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“Another half hour, I should say,” Tremlett agreed, chewing thoughtfully as he followed her gaze. “My carriage will take you directly to Regent Street, and then on to the Franco Gallery.”
Noelle frowned. “That’s not necessary. Grace and I will walk from the men’s shop to the gallery.”
“Absolutely not. The agreement was for my driver to take you and your maid wherever it is you wish to go. There was no limit set as to how many stops you might make.”
“But it’s only a block away. …”
“No buts. Besides, as I told you, I’m visiting the gallery myself. So it’s hardly out of my way. I’ll escort you there. Once you’ve completed your business, my driver will take you and your maid back to Waterloo Station.”
Noelle’s eyes widened. “Where will that leave you?”
“Precisely where I need to be. I have several meetings to attend in the immediate vicinity of the Franco Gallery. My driver will have returned to collect me long before I need him. And you will be back in Poole before you’re missed.”
With a start, Noelle asked, “How did you know I was hoping not to be missed?”
“Simple. You’re searching for a gift for your father. Clearly, you want this trip to be a surprise. Why else would you choose to rush to and from London all in one day, if not to avoid being missed and thus having to provide explanations?”
A fine tension permeated Noelle’s body, although she hadn’t a clue why. Or perhaps she did. She was accustomed to having the upper hand when it came to matching wits with people, to seeing through them. Yet, with Ashford Thornton, she had the distinct and uneasy impression that it was very much the other way around. What prompted her suspicion, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that the Earl of Tremlett’s uncanny insight was both unexpected and unwelcome.
“You’re very astute, my lord,” she said carefully.
“Astute enough to know I’ve upset you,” he replied, propping his elbow on the armrest and watching her face, missing not an iota of her reaction. “You needn’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. As are your destinations—both of them.”
“Do you frequent the Franco Gallery often?” Noelle blurted, as much to relieve her own tension as to amass information on Baricci’s establishment,
A shrug. “On occasion. I enjoy seeing the work of relatively unknown artists. Many of them are very talented. They’re just undiscovered. Hopefully they won’t remain that way for long; not after being displayed at the Franco.”
Noelle’s jaw nearly dropped in surprise. Talented but undiscovered? Now that was a shock. A snake like Baricci aiding struggling artists by exhibiting their works? That was hardly what she’d expected.
“Are you telling me that that’s what I’ll find at the Franco Art Gallery?” she inquired, seeking confirmation. “Paintings by unknown artists?”
“Um-hum.” Tremlett arched a quizzical brow, calmly chewing and swallowing his food before he spoke. “I take it this is your first trip there?”
“Yes.”
“Any special reason you’ve chosen now to go?”
His direct, uncannily perceptive question brought Noelle up short. “What do you mean?”
“Only that, as I said, you’re dashing from Poole to London and back in one day. I understand why: you’re hoping to find your father’s gift and present it to him as a surprise. That necessitates keeping secret this entire excursion. But, given you’re in such a hurry, I’m curious as to why you would take the time to stop at the gallery before rushing home. Your reasons for visiting there must be very important.”
“They are. I must see—” Noelle broke off, moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue. “That is, there’s someone at the gallery I have to locate … meet. …” This was ridiculous, she berated herself. Why was she tripping over her own words? And why was she so unnerved anyway? What was the big mystery about her desire to catch a glimpse of Baricci? She’d told the earl this much; she might as well tell him the rest. Besides, given that Lord Tremlett frequented Baricci’s gallery, perhaps he could point out the scoundrel to her.
She sucked in her breath and prepared to explain. “The situation, my lord, is a bit complicated. …”
“My lady!”
Grace’s exclamation and awkward struggles to an upright position not only interrupted Noelle’s explanation, they nearly knocked her to the floor.
With a fierce glare at the stranger sitting across from her charge, Grace scowled, addressing Noelle even as she kept her frosty gaze fixed on the. earl. “Who is this gentleman you’re conversing with?” she demanded, her tone rife with censure.
Noelle didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Good morning, Grace,” she greeted her maid in a tight voice. “Good of you to join us. This gentleman I’m conversing with is the Earl of Tremlett. Lord Tremlett, my vigilant lady’s maid, Grace.”
The earl, for his part, looked more amused than distressed. “Good morning, madam,” he echoed, half bowing in his seat. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. As for who I am, I’m a passenger like yourselves, on my way to London. Lady Noelle has just been kind enough to share your meal with me. I hope our chatting didn’t awaken you.”
“I wasn’t asleep. I never sleep on trains. I was merely dozing.” Peering suspiciously from the half-empty basket to her charge to Lord Tremlett, Grace’s eyes narrowed, as if she sensed something inappropriate had taken place right beneath her nose. “You were assigned to this compartment?” she asked, still scrutinizing the earl as if he were a disreputable intruder.
“I was.” His tone was matter-of-fact yet uncompromising, leaving no room for argument. Clearly, Grace—even in her terrifying lioness role—didn’t intimidate him. Well, in this case, good for him. Noelle might enjoy having the upper hand, but she also enjoyed seeing someone other than herself acquire it—and use it—when it came to Grace.
