The Theft (Thornton 2)

"As a matter of fact, yes." Eric pushed aside his untouched paperwork, folding his hands on the desk before him. "He'll be here this morning."

"This morning?" Noelle's eyes grew wide as saucers. "Why didn't you tell me?"

A pointed look. "Because I value the tiny semblance of peace that still exists in this house. As it is, you've been haunting my doorstep, pacing about like a caged tiger. Had I told you of Lord Tremlett's visit much before now, chaos would have erupted. So I waited until the last minute." Eric glanced swiftly at the room's grandfather clock, which read five minutes after eight. "Actually, not quite the last minute. He'll be here in two hours. I was going to send for you soon, tell you of Tremlett's plans, and suggest that you get ready to receive him. But it appears your pacing brought you to my study before I could do so."

"I suppose I have been persistent." Noelle's eyes sparkled—as much from the fact that she'd soon be getting her answers as from the fact that she'd soon be seeing Ashford again.

Well … almost as much.

"Thank you, Papa." She leaned forward and kissed Eric's cheek.

"For what?"

"For letting Ashford visit. I know your feelings on the matter are mixed. But I promise you won't be sorry."

"I hope not." A worried shadow darted across Eric's face—one that bespoke something far more foreboding than fatherly concern over her choice of suitors.

What in the name of heaven was going on here?

The shadow vanished as quickly as it had come. "Go," Eric urged. "Your preparation time is slipping away. You still have … let's see, twenty minutes to get dressed and an hour and a half to amass all your questions."

Noelle smiled at the accurate assessment. "I'll need every moment of it." A pause. "Papa, after Ashford leaves, then may we talk?"

"Yes." Eric nodded slowly. "Then we'll talk."

"Very well."

Her curiosity heightened almost beyond bearing, Noelle left the study and hurried upstairs, questions and suspicions colliding with each other in her mind.

What was disturbing her father so? Clearly it related to whatever he and Ashford had chatted about. Why were her parents being so secretive? More to the point, why did Ashford want to tell her the details of their discussion on his own? Also, why had he been so preoccupied on the morning after the ball? Had his preoccupation been the result of his private talk with her parents or of his private talk with his own father—and were the two discussions related?

Most unsettling of all, where had he been these past few days, and what had he been doing?

With regard to that final question, Noelle had a sinking feeling she knew the answer.

Oh, how she prayed her suspicions were wrong. But she didn't think so—not given the headlines she'd read in the newspaper her parents had tried valiantly to conceal from her.

Lord and Lady Mannering's home had been robbed at the end of last week—a robbery that divested them of a valuable Rembrandt and resulted in Lady Mannering's murder.

Another art theft.

To be sure, an art theft whose outcome had been more dire than any that had preceded it. But an art theft nonetheless.

Did Ashford suspect Baricci? Was that why he hadn't been to see her these past days? Was he checking into Baricci's alibi, trying to find ways to implicate him? Further, when had Ashford learned of the crime? The London Times had carried news of it the day before yesterday, although the robbery had taken place several nights' earlier—which meant it had occurred sometime during the three-day house party at Markham. Had Ashford learned about it while he was there? And if so, who had told him—the duke? Could news of the robbery and murder possibly have been what prompted Ashford's father to summon him away from the ball? Or was all this just her imagination, once again dashing off on a tangent of its own?

Two hours, Noelle reminded herself. Then she'd have her answers.

* * *

She was perched at the edge of the sitting-room settee—like a thoroughbred at the starting gate—when Bladewell showed Ashford in at precisely ten o'clock.

Just seeing him, handsome as sin in his dark morning clothes, made Noelle's heart skip a beat, and were it not for Grace's daunting presence on the settee beside her, she would have rushed forward, flung herself into his arms.

As it was, she folded her hands in her lap, gifted him with a sunny smile. "Good morning, my lord."

Ashford studied her, his expression enigmatic, his magnificent eyes drinking her in as one would a fine wine. Although she did notice the circles beneath those magnificent eyes, along with the lines of fatigue about his mouth. Clearly he hadn't slept much these past few days.

Was it because he'd missed her or because he was investigating a crime more heinous than a mere theft?