The Theft (Thornton 2)

The uncertainty, the pain on her face, was more than he could bear. "No. Yes."

"Which is it?"

"Both. I can't tell you what's in my heart. But not because I don't recognize what it is, but because first I've got to—" He broke off, his hand balling into a tight, stymied fist. "Please, tempête. Leave it. For now, just leave it. When I can give you not only the words but all that comes with them—then we'll talk. Not before."

"I won't believe this is infatuation," Noelle contended. "Nor that it's passion alone."

"Good. Because it's neither."

Ashford uttered the words with absolute conviction, and Noelle nodded, studying him for a long, thoughtful moment. "All right," she said at last. "I wish I understood your reasons, but if this is the way it has to be, I'll wait. But not patiently and not for long."

Ashford wasn't sure whether to laugh at her bold, braz

en admission or bellow his frustration to the skies. His head pounded with indecision, his body screamed with unfulfilled desire, and his heart ached for being the cause of her distress. "I'm sorry, tempête," he said wearily. "Truly sorry. And I agree—not patiently and not for long."

Another pensive silence. "Whatever it is that's keeping you from me, can't I help?"

"No, sweetheart, you can't. Not this time. This is one matter I must tackle on my own."

Noelle's lashes swept her cheeks. "All right. I won't pry. But I hate this."

"I know." His knuckles caressed her cheek. "And I wish I could explain. But it involves a confidence I can't betray, and a commitment I vowed to fulfill—one I now need to reassess."

"Does that commitment involve a woman?"

"No. Definitely not." He cupped her face, gazed deeply into her eyes. "Every woman I've ever known vanished the instant I stepped into that first-class compartment bound for London."

That brought a small smile to Noelle's lips. "I'm relieved to hear that." She inclined her head quizzically. "The confidence—it relates to your father, doesn't it?"

Warning bells sounded in Ashford's head. "Why do you assume that?"

"I'm not sure. Your behavior at the ball, perhaps. The veiled way you and he spoke to each other. Or the fact that he received his information about Lady Mannering's murder before anyone else did." Even as Noelle cited her reasons, their implications seemed to strike home, caused her to pale. "Ashford—are you immersed in some dangerous assignment? Something only you and your father are privy to? Is that what this is about? Are you afraid something will happen to you? Is that why you're keeping your distance—are you trying to protect me?"

Damn. If she only knew how close to the truth she was. Ashford drew a slow inward breath, coming to at least one unwavering decision. He might not be able to divulge the details to her, but he wasn't going to lie to her either. "To some extent, yes. But nothing is going to happen to me, nor will this situation go unresolved. Both those things I promise you. For now, that's all I can say."

Searching his face once again, Noelle looked ready to burst with curiosity, her sapphire eyes filled with questions and worries. Visibly squelching both, she nodded, accepting his vow and complying with his request for privacy; exercising a self-restraint that was so clearly foreign to her nature that it made Ashford love her all the more, just knowing she would make that concession for him.

"You mentioned that your business in London was at a standstill," she said, changing the subject with near-painful reluctance. "What happened with Lord Mannering?"

Ashford took her cue. "Not nearly enough." He proceeded to relay the unrewarding details of his trip. "So my suspicion that Lady Mannering's maid knows more than she's willing to admit is the only promising thing to come out of this trip—and even that's pure speculation."

Frowning, Noelle contemplated this latest impasse. "Maybe so. But I trust your instincts. If you believe this Mary is holding something back, she probably is. Besides, it stands to reason that no one would know more about the mistress of the house than her lady's maid—and that includes details on private, sometimes delicate, matters."

"The problem is, she's not willing to trust me. And, believe me, I tried every manner of persuasion from compassion to flagrant pressure."

"The real problem is, you're a man." Noelle stated that fact as if the correlation were obvious. "Mary undoubtedly feels that by telling you something indiscreet about Lady Mannering, she'd be betraying her mistress's memory—something she'd never forgive herself for doing." An idea burst forth, illuminating Noelle's face like sunshine. "Now, if another woman were to speak to her, she might feel differently. It would be acquiring an ally rather than a judge and jury."

"I suppose that makes a degree of sense." Ashford quirked a brow. "Why do I feel as if I'm being baited? Or need I ask?"

"Let me talk to her," Noelle requested fervently. "I'm sure I could convince her to tell me the truth—woman to woman." She gripped Ashford's forearms, trying to forestall the "no" she assumed was hovering on his lips. "Let me at least try."

He waved away her oncoming appeal. "You're seeking approval from the wrong person. You're also misreading the cause of my skepticism. I'm not averse to the idea; in fact, I think it's an excellent one."

"Then why are you skeptical?"

"I think the idea is excellent. However, your father won't. That I guarantee. Think about it, Noelle. Your talking to Mary would mean riding to London, probably spending the night so you could meet with her several times, work to gain her trust. There's not a prayer—"

"You're wrong." A discerning grin tugged at Noelle's lips. "Papa will think it's a wonderful idea. Especially when I point out that my staying in London—not only for one night but for many—will offer distinct advantages. For example, our Town house is cramped compared to this manor. Why, the sitting room there affords no privacy at all for secluded portrait sittings, much less for attempted seductions. On the contrary, although the room is quite sunny, it's also in plain view of the hall and the study across the way—Papa's study."