The Theft (Thornton 2)

Noelle's eyes widened. "Papa knows that I—?"

"No." Brigitte gave an adamant shake of her head. "He's not that open-minded. He'd lock you in your room and shoot Ashford dead. No, this is one secret I suggest we keep between us."

They dissolved into laughter, and Noelle flung her arms around her mother, hugged her tightly. "Oh, Mama, it was magic. Ashford was tender and romantic, and—and he's asked me to marry him," she blurted out in a hushed whisper. "He'll be coming by this morning to speak to Papa."

Brigitte shimmered with pleasure, her entire face glowing with the exuberance of a young girl. "Then I suggest we begin planning a wedding."

* * *

They were deeply immersed in their plans, when Bladewell knocked on the sitting-room door.

"Pardon me, my lady, but there's a gentleman here to see Lady Noelle. It's—"

"Ashford." Noelle didn't wait to hear the rest. She dashed out of the room, nearly knocking Bladewell over in the process, raced down the hall—and collided in the entrance-way with André Sardo.

"My, my. I could get accustomed to such greetings," André laughed, gripping Noelle's waist and steadying her on her feet. "I'm delighted you're so glad to see me."

"André." Even as she said his name, Noelle could hear the disappointment echo in her voice. But she couldn't help it. Any more than she could help peering around him to see if anyone else was approaching the house.

The drive was deserted.

"Obviously, you were expecting someone else." Noelle started at the fierce undercurrent of anger she heard in André's voice. Her gaze darted to his, confirming that he was, indeed, incensed.

"Yes … no…" she stammered.

"Which is it, chérie?" he asked icily. "Yes or no?" Silently, Noelle cursed herself. She might be in love, but she couldn't lose all sense of reason. Infuriating André at this particular time, when they were so close to exposing Baricci, would be an enormous mistake.

She sucked in her breath, pasted a smile on her face. "Actually, yes. I was expecting my modiste. She's due here any minute with my newest gown, and I—" Noelle broke off, touching André's sleeve contritely. "Forgive me. You don't want to hear all this, André. I apologize for my inexcusably bad manners. It's just that the Season is nearly upon me, and I'm getting more and more excited."

"I understand, chérie." he murmured, looking a touch less piqued, though still somewhat suspicious.

He covered her hand with his—a gesture that seemed intolerable to bear after last night with Ashford. It took every ounce of willpower for Noelle not to recoil.

"I wish I could invite you in," she managed to say. "But I'll be involved in fittings for the rest of the day." Seeing the tight line of his mouth, she searched frantically for a way to appease him—and to get him out of the house before Ashford arrived. "I have an idea," she blurted at last. "Why don't we schedule our trip to the Franco Gallery for tomorrow? That is, if you're free. I have no plans, and I'm sure Papa would let me go out for an hour or two." Please Ashford, let that be enough time for you to find out who bought the earrings and convince the police to interrogate Baricci, she prayed silently.

"A splendid idea." Now André was smiling. "We'll go directly after lunch. How does two o'clock sound?"

"Perfect." Noelle was half-tempted to shove him out the door. "I can hardly wait to see all your magnificent works."

"You can't be nearly as eager for tomorrow to arrive as I." André brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. "I'll leave you to your fittings then. Au revoir, chérie."

Shutting the door behind him, Noelle leaned back against it, shuddering as she wiped the back of her hand on her gown. This farce of hers was beginning to become distasteful.

Not three minutes later another knock sounded and Noelle whirled around, waving Bladewell away and yanking open the door.

Ashford stood on the threshold, his expression grim.

"Thank God," Noelle greeted him, scarcely noticing his obvious displeasure.

He stepped inside, slammed the door in his wake, and gripped Noelle's shoulders. "I saw the son of a bitch leave. I waited. What the hell was he doing here? I thought your father sent him away for two more days. Can't the bastard count?"

Noelle shrugged, as unsettled as Ashford was by the artist's unannounced visit—not to mention the fact that she now had to elaborate on that brief visit, to tell Ashford about the plans she'd made with André. "If you're furious now, you're going to be even angrier in a minute," she warned.

"I can hardly wait."

"I was expecting to see you when Bladewell announced I had a visitor. Instead, I collided with André. I didn't do a very good job of hiding my disappointment. He was furious with me. I had to think of something. I told him I had an appointment with my modiste this morning and that he had to leave immediately. That didn't do much to appease his anger. So I blurted out the first thing I could think of to get rid of him. I suggested we make our visit to the Franco Gallery tomorrow." Noelle shot Ashford a tentative, hopeful look. "I don't suppose that two o'clock tomorrow afternoon gives you enough time to check into the earrings and speak to the authorities?"

To her surprise, Ashford began to chuckle. "For you, anything." He brought her hands to his lips. "You keep me on my toes, tempête. You also diffuse my anger in a way no one else can." An incredulous shake of his head. "Diffuse is putting it mildly. The truth is, when you gaze up at me with those exquisite sapphire eyes, blurt out whatever impulsive plan your brilliant mind has currently hatched, I forget what I was angry about in the first place. You challenge me to the ultimate—mind, heart, and spirit."