The Theft (Thornton 2)

"Concerns? What concerns? And what information would I have had that you didn't already possess? You just said you're aware of everything that pertains to Baricci. Certainly that knowledge surpasses anything that I, who had never met the man, could have offered. In addition, why didn't you just ask me your questions straight out, tell me what you already knew and what you were curious to—"

The harshest reality of all crashed into place, and Noelle gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "You weren't just trying to verify if I was going to see Baricci. You were checking to see if there were any other missing pieces you might have overlooked—pieces that involved me. You thought it possible that I contacted Baricci in secret, that I was now aiding him in his thefts and whatever else it is you're trying to prove him guilty of. You actually believed—" She wrenched herself away, slapping at Ashford's arms as he reached for her. "You contemptible fraud!"

"Noelle, stop." Ashford pulled her to him, ignoring her struggles to free herself. "I never believed you guilty of anything. I was simply doing my job. Dammit, stop fighting me," he commanded as her fist struck his chest. "And stop imagining things that aren't true."

"You don't know what I'm imagining," she shot back, still battling his grip. "You don't know anything about me except who sired me."

"You're wrong," Ashford said definitively, forcing her to meet his gaze, to see the frustration reflected in his compelling eyes. "Not only in what you said but in what you're envisioning in that beautiful, impulsive head of yours. You're doubting my reasons for pursuing you, doubting the existence of the sparks that shimmer to life when we're together. Well, don't. What's happening between us is real—and it has nothing to do with Baricci. What's more, you know it. So don't do this. Not now." Abruptly, Ashford's voice grew tender, his grip caressing as he enfolded Noelle close, buried his lips in her hair. "Please, tempête—don't."

Covering her cold hand with his own, Ashford repeated his words—over and over—stroking her fingers until they relaxed, until her struggles ceased and she allowed herself—however tentatively—to lean against him. "Just listen to me," he insisted. "Hear me out and consider my position as objectively as you can."

Silence.

"You might as well agree," he stated flatly. "Because I'm not letting you go until I've gotten through to you. I don't care if your father storms out here, finds us like this, and shoots me dead."

Despite her anger and hurt, Noelle couldn't suppress a smile at the image Ashford's declaration conjured up. "Papa doesn't shoot people. He'll probably just shatter a few bones and leave you bleeding."

"Very funny." He tipped up her chin, gazing deeply into her eyes. "This is just what I was afraid of. Noelle, you met me a fortnight ago. How can I possibly ask you to trust me? Yet that's precisely what I'm asking you to do. I'm an insurance investigator. A damned good one. My intuition is rarely wrong. It wasn't wrong about you. And it's not wrong about Baricci. Your conclusion was correct: I believe in that bastard's guilt with every fiber of my being. Every bloody move he makes is suspicious and bears investigating. Especially when that move is unexpected and unprecedented."

"Like summoning his only child—unacknowledged for eighteen years—to his office when she makes a sudden, yet timely visit to his place of business," Noelle muttered grudgingly.

"Right—like that."

"You had to investigate, to uncover my motives."

"I was almost positive you two had never met; my own delving would have revealed it if you had. But I couldn't be sure you hadn't corresponded by post. And if you had, it was possible that Baricci had communicated his intentions to you, even cajoled you into aiding him. After all, were you the unscrupulous type, you might have exploited the fact that you could open up countless avenues for that blackguard. Your father—your real father," Ashford clarified, "…Eric Bromleigh—has many contacts. Wealthy contacts. With lavish homes."

"And lavish paintings," Noelle continued for him. "I could have provided Baricci with lists, even locations within specific households of where he could find numerous art treasures."

"I didn't know you then," Ashford said softly, his fingers sifting through her hair. "When I boarded that train at Southampton, saw you sitting there—Baricci's only blood child rushing off to London for some hidden purpose—I had no idea what type of person you were, what you might be capable of."

"When did you make up your mind?"

"Instantly. Five minutes in your company and I'd all but abandoned my suspicions. I admit I followed them through to be certain. I kept an eye on your activities at the gallery, pressed you for information on our way back to Waterloo Station, even asked you point-blank just now. But I never actually believed you were capable of deception or criminal acts, especially after talking to you, finding out how bloody honest you are." His lips twitched. "Except, of course, when it comes to card-playing."

"What does that mean?" Noelle demanded, smiling yet again. Her anger had gradually dissipated beneath the logic of Ashford's explanation, and now she rose to meet his challenge. "Are you accusing me of cheating?"

"Um-hum." There was a smug grin in his tone. "No one beats me at piquet. Certainly not by such a wide margin. You must have cheated. It's the only possible explanation for your overwhelming victory."

"Arrogant man." Noelle rubbed her cheek against his coat. "It just so happens, I didn't cheat. I'm simply an extraordinary player."

All humor vanished. "You're just extraordinary. Period." Ashford moved aside her sable mane, cupped the nape of her neck. "Tell me you understand."

"I understand."

"Then tell me I'm forgiven."

"That depends." Noelle's arms crept up his lapels, her palms resting on his shoulders as she tilted her face up to his.

"On what?"

"On whether or not you kiss me," she replied, an impish twinkle in her eyes. "If you do, you're forgiven."

Ashford's gaze fell to her mouth. "I should bring you back to the house. Your father—" His breath caught as her fingers trailed up his neck, whispered across his jaw. "God, Noelle, you tempt me beyond reason." His mouth swooped down, seizing hers in a hot, bottomless kiss that surged through her veins like warm brandy.

Noelle sank into the moment—a moment heightened by the emotional exchange that had preceded it. She let her senses guide her, every one of them clamoring for things she'd never experienced but suddenly wanted. Her tongue met Ashford's with utter, eager abandon; her arms tightened about his neck as the kiss blazed higher, grew consuming.

With a muffled groan, Ashford lifted her from the ground, crushed her closer, their bodies melding as closely as their clothing would allow. Noelle reveled in his hardened contours, thrilled to the answering pulse that throbbed deep within her.