The Theft (Thornton 2)

"No. But still, I have to wonder…" Eric broke off, wishing he knew what the hell to say.

"Good. Because you and Mama are my parents. My only parents." Noelle hugged Eric fiercely. "I love you both so much," she whispered. "If my interest in knowing who he is hurts either of you, I'll forget the entire notion."

Tenderly, Eric stroked Noelle's hair, reflecting on how very typical this entire display was. Noelle was fervent about everything. Her love. Her curiosity. Her allegiance.

Her hunger for knowledge—knowledge that, in this case, she was more than entitled to be granted.

Yes, she was his daughter, his and Brigitte's, but it hadn't been that way from the start. She'd been born his niece, the unwanted illegitimate babe of his sister Liza. Liza and some nameless Italian aristocrat who'd thrown her aside the instant he learned she was with child. Not that Liza had proven to be any more principled than her lover. As always, she'd hastened straight to Eric, seeking him out as her inexhaustible source of love and protection. And, as always, he'd offered her both, convincing himself that she truly repented her reckless behavior, that she was ready to forgo her selfish whims and assume responsibility for the life of her unborn child.

What a fool he'd been. Liza had given birth to Noelle on Christmas Day, then abandoned her at the onset of the new year—forsaking Farrington Manor to sow her wild oats, only to die shortly thereafter, leaving Eric with a bitter heart, a deluge of self-censure, and an untenable dilemma.

Noelle.

God help him for his reaction. He'd been a wounded animal, incapable of feeling or forgiveness—especially when it came to himself. Uncertain of his sanity, unable to endure even the slightest reminder of Liza, Eric had wrested Noelle from his life, determined to live out his days in self-imposed isolation.

It hadn't happened that way.

And not because of any heroic transformation on his part. No, Eric harbored no illusions on that score. His unexpected awakening, all its ensuing joys—every one of those blessings he owed to one extraordinary, incomparable woman.

Brigitte.

As his courageous bride, Brigitte had marched into Farrington Manor just shy of Noelle's fourth birthday, a wife in name, a governess in fact.

Or so Eric had intended.

Within weeks Brigitte had undone four years of hell, healed all of Eric's and Noelle's emotional wounds, and transformed the future from bleak to miraculous.

Thanks to Brigitte, there was joy, there was unity, and there was family—a family that grew to include not only their beloved Noelle but their equally beloved Chloe, who made her appearance the summer before Noelle turned five.

Both girls had flourished—happy, nurtured, secure in the knowledge that they were loved.

Fortunately, Noelle had never had to know the selfish woman who'd given her life.

Or the despicable man who'd aided in the same.

There was no reason for that to change. No reason but one.

Noelle. Noelle and her inexhaustible curiosity.

"Tempest," Eric murmured, easing Noelle away from him and gripping her small hands in his large ones. "Even if I knew who the scoundrel was who … that is, the scoundrel who was responsible for … for…"

"Impregnating," Noelle supplied helpfully. "The scoundrel who was responsible for impregnating Liza." She smiled a bit at the ashen expression on Eric's face. "I do know how babies are made, Papa."

"Why did I doubt that?" he muttered, shaking his head. "In any case, even if I knew his identity, I'm not certain I'd share that information with you. What would you do with it? Write him a letter? Ask why he'd chosen to walk away from his unborn child, why he wanted no part of the life he'd created?"

"Of course not." Noelle gave him a you-can't-be-serious look. "I know why he wanted no part of my life: he was, or is, an unfeeling coward. It was his loss, Papa, not mine. I have no misgivings or self-doubts on that score, believe me. Still, I am dreadfully curious. I'd like to know what he looks like, thinks like, what traits I might have inherited from him. Surely you can understand that?"

Eric swallowed audibly. "Yes, I can understand that." A contemplative pause. "Noelle, he lived in Italy. I explained that to you when Brigitte and I told you all we knew of him, all Liza relayed to me after their relationship ended. Assuming he's still alive, finding him would be like searching for a needle in a haystack."

Soberly, Noelle nodded. "I realize that. And I've given it much thought. We could hire someone—an investigator. Surely he could travel to Italy, find someone who actually saw this man and Liza together. No matter how discreet they were, they were bound to be noticed. Liza was a very beautiful woman."

And you look just like her, Eric added silently. "Yes, she was," he said aloud. For a long moment he studied Noelle's earnest expression. "This means that much to you?"

"I can't bear wondering and not having answers. You know how I am, Papa."

"Yes, I certainly do." With that, E

ric came to a decision. "All right Noelle, I understand your curiosity. And I'm willing to indulge it—in my own way."