Her mind racing, Noelle lowered her head and complied. "Very nice," André commented a moment or two later, reading over her shoulder. "'Dear Father, I
haven't much time. Baricci has me. He knows I helped Lord Tremlett undo him. I can't let him hurt you, Mama, and Chloe, so I'm going with him. Just know I love you all. Tell Chloe to take care of my stuffed cat, Elizabeth—the only thing that's left of my life before Farrington.'"
At the last, André frowned. "Your stuffed cat?" he repeated, a hard, questioning note in his tone.
Fear clenched Noelle's gut. Please, God, she prayed. Don't let him figure it out.
"You wouldn't understand," she said brokenly, releasing the tears she'd held in check. "I have to know Elizabeth isn't discarded or forgotten. I realize she's just a child's plaything. But she was a gift from my mother—my real mother. That's why I named her Elizabeth, the proper form of Liza. Mother gave me Elizabeth right after I was born. It was the only gift I ever received from her. She died a few weeks later. That stuffed cat is the only thing I have left to remind me of her."
"Very touching, chérie." André tightened his grip about her waist. "And I'm sure your sister will honor your wishes. Now let's go."
Violently, he dragged her down the rear steps and out into the night.
* * *
Ashford exploded into Sardo's gallery, nearly knocking the door off its hinges.
The room was empty.
Holding up lamps, pistols raised, he and Conyers strode inside, surveying the destruction at their feet.
Crossing over to the window, Ashford picked up what was left of the slashed canvas, the remnant of Noelle's desecrated image.
Bile rose in his throat.
With a harsh sound, he flung the canvas aside and stormed through the studio, the sound of crunching paper beneath his feet.
Sketches, torn into shreds. Sketches of Noelle. Dressed, undressed, in seductive poses. God, this was worse than he thought.
"Tremlett." Conyers summoned him, beckoning him to the rear corner of the room.
Ashford reached the designated area, held up his lantern to increase the light cast by Conyers's. Together, they viewed the gallery of portraits. There were likenesses of Catherine, Emily Mannering—and four other black-haired women with porcelain complexions, blue eyes…
…and sapphire earrings shimmering on their lobes.
A pounding at the Town house door brought Bladewell scurrying to answer it.
"Lord Tremlett…" he began, glancing from Ashford to the stocky man beside him. "What can I—?"
"Where's Noelle?" Ashford shoved past Bladewell, striding rapidly down the hall. "Noelle!" he shouted.
"Tremlett." Eric stalked out of the sitting room, Brigitte and Chloe at his heels. "What in the name of heaven is going on?"
"Noelle—where is she?" Ashford demanded.
Eric knew instantly that something was wrong—very wrong. "In the kitchen," he replied, pointing. "Why? What's happened?"
"First I've got to see Noelle. Then I'll explain." He shot off down the hall, nearly hurtling the kitchen door to the floor. "Noelle!"
The room was empty.
He spied the note lying on the counter, just as Conyers burst in behind him, followed by the Bromleighs.
Scanning the words, Ashford felt his soul shatter. "God … no."
Eric snatched the page from his hand, reading with an expression of stark disbelief on his face. "Baricci broke in here—and kidnapped Noelle?"
Brigitte let out a wordless cry, and Chloe went to her, tears welling up in her eyes, trickling down her cheeks.