The Theft (Thornton 2)

All the color drained from Eric's face. "You can't mean—"

"No," Ashford denied swiftly, recognizing the direction Eric's thoughts had taken. "Baricci's immoral, but not depraved. He wouldn't designate himself for the job of wooing information out of Noelle. He'd choose someone acceptable—someone charming and highly effective—whose task it would be to find out just how involved Noelle and I are and how much of my investigation she's privy to."

"Is this speculation or fact?"

"Fact. At least with regard to Baricci's emissary, who was chosen and sent to Farrington Manor. Contrary to expectations, however, Noelle saw right through his plan the moment they met. And now she's determined to use him to our advantage."

"That artist," Eric realized, his tone laced with bitterness. "André Sardo."

"Exactly." Ashford nodded. "By the time Sardo showed up on your doorstep, Noelle was already suspicious of Baricci. So when she learned he was the one who had commissioned Sardo to paint her portrait, she guessed precisely what he was about. She kept her opinion to herself until she arrived at Markham, at which time she approached me with the idea of turning the tables on Sardo; gaining his trust, then maneuvering information out of him, perhaps even feeding him false information to pass on to Baricci. Objectively speaking, it was a superb idea, a sound way of trying to incriminate Baricci."

"Superb? Sound? Tremlett, it puts my daughter at risk."

"That was my dilemma. I was intrigued by the prospect but unwilling to endanger Noelle."

"You were unwilling? You have no say in Noelle's life, and no right to even consider involving her in something of this magnitude." Eric shot to his feet. "I'm her father, Tremlett. And I'm telling you that Noelle's association with you is now officially severed. As for Sardo, he'll never again set foot in my home. When I think of the way he devoured her with his eyes, raved on and on about her beauty…"

"I understand your anger, Lord Farrington," Ashford interrupted, trying to stem his own surge of emotion. Understood? Hell, he shared Eric's rage. Just hearing about Sardo's preliminary tactics with Noelle made him want to choke the man. But he couldn't let feelings cloud his thinking. Not now. Now was the time to get through to Eric Bromleigh—for many reasons.

"You're Noelle's father," he continued, keeping his tone even. "You want to protect her. I don't blame you. But, with all due respect, I think it would be a mistake for you to try severing our association. Further, whether you believe it or not, Noelle's safety is of paramount importance to me. And firing Sardo is not going to ensure that safety. If you fire him, Baricci will be more certain than ever that Noelle has something to hide. He'll find another way to get at her. And after what happened last night, that thought is chilling,"

"Last night? What happened last night?" Brigitte asked in a small, shaky voice.

"Another painting was stolen—a valuable Rembrandt. My sources tell me Baricci was responsible for the theft." Ashford gripped the edge of the desk. "The painting was owned by Lord and Lady Mannering. It appears that Lady Mannering was home alone at the time of the theft. She was murdered."

"Murdered? Dear God." Eric was sheet-white. "You're saying Baricci is capable of murder?"

"Quite possibly, yes. And the only way to keep Noelle safe—truly safe—is to see him in Newgate. As long as he's free, she's at risk."

"And how do you suggest I protect her while this investigation of yours is ongoing?" Eric demanded. "How do I keep Noelle safe while you're gathering your evidence, allowing Baricci's cohort to invade my home, to spend hours with my daughter—a daughter who, I don't doubt for a minute, will be further endangering herself by pumping Sardo for information?"

"That job, Lord Farrington, I'd like to be mine." Ashford leaned forward, his gaze steely, his conviction absolute. "You and I are in agreement that as long as Baricci is free and under scrutiny, Noelle needs to be safeguarded. I believe I'm the one who can do that. And not," he added quickly, "because you aren't capable of protecting your family. But because your method of protecting her would, in my opinion, expose her to even greater danger."

Eric's jaw dropped. "Your audacity is astounding, Tremlett. How dare you criticize, or even comment upon, my role as a father."

"Eric, please." Brigitte touched her husband's sleeve. "I know you're frightened for Noelle. I am, too. But please—let's hear Lord Tremlett out."

A brief internal struggle, followed by a nod. "Very well."

"Thank you." Ashford cleared his throat. "I have the highest regard for you, Lord Farrington, both as a human being and as Noelle's father. I wouldn't presume to criticize you, partly because—as you just said—I have no right, and partly because I believe Noelle is as blessed with her family as I am with mine. What I'm saying is that, being the devoted father you are, your first instinct in this situation would be to keep Noelle under lock and key, to ensure she's never out of your sight. Well, with all due respect, sir, that won't work. And not because of you, because of Noelle. She simply won't allow it. She isn't a child any longer, Lord Farrington. Nor, as you well know, is she meek and accepting. She wants to take part in this plan to undo Baricci. She will find a way to do so, with or without your permission." Ashford's jaw tightened a fraction. "On a personal note, she also wants to see me. As I implied a few minutes ago, I don't believe she'd accept your order that we stay apart until the onset of the Season."

"I think you're right," Brigitte surprised him by saying. "Your logic makes sense. So tell us what you propose."

"My solution is as follows: let me call on Noelle, immediately and often, once you've returned to Farrington Manor. In that way, I can keep myself apprised of her sittings with Sardo and make sure she doesn't get in over her head. Trust me, I can control the situation and Noelle's unabated sense of adventure. If we do things my way, she won't be slipping off to find ways to implicate Baricci…" An uncomfortable pause. "Or to find ways of meeting me."

Eric sucked in his breath. "Your arrogance is staggering."

"It's not arrogance. It's fact. Noelle wants to spend time in my company; and I want to spend time in hers. I realize you were—are—determined to bring her out this Season. I didn't intend to interfere with those plans. But evidently fate had other ideas."

"What exactly does that mean?"

"It means I have feelings for Noelle. Strong feelings. Feelings that are new and unfamiliar to me and which, quite frankly, have me reeling. What's more, if I'm correct, Noelle is developing those same feelings for me."

"Dammit." Eric raked a hand through his hair. "How do I respond to that? Do I ask where these feelings are leading—to the bedroom or the altar? Or do I trust in your honor, believe that you'd never compromise Noelle in such a manner, and simply ask you to declare your intentions?"

"My intentions are to see Noelle happy. I won't hurt her, Lord Farrington, not if it's in my power to prevent." Ashford sobered at his own words, more aware than anyone just how complicated this situation really was. He had to control events, actions, and feelings while providing everyone with the time needed to come to essential resolutions—resolutions that in some cases were more life-altering than Eric Bromleigh could possibly imagine. "I have a suggestion."

"I'm listening."