The Theft (Thornton 2)

"That's precisely what I'm saying."

"And I'm saying you're a liar."

One dark brow rose. "You've called me far worse things than that. Still, I'm disappointed in your unusually poor powers of deduction. If you know anything at all about me, you know my taste is impeccable. I'm drawn to far more lavish possessions than those."

"We're discussing jewelry, not women. And as you just said, you've never been known to bestow gifts upon your paramours. So I have no basis upon which to judge your taste in gems."

"Then let me enlighten you. My taste in jewelry is much as it is in women: extraordinary, unique, rare—virtually flawless." Baricci's chin lifted a notch. "All of which you know for a fact. Not only through observing my lovers, but through observing the mirror image, the result, of my most breathtaking liaison." His ga

ze narrowed. "I'm speaking, of course, of my little Noelle."

"I know who you're speaking of." Ashford kept his tone even with the greatest of efforts.

Baricci's lips pursed. "Do you know, Tremlett, this is the first time I've seen that stony facade of yours crack, even a hair? You really do want her, don't you?"

Something about Baricci's tone urged Ashford on. "And if I do?"

"Then keep her out of this. In fact, stay out of this yourself. I wouldn't want Noelle to get hurt."

Ashford's jaw tightened. "Is that a threat?"

"Does it need to be?"

Staunchly, Ashford bit back his anger. Baricci was scared. That was a good sign, a sign that he was getting close.

Bearing that in mind, Ashford tucked the earrings back in his pocket. "You really are a son of a bitch," he stated flatly. "You'd jeopardize your own flesh and blood just to protect yourself—and to make a fortune in the process." A cutting stare. "And to answer your question, save your breath—and your threats. They won't work. I don't intend to rest until you're locked up and the key is thrown away."

"And what of Noelle's safety?"

Enough was enough. It was time Baricci knew just where things stood on that score. "You won't get near her, Baricci. Try, and you'll regret it. That's a promise. Speaking of which, call Sardo off. Tell him to start sketching the countryside again. His portrait-painting sessions with Noelle are over. And his little seduction charade is at an end."

Baricci chuckled. "I'd be happy to deliver your message—although I'm dismayed to hear I won't be receiving a portrait of my beloved daughter. As for the rest, I'm sorry to tell you this, Tremlett, but it's no charade. Not to André. He's totally smitten with my beautiful Noelle. So if you're miffed about him beating you to her bed, take it up with him, not me."

Never had Ashford had to fight so hard to keep from putting his fist through someone's face. "I'll be watching you, Baricci," he said, his tone lethal. "Watching you and putting the final pieces together. And when I do, you're going to spend the rest of your life in a very cramped cell. Better still, in the gallows awaiting your hanging." He turned, walked to the door. "By the way, the detectives are staying behind to search the gallery's storage rooms. I assume you don't mind?"

Another flicker of fear—ever so subtle. "Not at all. Why should I?"

"Good. Oh, and find something to keep Sardo busy for the remainder of the afternoon. He won't be escorting Noelle home; I will."

Ashford walked out of the office, aware that Baricci was close behind him, equally aware that he'd left Noelle alone with Sardo far too long to suit him.

Pausing in the hallway, Ashford nodded at the waiting detectives. "Search away," he said, indicating the storage rooms. "Mr. Baricci here is being most cooperative."

With that, he veered into the gallery, searching until he spotted Noelle, then bearing down on her.

"Good afternoon, my lady." Ashford greeted her politely, then turned, his gaze narrowing on Sardo, noting his irritated expression. "Sardo," he added with a terse nod.

"Tremlett," Sardo replied icily. "I assume you're on your way out?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." Ashford planted himself firmly before them, gazing steadily at Noelle.

Noelle cleared her throat, looking uncertain of how she was supposed to handle this. "Lord Tremlett. It's a pleasure to see you again."

Ashford solved the problem for her. "I'm accompanying you and Grace back to your Town house," he announced. "It seems Mr. Baricci has business with Mr. Sardo. Therefore, I've appointed myself your escort."

"That's out of the question, Tremlett," Sardo began, his shoulders going rigid. "I fully intend to escort—"

"Not this time, André," Baricci intervened, coming up behind Ashford. "As it happens, I do need to see you with regard to your next painting. Lord Tremlett will see the ladies to the door. But not before I've had the chance to say hello." He gave Noelle a practiced smile, captured her fingers in his. "Good afternoon, my dear. You look absolutely lovely."