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"I don't," Eric countered. "Tremlett's over thirty and a flagrant womanizer."
Amusement tugged at Brigitte's lips. "I don't think escorting two women to an art gallery constitutes debauchery, darling."
"It doesn't," Noelle put in eagerly. "In fact, Ashford was a perfect gentleman. We played cards, ate, talked about our families, and…"
"Ashford?" Eric's jaw was clenched. "I see you became quite friendly during your game of piquet and your debt-repaying carriage rides."
Fingers crossed, Noelle took the plunge. "We did. In fact, he's asked to call on me." She waited, uncertain of her father's reaction.
She hadn't long to wait.
"Absolutely not," Eric pronounced. "I won't hear of it. And not only because of Tremlett's reputation with women, either. You're being brought out in several months. There is a long line of gentlemen waiting to meet you—gentlemen whose social commitments are far less extensive than Tremlett's, I might add. Still, if he wants to introduce himself at that time, fine. I haven't seen him in years, so I'll make a judgment about his suitability when I do. After your presentation at court. After your appearance at the Season's balls. After—"
"Papa, I want him to call on me. I was very…"—Noelle searched frantically for a description that wouldn't further antagonize her father—"intrigued by him. He's an insurance investigator—as a matter of fact, that's why he was going to the Franco Gallery. He's checking into some missing paintings for Lloyds, and he had a few questions for Mr. Williams, the gallery curator. And as I said, Ashford was delightful company and a consummate gentleman. You can ask Grace, who planted herself between us like a hardy oak. He spent his time protecting me, not threatening my virtue. Honestly."
"I don't give a damn if he slew dragons for you right in the middle of Waterloo Station. The answer is still no." Eric's palm sliced the air, cutting off whatever protest Noelle was about to utter. "And don't bother arguing with me. I won't change my mind—not on this issue, Noelle. Your mother and I have made all the arrangements for your debut. I want you to have this chance to meet a healthy number of appropriate gentlemen. Once you do, you'll be in a better position to decide what traits appeal to you, and what traits don't. An excursion through London hardly affords you that opportunity."
"It affords a better opportunity to get to know someone than a few cursory dances will."
"Indeed—if it is one 'someone' you intend to get to know. But it offers little in the way of variety." Seeing the disappointment on his daughter's face, Eric softened, walking over to ruffle her hair as he had when she was a child. "This isn't a punishment, Noelle. Nor is it a rejection of Lord Tremlett, who will doubtless cross your path many times this Season. I admire his family tremendously. If he possesses any of their qualities, I'm sure he's a decent enough fellow—other than his rather wide array of women, that is."
Noelle tipped up her chin, met her father's gaze. "You want me to experience variety. Why not Ashford?"
A purposeful glint. "You know damned well we're not talking about the same thing. You yourself told me—when you were twelve years old—that you knew the facts of life. So let's not play games. This is one time you're not going to cajole or maneuver me into changing my mind."
"But Ashford already declared his intentions to call on me," she tried. "So we'll have to receive him, given the fact that I have no idea where to contact him to tell him otherwise."
"Nice try." A grin tugged at Eric's lips. "But I can procure the address of Tremlett's London Town house with little effort. You write him a note. I'll have my solicitor find him and deliver it."
Noelle's unhappy gaze shifted to her mother, who gave her a don't-bother-it-won't-work look that extinguished the last of Noelle's hopes. "Fine. But I doubt that any of the gentlemen you intend for me to meet will measure up to Ashford Thornton."
* * *
At that moment, Ashford was thinking much the same thing about Noelle.
Pacing restlessly about the bedchamber of his London Town house, Ashford tightened the belt of his dressing robe, sidestepping the breakfast tray his valet had delivered moments ago, and instead walking over to stare moodily out the window.
He'd been up since dawn, his mind too busy to tolerate his body's need for rest.
It was bad enough that he couldn't sleep. But, given its existence, his wakefulness should be caused by thoughts of his investigation.
Instead, it was caused by thoughts of Lady Noelle Bromleigh.
That he'd been instantly and entirely captivated by her was an understatement. That it was a first-time occurrence for him was equally true, and equally unexpected. He was a worldly man—a man who'd been exposed to more women than he could enumerate. Some had been acquaintances, some polite social companions, and a fair number of them lovers.
Although that number was not nearly as significant as his reputation touted.
As for those women who had shared his bed, none of them could be even remotely described as chaste debutantes, youthful innocents who hadn't the experience to recognize his intentions much less share them. In truth, he'd never so much as entertained the notion of pursuing a virgin. Virgins, like married women, were taboo—at least to him.
His reasons were simple, and he'd enumerated them to Noelle when he denied being a womanizer: he had rules, rules that included respecting both untouched and married women. Like him, his relationships were straightforward, lacking pretense or sham. They were also very mutual. No one was compromised, no one misled.
Thus, his sexual liaisons were restricted to seasoned and unattached women, women who were not only practiced and sophisticated, but who were at least five or six years older than Noelle Bromleigh—and, as a result, knew precisely what they were doing and why.
The irony of his thoughts brought a small smile to Ashford's lips. The fact was that, with the exception of her beauty, Noelle was the utter antithesis of any woman he'd ever been attracted
to, much less pursued.
Attracted to? Hell, his immediate and overwhelming physical, mental, and sexual response to Noelle could hardly be described as attraction. It was more like intoxication.
