in any way—not even so much as to know my destination."
"Until after you've returned," she qualified, her mind racing to find ways to convince him—and her father—to let her go, too.
"No. Not even then."
Noelle's thoughts came to a screeching halt as Ashford's terse refusal dashed over her like a bucket of ice water.
"Not even afterwards?" she repeated, gaping up at him, stunned and unable to believe her ears.
"No," he replied, his tone and expression rigid.
A current of communication ran between them.
Slowly, Noelle sucked in her breath, recognizing the true meaning of Ashford's adamant declaration.
He wasn't talking about shielding her from the seedy side of London, from his chats with fences and unsavory pawnshop owners. He was talking about shutting her out of his secret, that part of his past he was on the verge of putting to rest.
The wretched man never intended to tell her the truth, even after it was resolved.
Well, damn him, that was not the way it was going to be. He was not going to put his life at risk and not share the reasons why with her. Not before, and not after.
"Noelle, Lord Tremlett is right," her father was saying, aware of the tension permeating the room, though oblivious to its true cause and to the tornado brewing inside his daughter. "There's no need for you to hear the sordid details. Let the earl carry things out in his own way. He is, as he says, accustomed to doing so."
"Oh, I know he is." Noelle struggled to keep her voice serene and to render her expression merely concerned, a bit challenging, but nothing more—so that Ashford, insightful man that he was, wouldn't suspect anything.
Her will must have been tremendous, because this time she succeeded.
"I have to leave, Noelle," Ashford murmured, his gaze caressing her as he brought her fingers to his lips. "Go have dinner with your family. I'll be by tomorrow, as quickly as I can."
Noelle forced herself to nod, looking suitably disappointed and customarily annoyed at being thwarted in her efforts. "Very well," she agreed with the right touch of reluctance. "It appears I have no choice. I'm outnumbered."
"We'll talk tomorrow," Ashford vowed, a fierce light in his eyes. "I promise." Then he turned and took his leave.
Raising her chin, Noelle gazed after him
.
You're wrong, Ashford, she informed him silently. We'll talk tonight.
* * *
Chapter 14
« ^ »
It was a quarter past eleven.
Everyone had retired to their chambers, family and servants alike. Stilt Noelle waited an extra fifteen minutes before commencing her plan. There was too much at stake to fail before she'd begun.
The clock ticked on. Silence prevailed.
Creeping into the hall, she ensured it was empty, then tiptoed through the darkness and slipped into Chloe's room.
"Chloe," she hissed, shutting the door behind her. "Are you awake?"
Her sister stirred, then propped herself on one elbow. "I am now." Tossing waves of hair off her face, she leaned forward to turn up the gas lamp. "Why are you—?"
"Don't turn on the light." Noelle rushed over, stayed her with her hand. "I don't want anyone, especially Papa, to know we're up and about."
Chloe complied, her curiosity a tangible entity that filled the room. "What are you planning now?"
"I'm planning to go after Ashford. And I need your help."
Even in the darkness, Noelle could see Chloe's shock. "Going after Ashford? How? Where?"
"I can't tell you that."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't know."
A sharp intake of breath, and Chloe sat upright, patted the bed beside her. "You'd better sit down and explain."
Noelle perched at the edge of the bed. "I don't have time. Suffice it to say that he needs my help. Once I've given it to him, we can be together. Not before."
"But Noelle—"
"Please, Chloe." Noelle seized her sister's hands. "Don't ask me any more questions. Not now. Just tell me you'll help me."
"You know I will." Chloe's agreement was immediate and unconditional. "What can I do?"
"Help me find some extra sheets. We'll knot them together to form a rope of sorts. Then, after I'm on my way, leave your window ajar. And sleep lightly, listen for my voice."