Eric swallowed, meeting her gaze once again. "In case you haven't figured it out yet, you won't like what you hear."
"I assumed as much. But you did promise you'd tell me."
"I also promised I'd protect you—a vow I made much longer ago and with a great deal more conviction than I afforded the one you're holding me to."
Noelle lay a gentle hand on his forearm. "There's no need to protect me. Not in this case. He can't hurt me, Papa. I'm too strong—we're too strong—for that. But I need to know. I've contemplated the possibilities for years. I might have cousins, aunts, or uncles whose existence I know nothing about."
"You don't," Eric bit out. "The son of a bitch had no siblings. And he was childless—with the exception of you. My investigators confirmed that fact after an extensive search."
"I see," Noelle replied after the barest of pauses. "Still, I need to know everything. Then I can let it go. Papa … please."
With a terse nod, Eric pivoted, striding over to the writing desk and unlocking the bottom drawer. He extracted a thin folder, turning it over in his hands several times. Then he opened it, staring blindly at the pages within, not really needing to read them given the fact that he'd long since memorized every word.
"His name is Franco Baricci," he began, his gaze still fixed on the papers he held. "He's fifty-four years old. He has residences in Italy, France, Spain, and England—and an alias to go with each one. He makes a career out of courting wealthy, naive young women until he's seduced away their innocence and their fortunes—fortunes that, incidentally, paid for his four homes. He then abandons these women, leaving them stripped of dignity and funds, and goes on to his next victim. Liza met him at the height of his career. She proved to be a complication in more ways than one. Not only was she sadly lacking in wealth—if you recall, she met him during my temporary business reversal—but she had the supreme audacity to conceive his child and to confront him with that fact. Needless to say, he abandoned any plans of waiting while her brother recouped his fortune. The day she told him about the child was the last time she saw him."
Noelle's eyes had grown wide with astonishment. "But Liza told you he left her for his wife and family…"
"There was no wife and family. He invented the existence of both in order to disentangle himself from the ties of impending fatherhood." Eric tossed the file onto the table. "You're welcome to read my investigators' findings firsthand. It's a good thing you and I agreed upon a five-and-a-half-year time frame. It took nearly that long to uncover all the sordid details of Baricci's life. He certainly keeps himself busy."
Eyeing but not touching the file, Noelle asked, "Where is he now?"
A heartbeat of silence, Eric's reluctance a tangible entity that swelled to fill the room.
His reply, when it came, was stiff. "In England. He owns an art gallery in London. Evidently, he spends several months a year there."
"Including this month." Now Noelle stooped, gathered up the file, and perused it thoughtfully. "He really was a snake, wasn't he?"
"Is," Eric corrected. "He is a snake. He's not dead, Noelle. He's alive. Alive and as unscrupulous as they come." A meaningful glare. "And I want you to stay away from him."
Noelle's head came up at her father's unusually harsh tone.
"I mean it, Noelle," Eric reiterated. "I don't want you attempting any contact with Baricci. He's the worst kind of blackguard, polished veneer or not. Further, he forfeited any right to you the day he cast Liza aside. Not that he appears to regret that choice. He hasn't made a single attempt to contact you these past eighteen years—a task, I might add, that would have been far easier to accomplish than the one we took on when we decided to locate him." Eric broke off and walked over to gently lift Noelle's chin. "I'm not trying to hurt you. I'd rather hurt myself. But I can't emphasize enough how unprincipled this man is. Promise me you won't seek him out."
Noelle wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, contemplating her father's request, weighing it against the curiosity fanning inside her like a brushfire that refused to be extinguished. Slowly her gaze drifted down to the file, then raised back to meet her father's, a reluctant decision flickering in the sapphire depths. "I promise, Papa. I won't seek him out."
* * *
"Call it what you will. In Papa's mind, it will still mean seeking him out. And Papa's going to be furious."
Chloe tucked a strand of velvet brown hair behind her ear, her delicate thirteen-year-old features tight with worry as she perched at the edge of her sister's bed. "Noelle, if he learns what you have in mind…"
"He won't. Not if you help me." Noelle fingered the edge of her nightgown, sitting up in bed to glance out the window, to ensure it was still dark. "Chloe, please. I'm not breaking my promise to Papa. Not really. You know I'd never do that."
"No. You're just twisting his words to suit your purpose."
Noelle couldn't dispute the truth of her sister's statement. Broodingly, she stared down at the bedcovers. "I wish it didn't have to be this way. I wish I could just ask Papa outright if he'd take me to London, let me catch a glimpse of Baricci. But if I did, he'd explode. As it is, he and Mama have kept a watchful eye on me every waking moment since last week when they told me the facts." She raised her chin. "Chloe, I need to do this. I can't explain why, except to say that it's my way of making peace with the past. I won't talk to him. I won't even give him my name. I just want to see him, to put a face to those unpleasant descriptions. And today is the only day I can do it, the only day Mama and Papa will be away from Farrington long enough for me to accomplish my goal."
Chloe frowned. "And that's only if we can manage to convince Mama you're sick. If not, you'll be traveling to the village with us, listening to Great-Grandfather's sermon and giving out food to the needy families in his parish."
Regret slashed across Noelle's face. "That's the part that makes me feel most guilty. Not only lying to Mama about being ill, but not being there to help Great-Grandfather. He's so stubborn about doing everything himself. But he's getting older now and—"
"I'll be there to help him," Chloe inserted, her dark eyes—the same fiery obsidian chips as their father's—determined. "Besides, you've already done more than your share this holiday season. You gave out all the sweets and three-quarters of the gifts on Christmas day. I could scarcely keep up with you. Consider today to be my turn. As for Great-Grandfather, he's stronger than most men half his age. He says the Lord keeps him that way so he's able to help the Lord help others. I believe him."
"So do I." Noelle smiled faintly, recalling the wonderful times she'd spent with their great-grandfather, who was not only a splendid vicar but an expert puppeteer. How many of her birthdays had culminated in one of his entertaining puppet shows? More than she could count. "I'm letting him down, aren't I?" she said softly. "Misleading Mama and Papa, abandoning my responsibilities to satisfy a need I can hardly explain?"
"No. You're not," Chloe disputed with quiet wisdom. "Great-Grandfather would be the first to understand. Do you know what I think he'd say? He'd say, 'Noelle, the Lord can spare you for a day. Especially knowing that by doing so He'll be ensuring you find the peace that will enable you to serve Him better."'
With a quavering breath, Noelle eyed her sister. "How did you ever become so smart?"