The Theft (Thornton 2)

"Because now you're in love," Pierce replied, equally as straightforward as his son.

Ashford nodded, releasing his breath in a rush. "That much I know. It's everything else that's suddenly out of focus."

"I repeat, now you're in love. And love does that to you." Pierce rose, crossing over to pour two snifters of brandy. He handed one to Ashford, planting himself before his son and staring into the contents of his glass as he swirled them about. "My cause is a big part of my soul, Ashford. But you, your brothers and sisters, and—above all—your mother, are my life.

"I can still remember the moment I realized that fact, knew it to the very core of my being." Pierce's head came up and he gazed solemnly at his son. "It was when your mother placed my palm on her abdomen and told me I was going to be a father. I'll never forget that moment. It followed the most frightening night of my life, a night when your mother dragged me home from a robbery with a bullet in my shoulder, then took over and delivered my tin cup of money, endangered her own freedom, her own safety, because of choices I'd made, a life I'd chosen.

"I'd never felt so helpless, so terrified. Suddenly, with all the speed and impact of the bullet that had struck me, I realized I could lose everything: my wife, my future—and a life I'd only just acquired and, cause or not, was entitled to."

Pierce swallowed, visibly moved by his own memories. "Ashford, that night for the first time I realized that I mattered—and not only as a faceless, nameless crusader whose duty it was to establish equity for the oppressed and the needy. I mattered as a man, a man who loved and was loved by a very special woman. At that moment, everything changed. I changed. I made a decision. And I've never once in all these years regretted that decision. Never."

Ashford absorbed his father's words, took a healthy swallow of brandy. "That night was a dramatic turning point for you. But beforehand—all the weeks and months that preceded it—I can't imagine how torn you must have felt."

"Yes, I was tom—from the instant I met your mother. I was more than torn. I was tormented. Before she came into my life, there was no decision to contemplate, much less to make. I was motivated solely by anger, vengeance, and emotional wounds that had never healed. Then I met Daphne. She added a dimension to my life that I'd never envisioned: the idea of caring not about many, but about one; one person who needed me, loved me, and whom I needed and loved desperately in return. All at once, I faced a raging conflict: my own life versus the life I owed others. Similar to the conflict you're facing now."

"With certain differences," Ashford amended. "I never endured the horrors of a workhouse, never stole to eat, never faced the world without a shred of love or security. You did."

"True." Pierce lowered himself to the settee, settling himself alongside his son. "You grew up with a foundation of love and security, a

nd none of the bitterness that dominated my thinking. Which should, and would, make your decision that much easier to make. Except for one thing. As a result of everything I just described, you're grappling with an emotion I never did. Personal guilt. Not just the conceptual kind I experienced when I made my choice, but a much more specific one, tied to a specific person: me. Well, it's time to get rid of that guilt, Ashford. Because if you think this is the life I want for you, you're a fool."

Ashford whipped about, startled by the adamancy of his father's tone.

"Surprised?" Pierce asked. "You shouldn't be. As you said, I grew up penniless, homeless, and alone. And because of that, I swore to myself—on the day your mother told me she was carrying you, and during each pregnancy thereafter—that my children would never go without. Not without food. Not without shelter. But above all else, not without love. I was past thirty when I discovered how precious a gift love is, how necessary it is to survive. Like food, it nourishes. Like shelter, it protects. And like nothing else, it fulfills you, heart and soul. Both Juliet and Laurel have discovered that in their marriages, in their children. Why in God's name would I want anything less for you and your brothers? Do you honestly believe I could withstand seeing any of you end up alone? That would nullify the entire basis for my choice—a choice I made the day I learned that your mother and I had created our first miracle together, two miracles, as it turned out. You and Juliet."

Ashford's throat worked convulsively. "I never viewed it that way before."

"Well then, it's time you did," Pierce said quietly. "I need your happiness far more than I need your continuation of my quest. Besides,"—a faint smile played about his lips—"I would hardly describe myself as idle nor my cause as having been abandoned. In fact, retirement hasn't slowed me down at all—with the exception of limiting myself, by and large, to legal means of expression. Nothing is stopping you from doing the same."

"I realize that."

"But there's more to this conflict of yours than we've already discussed." Having made that assessment, Pierce tossed off the contents of his snifter and set it on the end table. "So let's get to those other aspects, shall we?"

Leaning forward, Pierce met Ashford's gaze head-on. "You're a lot like me, son—sometimes more so than I wish. Aside from your loyalty to me and your commitment to righting the world's wrongs, you get a surge of excitement from being at the heart of danger. That's part of the reason why you're reveling in this battle with Baricci—and why you're so hell-bent on beating him at his own game. Oh, I know the man is a lowlife of the first order, a self-serving thief, a fraud, and now we suspect, a murderer. But he also has one hell of a success ratio. And that sends your juices flowing, issues an unwritten challenge you can't resist. You've got to confront—and best—him. Before Baricci, there were others like him. And there will be more to follow. I know. I've been there."

Pierce grasped Ashford's shoulder, alerting him to the significance of his words. "But now you have more than your crusade to consider, even more than yourself. You have Noelle. As a result, you have a choice to make. Is the excitement you feel when you make off with those paintings worth the risk? Is it worth jeopardizing your life, your future? Is it worth endangering the woman you love, even indirectly, by taking part in something illegal? No one can answer those questions but you. Still, I'm willing to bet money on what your answer would be."

A corner of Ashford's mouth lifted. "And as the extraordinary gambler you are, you'd win." He shot his father an admiring look, recognizing the truth to his claim. "How did you become so insightful?"

"From experience. As I said, you're a lot like me. You thrive on challenge. And speaking of challenges—" Pierce chuckled, shaking his head as he recalled the night of the ball. "I don't think you need to worry about becoming complacent. On the contrary, I suspect the new challenge you're embarking upon will be more than enough to stir your blood. In fact, it's quite possible it will turn out to be more exciting than outwitting your burglary victims. Trust me, son. I've met Noelle. You'll never be bored."

Visualizing the woman he loved, Ashford's lips curved. "You're right about that, as well."

"So we understand each other?"

Relief surged through Ashford in great, wide streaks. He'd come to Markham seeking resolution. And thanks to his father, he'd found it.

"Completely," he replied.

"Good." Pierce stood, taking both snifters and refilling them. "Then it's time to toast to the future." He handed one glass back to Ashford, raising his own in tribute. "To you and Noelle Bromleigh—a beautiful, spirited young woman who, I suspect, will never have that coming-out her parents planned, nor embark upon her first London Season as an eligible debutante."

"I'll gladly drink to that." Emphatically, Ashford raised his snifter, thinking that if he had his way, Noelle would walk straight from her Court presentation into his waiting arms. "She won't regret missing her debut," he murmured. "I intend to make very sure of that, offer her every excitement, every diversion, every shimmering pleasure imaginable."

"And here I thought London Seasons were dull," Pierce noted wryly. "Or isn't that what we're discussing?"

Ashford said nothing, merely sipped at his brandy, biting back a grin.

Laughter rumbled from Pierce's chest. "You're even worse off than I thought."