The Theft (Thornton 2)

"And you agreed?"

Eric's jaw clenched. "No. My first instinct was to thrash the man and have Bladewell toss him into the gutter. But I controlled myself, just as I promised Noelle I would. However, I insisted on remaining in the room with them the entire time Sardo was here—a fact that clearly annoyed him. Which is why Noelle was reluctant to have me repeat the process during this latest visit."

Halting, Eric dragged a hand through his hair. "Now I'm sorry I gave in to her wishes. Dammit Tremlett, you should have seen Sardo this morning. He had no interest in either the condition of the sitting room or in Noelle's profile. He never so much as glanced about him, nor did he take out a pencil. All he did was flatter Noelle excessively, kiss her hand as if it were a sacred object, and gaze at her as if she were a goddess. Finally, he left—supposedly until tomorrow morning. The whole series of incidents made me bloody uneasy. That's when I began trying to reach you. Obviously, you were already on the train, on your way here."

"Let's get to this late afternoon visit," Ashford pressed. "What was Sardo's excuse for coming to Farrington this time?"

"He showed up on our doorstep a half hour ago, eager to show Noelle how he'd incorporated her likeness in his sketches of the water's edge. The two of them have been in the blue salon the entire time—under Grace's watchful eye—and I don't know what to make of it. When I started to turn him away, Noelle intervened, giving me one of her please-Papa-I-know-what-I'm-doing looks, silently reminding me that my interference would ruin your entire plan. She gave me another one of those looks when I tried to accompany them into the blue salon. So despite my reservations, I left."

Eric leveled a troubled stare at Ashford. "So tell me, was Noelle right? Or has my daughter, once again, wrapped me around her little finger, manipulated me into doing something against my better judgment?"

Ashford exhaled sharply, desperately trying to separate logic from emotion. "I wish she weren't, but, yes, Noelle is right. If you thwart Sardo's attempts to get closer to her, he'll never lower his guard enough to reveal tidbits on Baricci. As for whether or not Sardo's unscheduled notes and visits have endangered Noelle, common sense tells me they haven't. Despite his obvious designs on her, he couldn't have expected to make much headway by showing up at Farrington unannounced. He's not stupid. He knows that without the guise of his sittings there's no way you would allow him to be alone with her."

"Then why is he here?"

"To hasten things along; to display his heightened ardor in as immediate and blatant a manner as circumstances permit. And I can think of an excellent reason why."

"So can I," Eric agreed caustically. "He wants to bed my daughter."

"Other than that." Ashford's fists clenched at his sides at the mere mention of Sardo and Noelle together. "The reason I'm referring to is Baricci—who, let's not forget, is paying Sardo to win Noelle's affections and who, I'm sure, was less than pleased by the delay in scheduled portrait sittings. My guess is that it was Baricci's suggestion for Sardo to use the intervening days to woo Noelle with notes and flowers. Lord knows, it would be right in character. Baricci is a master at seduction. No one knows better than he how to turn the heads of most shallow, unsuspecting—" Ashford broke off as he realized what he was saying. "Forgive me. That was a thoughtless remark."

"No, it was an honest remark." Eric shoved his hands in his pockets. "You needn't tiptoe around the subject of Liza. I know very well the kind of person my sister was. I made peace with that fact a long time ago. And you're right. Sardo's tactics do sound like Baricci's. As for your observation about Sardo's limited opportunities to take advantage of Noelle in her own home with either myself or Grace present—believe me, I considered that as well. It's the only thing that kept me sane and Sardo in one piece."

"Lord Tremlett," Brigitte inserted quietly. "How long do you expect this charade to continue? When will Sardo determine he's gotten all the information Noelle has to offer?"

"Hopefully not before Noelle's gotten all the information Sardo has to offer," Ashford replied. "And for the record, I don't like this any more than you do. In fact, when all this is over and Baricci is locked up, I might just call out Sardo and shoot him."

"Unless he's in a cell beside Baricci," Brigitte reminded him.

"Or unless I shoot him first," Eric added.

Restlessly, Ashford glanced at the clock. "A half hour, you said. That's long enough for whatever strides Noelle intends to make during this chance visit. Why don't you go escort Monsieur Sardo to the door. I'll wait here until he's gone."

"I'm on my way." Eric took the room in four strides and disappeared down the hallway.

A few endless minutes later, Sardo's voice reached Ashford's ears, moving away from the study and towards the entranceway. "I'll be staying at a local inn tonight," he announced, his silken tones a clear indication he was addressing Noelle. "That way we can begin your sitting first thing in the morning."

"Ten o'clock will be fine," Eric cut in, his tone icy, unyielding. "We don't receive callers before then."

A disappointed pause. "Very well," Sardo conceded, presumably realizing he had little choice in the matter. "Ten o'clock then. I can hardly wait."

"Nor can I," Noelle agreed, sounding far more excited than Ashford would have liked, feigned though her enthusiasm might be. "Judging from the quality of your sketches thus far, my portrait will far exceed its subject."

"Now that is impossible. Nothing could exceed your beauty, Noelle. Nothing."

"And no one captures beauty better than you. So we'll make an excellent team."

This time, Sardo's pause oozed sensual promise—promise that was detectable even from a distance. "I'm counting on that, chérie," he murmured, the muffled sound of his voice telling Ashford that the artist's lips were pressed against something, doubtless Noelle's hand. "Until ten o'clock then."

"Good-bye, Sardo," Eric stated flatly.

"Au revoir." With just the proper air of reluctance, André accepted his fate and took his leave.

The profound bang of the front door confirmed that it was Eric who had shut it.

"Noelle—" he began.

"Papa, before you start, he didn't touch me," she interrupted. "Between Grace's ample presence and Tempest's bared claws, he wouldn't dare. All he wanted was to regain whatever ground he'd lost. I flirted enough to put his mind at ease. Now, tomorrow I can continue my probing."