The Theft (Thornton 2)

Only this time the risk was far too high.

"I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss his threats, tempête," Ashford advised, tilting up her chin so their gazes locked. "As for being afraid, rest assured that I'd kill him if he laid a hand on you. Still, there's reason for caution. Remember, Baricci is a fraud and a thief—probably worse. And Sardo is his envoy. I don't want either of them near you. Sardo's little cat-and-mouse game was getting out of hand, anyway. He long since crossed the line from trying to sway you to Baricci's cause to trying to entice you into bed. Well, the game is over. I told Baricci as much. I want the two of them to keep their distance."

Noelle sighed. "It doesn't much matter. We've learned all we're going to from André, anyway."

"That's right. So your job is finished. The rest is up to me. And I planted seeds today that I intend to bring to fruition."

Her eyes widened with interest. "What kind of seeds?"

"Seeds of doubt. The interrogation unnerved Baricci. I unnerved Baricci. First, he was confronted with Mary's claim that her mistress was afraid of her lover on the night she died; then, I brandished those earrings before his wary eyes. Between what he saw and what he heard, Baricci's feeling the pressure. He's cornered. And armed with what we've just deduced about Sardo, I have a fairly good idea how to shove Baricci so deep into that corner that, like all true predators, he'll make a frenzied lunge in order to escape—a lunge in the wrong direction. When he does, I'll be there to grab him."

Noelle drew a slow breath. "The way you're talking … this is going to happen soon, isn't it?"

"Very soon." Ashford's palms slid up to cup her face. "In fact, if I do my job right, this is all going to end in an ugly culmination tomorrow night. After which, Baricci will either be hanged or imprisoned, and this whole operation of his will be over." A reflective pause. "Ironic, isn't it? That fate should have chosen this particular time to provide me with a reason to retire the Tin Cup Bandit—now, when the risk of discovery would become that much more imminent?"

Seeing Noelle's questioning look, he explained. "You and I both know that when the police search Baricci's gallery, they're going to discover the Goya isn't in his possession. And since it was stolen just a few days ago, it's doubtful he could have unloaded it so quickly—especially with the added pressure of a murder investigation tied to the previous robbery."

"Which might lead the police to suspect there's another art thief out there somewhere," Noelle finished, paling a bit. "A thief who stole the Goya—plus whatever other paintings Baricci didn't take."

Ashford's thumbs stroked her cheeks in tender reassurance. "Let them think what they will. The bandit no longer exists. They won't find any trace of him."

"Thank God for that," Noelle conceded softly.

"Back to the subject of Sardo," Ashford continued, plagued by a nagging sense of unease with regard to the artist's fascination with Noelle. "I want you to promise me something."

Slowly, she nodded.

"Promise me you won't go anywhere near him."

"I doubt that promise will be necessary. Between Baricci's orders that André discontinue the portrait sittings, and André's own indignation when I walked out of that gallery with you, I don't think I'll be seeing André Sardo again."

"I wish I agreed with that. Unfortunately, I don't. I do think Baricci will command him to stay away, especially when he realizes that not only did Sardo learn nothing from you, he divulged incriminating information to you. But Sardo has a mind of his own. And I fear Baricci's right—Sardo fancies himself in love with you." A fierce sense of protectiveness kn

otted Ashford's gut. "If he calls on you, feign illness, do whatever you have to. Just send him away as quickly as possible. No heroics, Noelle. Please."

"All right," she promised, understanding his fear and deferring to it.

Ashford traced the bridge of her nose, his eyes darkening with emotion. "Besides, you have work to do. Now that we know our time frame, you'd best finish writing our wedding announcement, complete with the date. Make it the last week of March. A month—that's all the preparation time you're getting before we start our life together as husband and wife. Baricci's arrest is the last remaining obstacle between our past and our future. I want that announcement delivered to the newspapers the minute the police take him away."

Noelle smiled, pressing her palms to Ashford's shirtfront. "I couldn't agree more. And I'll finish writing our announcement, with the greatest of pleasure. However, I want to modify that date to the first week in April and delay sending the announcement to the newspapers for a few days."

That wasn't what Ashford wanted to hear. "Why?" he demanded, frowning.

"Because I want us to be the ones to tell your family—firsthand and in private—about our plans, our feelings for each other. Before the rest of the world reads about it, not at the same instant. After all, the entire Thornton clan was instrumental in getting us together. And I'd like to have their blessing—from your parents right down to little Cara." Noelle's voice quavered a bit. "I want a daughter of our own just like her, you know."

Profound emotion slashed Ashford's features. "Not just one, darling." He bent his head, took Noelle's mouth in a deep, possessive kiss. "A dozen. Daughters and sons. We'll start working on it the minute I put my ring on your finger."

"We might already have started," she reminded him in a breathless whisper.

Ashford sucked in his breath, the possibility—and the memories it evoked—nearly bringing him to his knees. "God, Noelle, I love you." He gathered her against him, buried his lips in her hair. "You can't know how much."

"Yes I can." She pressed closer, rubbed her cheek against his coat. "Because I feel the same way. I love you so much I ache with it."

"I'll take care of that ache." Ashford drew back, threaded his fingers through her sable tresses. "I promise you that, tempête. Beginning on our wedding night and continuing every day thereafter. Trust me, you'll never ache again."

An impish spark lit Noelle's eyes. "I'm going to hold you to that promise, my lord. What's more, I'm going to respond in kind. Consider it my way of ensuring you receive the necessary dose of excitement—enough even to satisfy this Tin Cup Bandit."

Ashford's grin was slow, tantalizing. "What Tin Cup Bandit?"