Andrea Kane (6 page)

Or was it Ashford Thornton who unnerved him?

She turned to the earl as Williams hurried off, studying his face as she sought her answer. “Do you have this effect on everyone?”

A slow smile. “What effect is that?”

Noelle flushed. “You know what I mean. That poor man looked as if he might swoon when he saw you. In fact, he was strained throughout your entire exchange.”

“Odd, I thought it was you who rendered him off-balance.”

“I?” Noelle frowned. “Why would my presence upset him? We’ve never even met.”

“You tell me.”

There was that fierce light in Tremlett’s eyes again—as if he were delving inside her, searching for something—and Noelle had the eerie sensation he could see down to her soul.

“My lady,” Grace interrupted, shifting her cumbersome weight from one foot to the other. “Might I suggest you get started with whatever it is you hope to accomplish? It’s nearly half after one, and we’d best leave enough time for a meal before returning to the station. We won’t be home until night, and by then you’ll be weak with hunger.”

Amusement curved Noelle’s lips. She knew precisely whose stomach Grace was concerned about: her own. “Very well, Grace. We’ll begin looking at some of the paintings. Who knows? I might find something perfect to give Papa along with that stunning tiepin.”

“Is that why you wanted to stop here?” Tremlett asked quietly. “For your father?”

The irony of the question obliterated Noelle’s smile. For her father? Lord, no. The man she intended to see was anything but that. Her sire, yes. But her father? Never. She had only one father: Eric Bromleigh.

That sent a resurgence of guilt coursing through her. Eric would be worried and furious if he knew her whereabouts right now. And no birthday gift, no matter how spectacular, would have the power to ease that anguish, nor would it compensate for the fact that she’d deceived him—however minimally—pursuing exactly the course of action he’d asked her not to. She only prayed he’d understand when she told him about it. And tell him she would—the minute the time was right.

“Lady Noelle?” Tremlett sounded concerned. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” With an internal shake, she recovered herself, tucking the self-recriminations away for later. “I was just thinking that Grace is right. I’d best get started if I want to catch the late afternoon train to Poole.”

“With the gifts for your father,” Tremlett prompted.

Noelle wet her lips. “Yes. With the gifts for my father.”

“Fine. Then, shall we?” The earl extended his arm to her, and Noelle stepped forward, slipped her fingers through it.

It was their first real contact, and it was as sensually charged as the verbal exchanges that had preceded it. The wool of his coat rubbed against her palm—warm, abrasive, magnetic—and Noelle could feel his powerful muscles flex beneath her fingertips, forceful yet carefully restrained.

Their gazes locked, and awareness surged between them in a rushing, heated tide.

Hot color suffused Noelle’s cheeks, and she looked away, blurting out the first thing that came to her mind. “You never mentioned what your business is here.”

“Didn’t I?” Tremlett’s voice was husky, so close it whispered through her hair. “An oversight. I’m looking into an insurance matter. I have a few questions for Williams.”

With that, he guided Noelle deeper into the gallery, drew her over to a section of finely detailed paintings. “Do you care for the Pre-Raphaelite style?” he asked. “Or are you more of a traditionalist?”

Noelle halted, recognizing the earl’s subtle test and knowing she’d fail it miserably. “I wouldn’t know a watercolor from an oil, or a Pre-Raphaelite from a rococo,” she replied frankly, tilting back her head to meet his penetrating scrutiny. “But you already surmised that, didn’t you?”

A flicker of surprise flashed in the orange glints of his eyes. “Yes. But I wasn’t expecting you to admit it.”

“Why not? I’ve told you I’m disgustingly forthright. I’m too horrid a liar to attempt doing so. Not because I’m virtuous, but because I’m practical. Since I’m so unconvincing at telling untruths, everyone sees through me, and I always end up getting caught, or tangled up in my own lies. Then I’m forced to face a more severe reaction than I would have from the start, not to mention—assuming I care about the person I lied to or the principle I lied about—a heavy dose of my own guilt. So why bother?”

Tremlett shook his head in amazement. “You, my lady, are as unpredictable as a summer storm—a true tempest, as your father says. Just when I think I understand you, you do or say something—”

“Pardon me.” Williams came up behind them, interrupting whatever the earl had been about to say. “Lady Noelle, I wonder if I could presume upon you to come with me for a moment. Alone,” he added, darting a quick glance at Tremlett, then Grace.

“For what purpose?” Noelle demanded, her eyes widening with surprise.

“The owner of the gallery would appreciate having a word with you.” Williams rubbed his palms together nervously. “He’d like to help you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”

“I see.” Noelle’s heart began slamming against her ribs, and she abandoned all attempts at subtlety, going directly for the answer she sought. “The owner—I assume you mean Mr. Baricci.”

Williams nodded. “That’s precisely who I mean.”

Indecision warred inside Noelle’s mind. She’d promised herself, Chloe, and—silently—her father that she’d only venture so far as to catch a glimpse of Baricci, not to speak with him. No, that wasn’t true. What she’d promised, not only silently, but aloud, was that she wouldn’t seek him out. Well, she was keeping her promise. She wasn’t seeking him out. It was
he
who was seeking
her.

That clinched it.

“Very well,” she heard herself reply. “I’ll go.” She moved to release Lord Tremlett’s arm, feeling his muscles go positively rigid at her decision. Why? she wondered, her chin coming up, allowing her to study his expression. Why would he care if she spoke with Baricci?

Whatever his reasons, he most definitely
did
care. His clenched jaw left no doubt as to that.

“You needn’t wait for me,” she tried, assuming that his annoyance might be based upon the fact that her actions were inconveniencing him. “You’ve been more than kind. Grace and I can find our own way back to the station.”

“That’s very gracious of you,” he returned, eyes narrowed, mouth set in hard, grim lines. “But I arranged for my driver to see you safely to your train, and I intend for him to do that. As for me, I recall mentioning to you that I have my own business to conduct here. So, I’ll browse about until you conclude yours. Who knows? Perhaps I’ll discover some new and worthwhile talent—or another, equally remarkable finding. Either way, Grace and I will be here when you emerge.”

“My lady, this is most improper,” Grace sputtered. “I should be accompanying you. You’ll be in the company of two gentlemen.”

“One,” Williams corrected. “I’ll be delivering Lady Noelle to Mr. Baricci’s office, then returning to speak with Lord Tremlett.”

“That’s even worse!” Grace exclaimed. “Lady Noelle, I must insist—”

“Stop it, Grace.” Noelle drew herself up to her full diminutive height and gave her maid a no-nonsense look. “I understand and appreciate your concern. However, I intend to honor Mr. Baricci’s wishes to speak with me in private. I’ll be perfectly safe and back before you know it. Wait here.”

Ignoring Grace’s protests and Lord Tremlett’s icy censure, she followed Williams to the back of the gallery, past the storage and workrooms, to what appeared to be an office.

The door was shut.

Williams knocked. “I’ve brought Lady Noelle to see you, sir,” he announced.

A deep, slightly accented voice replied, “Show her in.”

A minute later, Noelle found herself in a spacious office decorated with rich mahogany furniture and a wide desk, behind which stood a tall, strikingly handsome older man with deep-set eyes, broad shoulders, chiseled features, and thick black hair that was only lightly sprinkled with grey.

Noelle saw his gaze widen as he caught his first glimpse of her.

“Mr. Baricci?” she began, hearing Williams leave and shut the door behind him.

Slowly, Baricci leaned forward, flattening his palms on the desk and studying her as one would a fine painting. “Astonishing,” he pronounced, as detached as he was amazed. “It’s as if Liza just walked into the room. You’re the image of her.”

Noelle swallowed hard. “So you know who I am; why I’ve come.”

“I know who you are. I can only guess why you’ve come.”

“That’s difficult to explain, even to myself,” Noelle replied, taking in his expensive clothing, his polished manner—and trying to assess the strange sense of indifference she was experiencing. She hadn’t known what to expect when she finally confronted this unfeeling man who’d sired her, but it hadn’t been this. Vehemence, fury, even hate were more the emotions she’d anticipated. After all, he’d nearly destroyed her father’s life—and at the same time, he’d given her her own. And yet, she felt nothing. No rage, no pain—nothing.

“I needed a sense of completion,” she murmured aloud, more to herself than to him. “I needed to put a face to your name.”

“And now that you have?”

“Now that I have—it’s over.”

An odd smile played about his lips. “It can never be over, Noelle. My blood runs through your veins.”

Her brows shot up, the first frisson of anger claiming her. “You dare to say that to me after eighteen years?”

“Ah, you have Liza’s fire as well.”

“I’m surprised you remember her name, much less her traits,” Noelle returned with brazen candor. “She was but one of Lord knows how many women you’ve seduced and discarded over the past decades.”

Baricci’s chiseled jaw dropped. “Does Farrington know how impertinent you are?”

Noelle looked him straight in the eye. “He’s my father. He knows everything about me.”

Rather than appearing insulted, Baricci pursed his lips thoughtfully—a mannerism Noelle recognized all too clearly as one of her own. “Will taking jabs at me make you feel better?” he inquired at last.

“I think not. That would only work if you had a conscience. Which, based upon what I’ve learned about you, is not the case.” Objectively, Noelle studied him, noting the outward charm that only could have attracted a woman as shallow as he. “You’re classically handsome,” she observed. “Even at fifty-four. Liza was a girl—a stupid, selfish girl, but a girl no less. It’s easy to see why she was drawn to you.”

Baricci acknowledged her assessment with a half-bow. “Thank you for the compliment.” His gaze swept over her, his eyes narrowed in thought. “You’re not like her, are you? Other than your beauty, that is. You’re a survivor. And there’s a streak of intelligence, intuitiveness, I see in you that Liza didn’t possess.”

“I’m nothing like her. I’m also nothing like you.”

“Then why were you so eager to meet me?”

“I wasn’t. I never even intended to speak to you. Remember, it was you who summoned me.”

A knowing lift of his brows. “Really? If that’s the case, then why did Farrington do such a thorough job of delving into my background? Certainly not for his own sake. Assumedly because you were curious about me—a fact that’s substantiated by your presence in my gallery right now. Or are you trying to convince me you just strolled in here by chance?”

“No. I’m not saying that. Papa checked into your background because I asked him to. And I’m here for precisely the reason I gave you a few minutes ago: to put a face to the description I received.”

“A description that spoke only of my wretched reputation with women,” Baricci surmised, standing erect and clasping his hands behind his back. “I have attributes, too, Noelle. Many of them. I’m a brilliant businessman and a generous benefactor.”

Ignoring that ludicrous declaration—and whatever Baricci’s point was in making it—Noelle demanded, “How do you know my name? And how did you know Papa was investigating you?”

A gleam of satisfaction. “I’m also extremely resourceful. I watch my back at all times. Thus, I make it a point to know everything that concerns either my assets or my life. You’re my child—my only child, so far as I know. I’m aware of your name, your parental situation—and yes, I’m aware of Farrington’s scrutiny into my life.” A deliberate pause. “What I wasn’t aware of was your alliance with the Earl of Tremlett. Are you lovers?”

It was Noelle’s turn to gape. “Lovers?”

“Don’t look so shocked, my dear. Surely you’re aware of Tremlett’s reputation with women? It rivals even my own.” He frowned at the expression on her face. “You really don’t know, do you? I’m sorry. I hope he didn’t mislead you into thinking you were his only paramour.”

“If what you’re suggesting weren’t so insulting, it would be downright comical,” Noelle shot back, finding her tongue. “The tactics you just described are yours, Mr. Baricci. That doesn’t mean others are equally as unprincipled. As for the earl, I haven’t a clue how many lovers he has or who they are. Nor do I care. I just met the man this morning. On the train coming to London.”

“Really.” Baricci’s tone was laced with disbelief. “You don’t strike me as a woman who would take up with a man she’d just met.”

“I didn’t ‘take up with him.’ He merely—” Noelle broke off, sucked in her breath. “This conversation is absurd. Is this the reason you asked to see me? To find out if I’d tarnished your reputation by becoming a trollop?”

“Actually, I thought I’d save you the trouble of asking to see me,” Baricci replied, carefully gauging her reaction. “That is why you’re here—isn’t it?”

Something about his expression, the tension underlying his calmly stated question, struck Noelle as odd. For the first time, she found herself wondering if, in fact, Baricci were probing for something in particular—some ulterior motive he suspected had driven her here today. “What other reason would I have?”

“You tell me.”

His pointed tone found its mark, and Noelle’s eyes widened with stunned realization. “You think I want something from you?”

“Is that so unlikely? I’m a very wealthy man. On the other hand, so is Eric Bromleigh. He can give you anything you want. So, I assume it’s not wealth you’ve come here to seek. Perhaps excitement, then. You’re a very spirited young woman. More so even than Liza. And I? I’m a very worldly man, an extensive traveler. Why, I’m sure Farrington’s investigators reported back on the number of cities I visit during the course of one year alone. Could it be that you crave a bit of adventure? That life at Farrington Manor is too tedious for you? Is that why you’ve sought me out?”