The Theft (Thornton 2)

"Yes?" Eric's deep voice greeted her.

"Papa, it's I." Noelle poked her head into the room.

An affectionate grin. "Yes, I can see that. Was there something in particular you wanted to discuss?"

"Ashford is here to see you."

Something in her tone must have conveyed itself to Eric, because his eyes narrowed thoughtfully on her face. "Is he? Well, by all means, send him in."

"Very well." Noelle turned and retraced her steps to the entranceway, giving Ashford an affirmative, if slightly anxious, nod. "He's expecting you."

Ashford brushed a kiss to the top of her head. "Stop looking so nervous. All will be well."

With an encouraging wink, he headed toward the study. "Come in, Tremlett." Eric Bromleigh answered Ashford's knock. He rose from behind his desk, gesturing for Ashford to join him. "Noelle says you're here to see me. Is this about the earrings?"

Shutting the door, Ashford walked purposefully into the study, shaking his head as he did. "No, sir, it isn't."

"Is it about another matter concerning Baricci?"

"No. It's about Noelle."

"Ah." Eric walked around the side of his desk, perching his hip against it. "I'm listening."

"I won't mince words," Ashford began, his tone as confident as his stance, his gaze meeting Eric's head-on. "It shouldn't surprise you to learn that I'm in love with your daughter, nor that she's in love with me. I'm now prepared to offer her the lifetime commitment she deserves, the one I believe you want for her. In short, I've come to ask you for Noelle's hand in marriage." Ashford's tone softened. "I'll make her happy, Lord Farrington," he vowed. "I'll keep her safe, nurture her spirit, and provide that nonstop mind of hers with the perpetual challenge it requires. Most important, I'll fill her life with more love than even Noelle's heart can hold. You have my word on that."

Eric's expression had remained unchanged. "And the obstacles you alluded to the last time we spoke?"

"They've been eliminated. With the exception of Baricci. Once he's in prison, my future is my own. And that future belongs to Noelle—Noelle and the houseful of grandchildren we're set on gifting to you and the countess, and to my parents."

Silently, Eric digested Ashford's words, rubbing his palms idly together. Then he walked forward, stopping directly in front of Ashford, a wry smile curving his lips. "It's about time, Tremlett," he pronounced. "I was beginning to think you weren't nearly the man I believed you to be. Which wouldn't do at all. Only the most strong-willed and resourceful of men could make my Noelle happy. She needs someone who can match her in intelligence, tenacity, and spirit. Someone who can keep up with her, even occasionally stay a step ahead of her—if that's possible." He extended his hand. "I'm glad to see I wasn't wrong about you. Even if that does mean I've wasted hundreds of pounds on gowns and accessories for a Season debut that is never going to occur."

Ashford blinked. Then he began to laugh, grasping Eric's handshake. "Thank you, sir. I'm glad I lived up to your expectations."

"More importantly, you lived up to Noelle's." Eric's grin broadened. "Now, let's go to the sitting room—where I suspect we'll find the bride-to-be and her mother and sister awaiting our appearance while already compiling a list of potential wedding guests." A hearty chuckle. "Brigitte isn't one to delay an instant when it comes to planning joyous occasions. Nor is Chloe about to miss the chance to indulge her romantic daydreams. And given the expression on Noelle's face when she announced that you wanted to see me … well, let's just say I have the distinct feeling that news of your betrothal has already leaked out."

* * *

Chapter 16

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It was a bleak afternoon, and winter permeated Franco Gallery. The room's widely spaced walls and high ceilings were no match for the February cold. Thus, whatever heat was being generated seeped quickly out, leaving behind only an unpleasant harshness and an inner chill that sank into one's bones.

Or maybe it only seemed that way to Noelle.

Wrapping her mantle more tightly around her, she stood dutifully beside André, admiring the colors of his most recent landscape work, her glance flickering from the painting to Grace to the corridor leading to Baricci's office.

Ashford and two detectives had been closeted in there for twenty minutes. They'd reached the gallery before she and André but had remained out in the open until her arrival scant minutes later. Noelle had spied them at once, hovering in a less congested area of the gallery and talking heatedly with Williams. Ashford had glanced up as she entered, his gaze flickering swiftly but thoroughly over her, ensuring she was safe, before refocusing on Williams. Never once did he break the flow of his conversation, nor did he openly acknowledge her. So subtle was the entire gesture that the curator never noticed. Nor did André. However, he did notice Ashford's presence in the gallery.

Scowling, he removed his top hat. "What is Tremlett doing here?" he muttered.

"H-m-m?" Noelle followed his glare, seemingly noticing Ashford for the first time. "Ah, Lord Tremlett." A shrug. "Apparently, he's speaking with Mr. Williams."

"Apparently." That flash of suspicion had reappeared on André's face, and he'd turned to her, his dark gaze probing. "Would you like to say hello?"

Casually, Noelle had brushed the snowflakes off her mantle. "Perhaps later. He's engrossed in his business." She'd given André what she hoped was an engaging smile. "And soon we shall be engrossed in ours."

Turning to confirm that Grace was behind her, Noelle had plucked at André's sleeve, stepping into the gallery to begin their tour. Simultaneously, she'd overheard Ashford demand to speak directly with Mr. Baricci—a request Williams was happy to honor, given the curious expressions on the faces of the five or six patrons frequenting the gallery at the time.