The Theft (Thornton 2)

Bladewell showed him to the sitting room, announcing that Lady Noelle was ensconced in her mother's chambers with their modiste and would be down shortly.

Too restless to sit, Ashford paced about the room, reviewing what had proven to be a most successful baiting session with Williams. By now, Baricci would be assessing his options, inevitably choosing the only one left to him—the one that would prove to be his undoing.

Ashford could hardly wait to apprehend him.

Passing by the settee, Ashford paused, seized by the sudden, peculiar sensation that he was being watched. His head came up, and he surveyed the room. But no one had entered and he was still entirely alone.

He veered, walking over to the window, peering intently into the street. The area was quiet, other than a few carriages and some casual passersby. Certainly no one near enough to be accused of scrutinizing him.

Odd.

Frowning, Ashford turned away, rubbed the back of his neck. Perhaps he was more on edge than he realized, he mused. Perhaps that was what happened when one's long-term nemesis was on the verge of being undone.

His misgivings vanished the instant Noelle burst into the room. Without preamble, she flung herself into his arms, as much to ensure he was all right as to share the details of her own day. "I was so worried. Did everything go as planned?"

Ashford caught her to him, fitting her body against his and taking her mouth in a deep, fervent kiss. "Yes," he replied a few heated moments later. "Precisely as planned. The trap has been set, the police advised. By tomorrow it will all be over." His gaze darkened, his fingers threading through her hair. "Now where were we?"

Noelle smiled, twining her arms about Ashford's neck and losing herself for another long, exquisite minute. Then reluctantly, she drew away. "Ashford, there's something you should know. André was here."

His jaw clenched. "And? Did your father throw him out?"

"Papa is visiting h

is solicitor." An attempted smile. "He says he's making financial arrangements for the wedding, but truthfully I think he wanted to escape our session with Madame Rousseau. She does tend to get overbearing."

"Noelle." Ashford wasn't going to be sidetracked.

She sighed, met his probing stare. "André never got farther than the entranceway. Bladewell saw to that." Noelle hesitated, then blurted out the rest of the story, right down to André spying the wedding announcement.

"So he knows we're betrothed." Ashford mulled over that fact. "I'm not sure whether to be relieved or worried. You say his reaction was civil?"

"Very, under the circumstances. Then again, I told him I was marrying you out of a sense of duty."

"Duty." Ashford's lips twitched. "Somehow that image doesn't coincide with the woman I just held in my arms." His smile faded. "However, it was a good way of mollifying Sardo. And it sounds as if he left with an air of finality, which eases my mind a bit." A scowl. "I just wish I knew how deeply involved with Baricci he really is. Is he just providing the paintings, or is there more? And where the hell is the money he's receiving in payment?"

"You'll find out soon enough."

Ashford nodded, tilting back Noelle's head, framing her face between his palms. "Just the same, humor me. It's only for another day. Stay inside—far away from the entrance-way door. Let Bladewell attend to whatever visitors arrive." Tenderness softened his features. "In the meantime, you help Grace pack one of her huge lunches for tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Um-hum. We're traveling to Markham. I can't wait to see my parents' faces when we tell them our news."

Noelle's entire face lit up. "Nor can I. Ashford, I spoke with my great-grandfather this morning. He's agreed to marry us. He was thrilled by the news." She inclined her head. "Before we ride to Markham, I'd love to stop in the village, have you meet him."

"It would be an honor." Ashford lowered his head, his lips brushing hers, once, twice. A surge of raw possessiveness, blind protectiveness, shot through him, and he deepened the kiss, wishing the bloody wedding were tomorrow, needing to absorb Noelle into himself, to bind her to him legally, physically, totally.

To take care of her for the rest of her life.

"I love you, tempête," he murmured huskily. "And whoever is important to you is important to me, as well. As for your modiste," he added, "don't waste too much of her time. Other than your wedding gown, you're not going to need much in the way of clothing." A seductive chuckle. "You're going to be too busy fulfilling your sense of duty."

* * *

Forty feet away, from behind the line of shrubbery surrounding the house, André rose. There was a wild light in his eyes, and his hands were shaking, his entire being focused on the couple clinging together on the opposite side of the sitting-room window.

The earl's proposal came as a total surprise… He and I hardly know each other … hardly know each other… A sense of duty. Duty… Duty.

He was still sweating when he got home.