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Noelle gazed out the kitchen window, wishing she could see beyond the rear grounds of the Town house, all the way to the Franco Gallery. It was half after eight and, for the dozenth time in the past hour, she wondered if Ashford had captured Baricci yet.
Sighing, she returned to the task that had kept her busy, both mentally and physically, since dinner—packing tomorrow's lunch. A hint of a smile touched her lips as she packed the sixth sandwich in her basket. Ashford had asked for a large meal—well, he was getting one.
She rose from the kitchen stool, stretching as she did. The rest of the family was playing cards in the sitting room, and Grace had just gone to fetch a second basket, in the event Lord Tremlett wanted extra fruit and pastries for dessert. Noelle had stifled laughter, wondering if Ashford would ever see the contents of that basket, or if Grace would polish them off an hour after their carriage left London.
The thought of the journey to Markham, of sharing their exciting news with Ashford's parents and siblings, was enthralling. Noelle might only have spent several days with them, but she adored each and every Thornton. She could hardly wait to see their reactions, to begin thinking of them as her family, too.
A creak from behind alerted her to the fact that she was not alone.
Feeling an inexplicable and dark premonition, Noelle whipped around.
A hard arm caught her in midturn, yanking her back against a rigid, male body. One hand was clapped over her mouth, while the other held a knife to her throat.
"Don't scream."
She recognized André's low-pitched, accented voice at once, although it sounded raspy, odd.
"If you make a sound, I'll slit your throat, then kill the rest of your family. Is that clear?"
Everything inside Noelle went cold and still at his tersely uttered command. This was not a game. This was real.
Slowly, she nodded.
"Good." André eased the pressure of his hand at her mouth enough to run his thumb over her lips. "You're a beautiful woman, chérie. We could have been beautiful together."
Noelle squeezed her eyes shut, as she comprehended the source of his rage. Her marriage announcement. That's what this was about. But to kill her? Dear God, was he insane?
The answer to that was obvious.
She wanted desperately to wet her lips, which had gone suddenly parched, but the prospect of coming in contact with his thumb was unbearable. So she forced out her question without doing so. "What are you going to do to me?"
"I'm going to take you to a place where we can be alone," he murmured, caressing her cheek. "Somewhere we're assured of privacy. Somewhere that incriminates just the person I want it to." A demented laugh. "To the flat of your unscrupulous sire. He's busy tonight, anyway. He'll never know we were there—not until he finds your body and the police arrive to arrest him. The flat is lovely, chérie. Very romantic. And so close by. You won't have to wait long to have me." His knuckles caressed her throat alongside the knife. "You do want me, don't you, Noelle?"
Her knees were trembling so badly she could scarcely stand. "Just don't hurt my family," she whispered. "I'll do whatever you ask."
"Excellent." André removed that hand, keeping the knife in place, and reached into his pocket to extract a pen and paper. "Now, this is what I want you to do. Leave your beloved Papa a note. A short, scribbled note, so he'll assume you hadn't too much time to scrawl it. Tell him it's Baricci who has you, that he's threatening you for helping undermine his scheme. That should do it. My implicating him worked splendidly the last time, even without a letter. But in this case, the letter will add credibility."
Noelle's hand was shaking as she reached for the pen. "Why?" she choked out, managing to edge a sidelong glance in André's direction. "Why are you doing this? Is it because of my betrothal? I told you—"
"That you were marrying Tremlett out of a sense of duty. Yes, I recall," André supplied conversationally—but Noelle saw the madness in his eyes. "I saw you together," he added. "Earlier today. You were in his arms. And it was hardly an act of duty. Well, after tonight you'll be in no one's arms but mine. Tonight—and all the nights to follow. Just like the others who betrayed me."
"Others?"
"Um-hum. Other beauties with gemlike eyes and blackened souls. Catherine, Emily … I could name each one, but we haven't time."
"Emily…" Noelle went sheet-white as her mind connected André's revelation with his statement about implicating Baricci. "You killed Lady Mannering," she gasped.
"She gave me no choice, my love. She was sharing what was mine, bedding down with Baricci. I couldn't allow that, now could I?" André frowned, his head coming up as he listened intently to a peal of laughter from the sitting room. "Start writing."
Calling upon an internal strength she didn't know she possessed, Noelle squelched her own rising hysteria, forced her mind to stay clear. Now was not the time to fall apart. Now was the time to think, to find some way to save herself. She didn't dare call out, not unless she wanted to endanger Chloe and her parents, not to mention rendering her own death a fait accompli. In fact, she'd better hurry, because any minute Grace was going to return, and in his current state André would doubtless cut the maid's throat.
But if struggling or calling out for help weren't options, then what was left to her?
The letter.
Her gaze drifted to the blank page before her. Somehow, some way, she had to convey enough information to her father—and thereby to Ashford—to help them rescue her.
"I said, write." André's grasp on his knife handle tightened.
