The Theft (Thornton 2)

Distaste was written all over Noelle's face. "Mr. Baricci," she responded in a wooden tone.

If Baricci was offended, he hid it well. "I'm delighted you took the time to visit my gallery yet again. And what a coincidence—Lord Tremlett happened along this time, just as he did on the previous occasion when you dropped by. It does my heart good to see what excellent care he's taking of you, that he'd never let any harm befall you. Isn't that right, Tremlett?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, it is." Ashford caught Noelle's elbow, his eyes glinting at Baricci's implicit threat. "Come, my lady. Your father will be worried."

With long, purposeful strides, he ushered her and Grace to the door.

He wondered how long it would take Sardo to demand an explanation from his employer.

More intriguing would be to hear the explanation Baricci chose to give.

* * *

André shut the door to Baricci's office, his movements stiff with anger. Sharply, he turned to face his employer. "What was that all about?"

Baricci poured himself a much-needed drink. "To begin with, keep your voice down. Those blasted detectives are ransacking my storage rooms. Williams is keeping an eye on them. But I'm not taking any chances. And I don't want them overhearing us." His lips narrowed into a grim line. "Is that understood?"

For the first time, André sensed Baricci's tension. "Did something happen?" he asked in a more controlled tone. "Did those detectives uncover anything?"

"An interesting choice of words," Baricci returned dryly. "And no, not really. Nothing concrete. They're just too damned interested in me to suit my taste. I don't want them here. And I'm going to have to do something to ensure they're not." He lowered his goblet with a thud. "That, however, is my problem. Your problem is my daughter—my daughter and your inability to win her over."

André shot him an incredulous look. "I've all but wooed Noelle into bed. But I can't very well seduce her if you send her off with Tremlett."

"Fool," Baricci hissed. "You haven't wooed her anywhere. It's Tremlett she wants, Tremlett she cares for. She's using you, using you in the same way you intended to use her." A hard shake of his head. "Your overwhelming conceit defies words. And it blinds you to the truth."

"You're wrong, Franco," André insisted in a quiet, fervent tone.

"Am I?" Baricci's head shot up. "Tell me, then, did Noelle ask you any questions during this tour of yours? Worse, did you give her any answers?"

A heartbeat of silence.

"What did you tell her, Sardo?"

André inhaled very slowly, then released his breath. "I merely showed her around, pointing out some of my finer works."

"In other words, you all but announced that the entire gallery is a one-man testimonial to you." Baricci gripped the edge of his desk, his gaze boring into Sardo's. "And what of your unobtrusive frame—your brilliant contribution to the enhancement of your creations? Did you show that to her, as well?"

Another ponderous silence.

Baricci swore under his breath. "Then she's definitely figured out that a disproportionate number of paintings in my gallery are yours. And within minutes she'll be advising Tremlett of that fact." A mirthless laugh. "As I said, you're a fool, André. A fool who thinks with his loins. But no matter. Ironically, in this case, if you've incriminated anyone, it's yourself."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that if Tremlett walks into this gallery and demands an explanation, I'm throwing you to the wolves. You supplied the paintings—and everything that went with them. I was unaware of your illegal dealings." Baricci leaned forward, his hands balling into fists on the desk. "And if you're stupid enough to deny that, I'll make sure you're charged with far more than mere theft."

"Enough." A vein throbbed at André's temple. "This entire conversation is moot. Even if Noelle does put two and two together, she would never betray me, certainly not to a man she scarcely knows."

"Scarcely knows?" Baricci spoke through cl

enched teeth, so his voice wouldn't reach the detectives. "That man she scarcely knows just stood in my office not a quarter hour ago and warned me to stay away from Noelle. He ordered me to call you off, to discontinue the portrait. And he vowed to come after me if I tried to harm her. Does that sound like an uninvolved man to you?"

"He might be involved, but I refuse to believe that she is." André raised his chin, his handsome features set with conviction. "You're wrong. You think you know women, but your insights there pale next to mine. You're a businessman. I'm a lover. You might wish it to be otherwise, but it's not. You want to renege on commissioning me to paint Noelle's portrait? Fine. I'll put away my palette. But either way, Noelle is mine."

"The same way Catherine was yours?"

André went very still. "Go to hell, Franco," he muttered thickly.

He turned on his heel and stalked out of the office.