The Theft (Thornton 2)

Eric's head snapped up. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, Papa, of course. I'm fine." She didn't allow herself the chance to back down. "I always was," she added softly.

Brigitte's delicate brow furrowed. "You were ill when we left for the village."

"No, Mama, I wasn't. I feigned being sick. I wanted the day to myself." Renewed guilt rushed through her. "Not because I didn't want to help Great-Grandfather. I felt terrible about deserting him. But I had to go to London—and I had no other time, no other choice. I hated lying to you, but you never would have agreed. And I had to go … I simply had to—" She broke off, willing the right words to come.

Eric supplied them for her.

"Dammit," he ground out. "You went to Baricci. You promised me you wouldn't. You gave me your word, yet you—"

"I didn't break my promise, Papa." Noelle's heart sank at the bleak expression on his face. "I said I wouldn't seek Mr. Baricci out, and I didn't. I just went to the gallery to catch a glimpse of him. That's all. It was something I had to do—for my own peace of mind. Please try to understand."

"Understand?" Eric raked a hand through his hair. "I told you what a snake the man was. He's disreputable and unfeeling. He could be dangerous, for all I know. The thought of you—"

"Eric." It was Brigitte who interrupted, rising to walk over and touch his forearm. "Let's listen to what Noelle has to say. It's clear she thought this idea out quite thoroughly before she acted. Evidently, seeing Mr. Baricci meant a great deal to her."

Eric swallowed. "She's barely eighteen. And she was alone in London with a scoundrel."

"No she wasn't, Papa," Chloe chimed in. "Grace was with her. Noelle insisted on that, just so you'd have more peace of mind about the whole notion of…" Her voice trailed off as Eric's accusing stare shifted to her.

"You knew about this?" he demanded.

"Don't blame Chloe; she couldn't have stopped me if she'd tied me to the bed," Noelle inserted quickly. "Papa, this was my decision. The blame is mine. Please—leave Chloe out of it."

"I don't think blame is an issue," Brigitte continued in that reassuring voice of hers. "As I said, Noelle obviously needed to do thi

s. She's never lied to us before nor, for that matter, has she ever taken the time to so carefully plan her actions. Usually she just dives right in. So I suggest we dispense with all apologies and accusations and get to the issue: Mr. Baricci."

She walked over, took Noelle's hands in hers. "Did you see him?"

Tears of gratitude filled Noelle's eyes, and she nodded. "Yes."

"And?"

"And it was nothing like what I expected. I mean, he looked a great deal like I imagined, but his manner—"

"I thought you only glimpsed him, then left," Eric interrupted.

"That's what I intended to do." A hard swallow. "Then he sent for me."

"He sent for you?" Brigitte repeated incredulously.

"Yes." Noelle was thankful for the comfort of her mother's presence—a soothing balance to the inexplicable events of the previous day. "He asked that I come to his office. We talked. Or rather, he did." Candidly, omitting nothing, Noelle relayed the unexpected conversation she'd had with Franco Baricci.

"He actually made fatherly overtures to you," Brigitte said, shaking her head in amazement. "As if a simple explanation and apology could either excuse or erase his unforgivable behavior."

"Obviously, I rejected everything he said. Then I left. Lord Tremlett saw me back to Waterloo Station."

Eric's head came up anew. "Who? I thought you said you were alone, other than Grace."

Noelle shifted uncomfortably. "We were—more or less. At least that's the way I planned it. Lord Tremlett just happened to board our railroad carriage at Southampton. And, as luck would have it, his destination was also the Franco Gallery. So when I beat him at piquet, he offered a most practical form of payment: to have his carriage take us to and from the gallery."

"Lord Tremlett…" Brigitte murmured, not even a tad surprised by Noelle's typically unconventional actions. "Isn't that the Duke of Markham's son?"

"It is. And he was incredibly kind. He made the entire excursion much easier."

Relief flooded Brigitte's face. "I feel much better knowing you weren't unescorted."