The Theft (Thornton 2)

"Noelle?" His expression was hard, grim, and Noelle realized with a start of surprise that, despite the gentleness of his tone, he was angry. Very angry.

"I…" She tried to stop her teeth from chattering. "Was that Papa we heard?"

"I don't think so. None of the voices was deep enough to be his."

"Did whoever it was see us?"

"No. The anteroom door hadn't even opened when we dropped out of sight."

"Then why are you so furious?" Noelle's brows knit, her mind searching for an answer. "Before we were interrupted … well, it seemed to me you were enjoying yourself—or am I wrong?"

"Are you—?" Ashford's mouth snapped shut, his breath expelling on a hiss. "I was much more than enjoying myself," he replied tersely. "I was lost to some unknown, euphoric madness. Hell. I was on the verge of making love to you on an anteroom sofa in my parents' house with the entire ton frolicking just outside. That's how much I was enjoying myself."

He gripped Noelle's shoulders, his palms rubbing warmth back into her—a tender motion that belied the harshness of his tone. "Noelle, let me tell you some things about myself. I don't lose control. I don't act before I think. I don't take stupid chances. I don't compromise my principles. And I never, ever put anyone other than myself at risk. Well, I've just disproved every one of those facts. So am I furious? You're damned right I am. But not at you. At myself."

Slowly comprehension dawned, and Noelle's muddled thoughts and emotions began to right themselves. "Oh." She gave him a small, shaky smile. "I'm sorry to hear that. Because I'm not furious at you. Quite the opposite, in fact. I'm floating on the most magnificent cloud I could ever imagine. And you're the cause of that cloud, the man who created it for me. So how could I be angry? What's more, how can you be?"

An odd expression crossed Ashford's face, a combination of wonder and shock. "Damn," he swore quietly. "Damn if I'm not in over my head."

"Ashford…"

"No." He shook his head, pressing his forefinger to her lips. "Don't ask me any questions. Not now. Not until I've had some time to collect my thoughts. Just tell me you're all right, that I haven't hurt you."

Noelle rubbed her lips against his fingertip. "Didn't I tell you I'd never be all right again?"

A reluctant grin. "I suppose you did."

"I don't regret a minute of what just happened between us."

Ashford's smile vanished. "You should. And so should I."

"Do you?"

"No."

Warmth suffused Noelle, obliterated the winter chill as if by magic. "I'm glad."

"I've got to get you into the manor," Ashford pronounced, glancing around front of the house.

"What about finishing our talk about Sardo and Baricci?"

"First things first. Let's steal in as inconspicuously as we can. Then we'll come to an agreement about your plan."

"Fair enough," Noelle agreed.

"And let's hope your father hasn't yet noticed your absence."

"Do you think that's possible?"

"Not a chance."

Ashford was right.

At that very moment, Eric was standing beside Brigitte, conversing with Daphne and Pierce, but his gaze was darting about the ballroom, searching for his daughter.

She and Tremlett were nowhere to be found. "Eric?" Brigitte lay her hand on his arm. "The duchess was just answering your question about which parishes were in greatest need of the funds they'll be receiving from this charity event."

"Forgive me." Eric redirected his attention at Daphne. "I was distracted for a moment and didn't hear your reply."