The Theft (Thornton 2)

Posing for this man was going to be an experience.

"Noelle. May I call you Noelle?" His husky question, uttered with that alluring accent Chloe had mentioned, was more a statement than a request. Clearly, André intended on dispensing with the formalities as quickly as possible.

"Of course," Noelle answered anyway. "Feel free."

"Your name is beautiful. Then again, so are you." He circled her, his practiced gaze assessing her from head to toe. "Painting your portrait is going to be as much a gift for me as it is for you."

"Noelle's lady's maid will be in attendance during your sessions," Eric Bromleigh announced from the doorway.

Noelle nearly groaned aloud. How was she going to procure any information from Monsieur Sardo with Grace the sentry present? Her only hope was to conduct the sittings right here in this room, where the broad expanse of windows provided both morning and afternoon sunlight Seated in the proper spot, Grace would be asleep in minutes.

Instantly, Noelle's spirits lifted.

André was nodding absently, his stare still fixed on Noelle. "Of course. A chaperon will be fine—if she's quiet. I can't abide interruptions of any kind." He moved closer to Noelle, angling his face to scrutinize hers. "Flawless. And those eyes…" He left the sentence unfinished, as if there were no words to convey the essence of all he saw. "When can we begin?"

"Why, whenever you wish, I suppose." Noelle looked past him, seeking an answer from her father.

Eric was taking in André's scrutiny of Noelle and openly scowling, clearly weighing the prudence of his decision.

Noelle couldn't allow him to reconsider. "Papa, isn't it wonderful that Monsieur Sardo has such a practiced eye that he's able to assess one's features in such an objective manner? It's much like a physician examining a patient."

Eric quirked a brow. "Is it?"

"Of course, my lord." Evidently André sensed he was on shaky ground, for his assurance was immediate and absolute. "As an artist, I must envision your daughter's likeness as I hope to capture it on canvas. That means doing justice to the exquisite features with which she was gifted. I fully intend to create a masterpiece worthy of Lady Noelle's beauty. That is, after all, what I'm being paid to do."

"Yes," Eric agreed pointedly. "It is."

"Pardon me, sir." Bladewell appeared in the sitting-room doorway. "A letter was just delivered. It came by private carriage. The driver res

pectfully requests that you open it at once and provide him with an immediate reply."

"Private carriage?" Eric repeated quizzically. "Whose?"

"The Duke of Markham's, sir."

"The Duke of Markham!" Noelle was across the room in a flash. "Open it, Papa."

Eric tore the seal and pulled out a single engraved card.

"What is it?" Noelle demanded.

"An invitation. The duke and duchess are inviting us to their annual charity ball at Markham, which commences the week after next."

"'Us'?" Noelle asked, silently holding her breath.

"Yes," Eric confirmed, scanning both the envelope and the invitation. "Us. You, Chloe, your mother, and me. It's a three-day event, culminating in a formal ball."

"Oh, Papa." Noelle gripped his arm, barely able to hear herself above Chloe's excited exclamation. "Please. Please say we can go."

Eric pressed his lips together. "Coincidental, wouldn't you say—that we should receive this invitation now, at this particular time, right after your little excursion to London? Or is it a coincidence? Why don't I think so? Why, instead, do I see Lord Tremlett's hand in this?"

"Probably because he and I discussed how committed you and Mama are to helping the needy. He must have relayed that fact to his parents." Noelle swallowed, her every hope centering on her father's decision. "We will go, won't we?"

From behind them, André cleared his throat. "It will delay our painting, chérie," he reminded her. Slowly, he walked over, capturing Noelle's elbow and pivoting her to face him. "Surely you can miss this one party? I'm so eager to begin our glorious task, to celebrate your astounding beauty." He gave her one of those melting smiles, pressed her palm to his lips.

"We'll go," Eric declared loudly. "It is, after all, for charity." He crossed over and took up a quill, penning a brief reply which he handed to Bladewell. "Give this to the duke's driver."

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