Andrea Kane (19 page)

André’s pupils dilated in wary assessment, but he swiftly recovered himself. “I’m sure you’re right,” he conceded. With a discreet cough, he turned his attention back to Baricci’s original question. “If you’re willing to accept one of my personal projects—the less commercial, more unconventional creations I work on in my spare time—I believe I can provide something that would nicely conceal the Rembrandt
and
deliver the finished painting to you in under a week. Would that suffice?”

“Yes.” Baricci glanced down at his own clenched fists and frowned, abruptly relaxing them. “That would be fine.” He turned back to the looking glass, placing his top hat at the proper angle on his head. “I’m late, André. Besides, you’d best get home and work on that painting.”

“I’m on my way.”

With a fleeting, thoughtful glance at Baricci’s back, André opened the door and slipped out of the office.

Markham’s ballroom had been transformed into a glittering paradise.

That was Noelle’s first thought as she stood between her parents, gazing into the enormous, elegant room—its crystal chandeliers aglow, its polished wooden floors crowded with hundreds of magnificently dressed guests, some of whom gathered in small groups, chatting and drinking punch, others of whom danced to the exquisite musical strains emitted by the string quartet who were assembled on a platform alongside the French doors.

A profusion of color, sound, and motion.

“Have you ever seen anything so lovely?” Noelle breathed, staring about with wonder in her eyes.

“Yes.” Eric looked proudly from his wife to his daughter. “The two women I’m escorting.”

Noelle flashed him a warm smile. “Thank you, Papa. My confidence sorely needed that.”

“It shouldn’t,” Brigitte murmured, smoothing the capped sleeve of Noelle’s silk velvet gown with an approving nod. “You look beautiful. That rich blue color makes you look positively regal.”

“Of all the gowns you had designed for me, this is my favorite,” Noelle confessed. “Thank you for letting me wear it tonight—in honor of my first ball.”

“That’s what it was fashioned for.”

“Yes and no,” Eric put in dryly. “It was designed for your first ball, but that ball was supposed to take place at the onset of the Season.”

“A mere technicality,” Brigitte assured Eric with a sunny smile. “After all, the Season is only five or six weeks away. Consider tonight to be the gown’s debut, and this ball to be Noelle’s taste of what’s to come.”

“Besides, this gown is not only
my
favorite, Papa. It’s yours, as well,” Noelle reminded him.

“Indeed. As I’m sure it will be Ashford Thornton’s.” Eric arched a pointed brow at his daughter. “You manipulate me so splendidly, Noelle. You and your brilliant accomplice here.” His knowing gaze flickered to Brigitte—and softened. “Then again, you always have. It’s a good thing I love you both enough to overlook it.” His knuckles brushed Brigitte’s cheek, his appreciative stare taking in her radiant expression, the fashionable cut of her amethyst gown. “Or perhaps I’m just dazzled by your mother’s beauty.”

“Either reason will do,” Brigitte assured him, love shining in her eyes. She covered her husband’s hand with her gloved one, squeezing his fingers to let him know she understood his inner turmoil. “You look dashing as well, my lord,” she murmured softly. “And Noelle and I are proud to be the ladies on your arm—on
both
arms.”

“I suspect one of those arms will soon be free,” Eric returned quietly, his observation meant for Brigitte’s ears alone.

His wife gave a profound shake of her head. “Never free, my darling. Just shared. Which is as it should be—as it
must
be. But remember, your other arm is permanently taken.” She pressed her lips into his palm. “As is the rest of you.”

Their gazes locked, and Eric swallowed, absorbing Brigitte’s implicit message, slowly nodding his understanding.

“I’ll try,” he promised roughly.

“I know you will.”

With that, Brigitte directed her attention back to Noelle, who’d used this moment in which her parents were privately chatting to step closer to the ballroom doorway. Now she hovered on its threshold, peering inside and intently studying the throngs of people.

“Are you ready to be announced?” her mother inquired.

Noelle was too engrossed in her search to hear, much less to reply.

“He’s over by the punch,” Brigitte supplied helpfully. “With his sister,” she added, spying the laughing woman by Ashford’s side.

Sheepishly, Noelle lowered her lashes. “Am I that obvious?”

“Yes,” Eric confirmed.

“No.” Brigitte tossed her husband an Eric-you-promised look. “Only Papa and I see it, because we know you so well.”

“Chloe, too,” Noelle confessed. “She says I glow when I talk about him. I don’t mean to, but I suppose I do.” A quick, worried look at Eric. “You do like him better now, don’t you, Papa?”

Eric pressed his lips together, battling back the paternal voice inside him that urged him to damn his good intentions to hell, to deny her claim, and to safeguard his little girl.

The problem with heeding that voice was threefold.

First and foremost, he’d just made a vow to Brigitte, a vow to
try
to be a little less overprotective with regard to Noelle.

Second, he’d be lying. He
did
like Ashford Thornton. After three days of talking with—and scrutinizing—the man, Eric was convinced that Ashford was decent, principled, and dedicated to his family. In fact, the only glaringly unfavorable trait about the earl was his obvious attraction to Noelle—an attraction that Ashford kept carefully in check but which was indisputably visible to Eric, not only because he was a man but because he was Noelle’s father.

And last, but certainly not least, was the third reason Eric couldn’t deny Noelle’s claim—a reason he couldn’t blame on Ashford Thornton, but on life itself. Quite simply, he mused with more than a twinge of regret, Brigitte was right. The little girl he still longed to safeguard was no more.

Sometime between a heartbeat ago and now, she had become a woman.

“Papa?” Noelle repeated, an earnest pucker forming between her brows.

“Yes, Noelle, I like him better now,” Eric replied, automatically smoothing the pucker away with his forefinger. “And apparently so do you.” A swift intake of breath. “All I ask is that you temper your fascination with the earl until you’ve had the opportunity to meet a few other gentlemen—and until you have a better idea what Lord Tremlett’s intentions towards you are.”

“Speaking of Lord Tremlett’s intentions, we’d best hurry and have ourselves announced,” Brigitte inserted. “The earl spied us about ten seconds ago. He’s on his way over.”

Noelle’s head whipped around, and she watched as Ashford wove his way through the crowd, his gaze fixed purposefully on her.

He halted several yards away, waiting politely while Eric guided his family forward.

“Lord and Lady Farrington, and Lady Noelle,” the footman heralded their entrance.

“Nice of you to wait, Tremlett,” Eric informed Ashford dryly as they encountered him a dozens steps later. “I was half-afraid you intended to accost us in the doorway.”

Noelle almost groaned aloud.

Ashford, on the other hand, looked amused, a corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. “Accosting is not my forte, sir. You have my word on that.” He turned to bow to Brigitte. “Lady Farrington, you look lovely.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Brigitte acknowledged the compliment graciously, then glanced about the room. “How elegant everything looks. Your parents should be commended—this entire event, all three days, have been delightful.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourselves. Yes, Mother works endlessly planning this event each year. And I’m proud to say that thousands of pounds are always raised. In fact,” Ashford added with great satisfaction, “Father tells me we’ve exceeded last year’s donations by over ten thousand pounds. I needn’t tell you what a difference that will make to some needy parishes.”

“No, you needn’t.” Brigitte’s eyes grew damp. “God bless your parents. They’re quite remarkable.”

“I agree.” Ashford’s gaze shifted to Noelle, unconcealed admiration and approval registering on his face. “Good evening, Lady Noelle.” His gaze swept her from head to toe. “You look breathtaking.”

So do you,
Noelle wanted to say, unable to tear her eyes off him. He looked striking, magnificent, his black wool suit and white silk waistcoat fitting him to perfection, the essence of elegance—yet worn with that irreverent air that was Ashford. He was all polished charm and propriety.

Beneath which lay that heated charisma that made Noelle’s breath catch, made everything inside her melt and slide down to her toes.

“Lord Farrington, may I have the honor of dancing with your daughter?” he was asking, still drinking in Noelle with his eyes.

The barest pause. Then: “Yes, Tremlett, you may.”

Noelle glanced gratefully at her father. “Thank you, Papa,” she murmured.

She placed her hand in Ashford’s, letting him lead her onto the floor and into a waltz.

“My first ball,” Noelle pronounced, excitement singing through her. She peered about, then lifted her enchanted gaze to Ashford’s. “And you’re my first partner.”

“Good,” he returned fervently, those compelling orange sparks flaring in his eyes. “I want to be your first at everything.”

She swallowed. “So far, you have been.”

“I know.” His jaw set, and his heated stare swept over her with restless intensity as he whirled her about the room. “You have no idea how beautiful you look tonight.”

“It only seems that way because you haven’t seen me—other than from a distance—in days, since I trounced you at the whist table three nights ago, in fact. Ever since then, you’ve either been horse racing, playing billiards, or—”

“Indulging in fantasies about you,” he finished for her.

Noelle missed a step. “Have you?”

“Constantly.” Ashford’s hand tightened about her waist, easing her back into the rhythm of the waltz. “The Season hasn’t even begun, and already I want to kill every man who so much as approaches you.”

Noelle wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. “What a coincidence. So does Papa.”

“Not for the same reason, I assure you.” Ashford’s gloved fingers caressed hers. “Speaking of your father, he’s still watching us.”

“How do you know that? You haven’t looked away from me for an instant.”

“Pure instinct. I sense his scrutiny.” A quick glance over Noelle’s head. “Ah, good. Your mother is guiding him over to speak with my parents. The moment they’re immersed in conversation, you and I are slipping away. We have some unfinished business to attend to.” A pause. “And I don’t only mean verbal business. If I don’t feel you against me, I’m going to explode.”

Noelle sucked in her breath, Ashford’s declaration surging through her like a fiery wave. “I feel the same way,” she admitted. “Not to mention that it’s our last chance to be alone together. My family is leaving Markham early tomorrow morning. And once we’re back at Farrington Manor—”

“Don’t even think of saying we can’t see each other until after your court presentation,” Ashford ordered, “because I don’t intend to accept that—not anymore.”

“You never did,” Noelle reminded him with a hint of a smile. “Nor did I want you to. And now—after these past few days? I wouldn’t consider suggesting you stay away for five long weeks. Any more than I expect that you would. I know how resourceful you can be, and I didn’t doubt you’d find a way to visit me. What I was going to say was that we’ll be hard-pressed to find time alone. Grace was blessedly absent from this excursion, thanks to Papa’s decision that only the four of us travel to Markham. But normally? My overbearing lady’s maid watches me like a hawk.”

“Yes, I recall.” Ashford didn’t look the slightest bit concerned. “But that won’t deter me. As you just pointed out, I’m very resourceful. Especially when it comes to something I want badly.”

“Something you want badly—do I fall into that category?”

A corner of his mouth lifted. “Without question.”

Noelle inclined her head, tossing him a saucy look. “I know a most plausible excuse you could provide for visiting Farrington. Just tell Papa you need to see me in order to negotiate a way to recoup your gambling losses. Juliet and I did divest you and Carston of several hundred pounds apiece at the whist table.”

“Don’t remind me. My sister will never let me forget your victory. She’ll forever throw it in my face.”

“If she forgets to do so, I’ll remember,” Noelle assured him. “You really are a very good whist player,” she added consolingly. “Just not good enough.”

“So you demonstrated.”

“Wasn’t it cordial of your brothers to bet on me?” Noelle continued, her expression innocent. “After all, Juliet is their sister and they know how skilled she is, but I was a total stranger. A total stranger they’ve been warned not to so much as glance at, for fear of their lives. Yet, they placed all their wagers—”

“Enough.” Laughter danced in Ashford’s eyes. “It’s a good thing all your winnings went to charity. Otherwise, my pride would be in complete shambles.”

“Charity or not, I still won. So your pride should be no less shattered.”

A chuckle. “You’re impossible,
tempête.
But revel while you can. I’ll get even—when you least expect it.”

“I’m counting on that.”

All humor faded away, along with the final strains of the waltz.

“Our parents are in deep discussion,” Ashford noted with a satisfied nod. “Let’s go.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, just guided her through the throng of people and out into the hall. There he veered sharply to the right, away from the crowd, and led Noelle a short distance away, to a quiet and unoccupied anteroom.

The door shut behind them with a quiet click.

“We’re alone,” Ashford said softly. “Also, we have a perfect avenue of escape.” He pointed across the room, where a set of French doors led out to the grounds. “That’s why I chose this particular anteroom. If we hear someone coming, we’ll simply slip outside, walk around, then reenter the manor from the front. Everyone will think we were milling about inside the entranceway.”