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Ashford stopped in his tracks, dragging Noelle to a halt. "Baricci sent Sardo to Farrington?"
"My reaction precisely." Noelle tucked a blowing strand of hair behind her ear. "Ashford, I'm sure Baricci has some ulterior motive for wanting André at Farrington. What that motive is—well, I'd be willing to wager a guess. We know Baricci is terrified of what your investigation will uncover. Perhaps he doubted my claim that you and I were virtual strangers. If that's the case and he still believes we're lovers, he might very well assume I can provide him with information about your search into the missing paintings—information I inadvertently acquired during one of our…"—an impishly suggestive bat of her lashes—"passionate interludes."
Ashford didn't share her amusement. "I don't like this," he muttered. "Whatever the hell Baricci is mixed up in, he's involving you. You're damned right that Sardo's showing up on your doorstep when he did was no coincidence."
"Not to mention that, if I'm also right about Baricci's plan hinging on the existence of a liaison between you and me, André stumbled upon a welcome bit of news during his first trip to Farrington—news I'm certain he dashed right off to tell Baricci."
"What news?"
"As luck would have it, André was in the sitting room with Papa and me when your parents' invitation arrived. Papa all but read it aloud, at my urging, of course."
"You baited him." Ashford's scowl deepened. "You deliberately let Sardo know you'd be at Markham."
"At Markham—with you," Noelle clarified. "Don't look so grim. It was an ideal way to encourage Baricci's thinking—and his subsequent actions. Now that he's more convinced than ever of our involvement, he'll send André back to Farrington frequently to ply me for information. Knowing the way Baricci thinks, I'm sure he expects I'll be putty in André's hands. I am, after all, a mere woman, ripe prey for any man." A sparkle glittered in Noelle's sapphire eyes. "On the other hand, perhaps I'll surprise them. Perhaps it will be André who is putty in my hands. Without his knowing it, of course. Just think of all the details I could learn, all the falsehoods I could pass on to divert Baricci from the truth."
"Noelle, stop it," Ashford commanded, his grip on her arm unconsciously tightening. "This is not a game. You have no idea what you're dealing with."
"Maybe not. But I have an excellent idea what I could accomplish by using this situation to our advantage. I could implement Baricci's very tactics, only in reverse, delicately prying information out of André, while at the same time misleading him with whatever contrived particulars you and I have conveniently arranged for me to let slip. And danger? Even if there is danger involved, it emanates from Baricci, so it won't affect me. After all, he's not the one visiting Farrington—André is. Believe me, André is nothing like his employer. Truly, Ashford, I think your concerns, though touching, are unfounded—not to mention that they pale beside the possible benefits of my plan. André is a bit intense, I admit, but he is sincere about his work. And he is, as you said, a fine artist."
"André?" Ashford bit out, emphasizing Noelle's use of the artist's given name. "Noelle, let me tell you something else about your artist friend. The man might be sincere about his work, but he's a libertine of the worst kind. He's had more women—"
"Than you have?" Noelle supplied helpfully. "I rather suspected as much, given the charm he exudes." She grinned. "Chloe was quite taken with him."
"Are you intentionally trying to make me jealous? Because if so, you can stop. You've succeeded."
"I was only teasing you. Be that as it may, I'm still pleased to hear you're jealous."
"I'm sure you are. But it's more than mere jealousy I'm experiencing, Noelle. It's worry—not just unease, worry. I agree that the real danger comes from Baricci himself. Still, if Sardo is working for Baricci—and I don't mean in his gallery—then he's not just an honest, poverty-stricken artist. He's an extension of Baricci: in this case, his eyes and his ears. And the person he's being paid to scrutinize is you." Ashford paused, deep in thought. "How much of this situation have you divulged to your father?"
"To Papa?" Noelle's expression was incredulous. "None of it. If I told him my suspicions, André would be banished from Farrington, and you and I would be losing this golden opportunity to acquire implicating evidence on Baricci Papa knows only that we're aiding a poor man in his quest for work." She pressed her lips together, trying to read Ashford's mind. "Don't let your gallantry overrule your common sense. You need proof to convict that scoundrel. I can help you get that proof. I realize we have yet to map out the exact details, but you know as well as I do that my sittings with André might prove invaluable. They could be your only chance of getting at Baricci. Consider it: while Baricci is concentrating on thwarting you, eluding detection, I'll be delving for facts to ensure his downfall. And who knows? I just might find them."
"I don't doubt that for a minute," Ashford retorted. "However, your logic does nothing to lessen my unease about your safety. So, tempting though it might be—"
"Speaking of tempting, we'd best get inside," Noelle inserted quickly, sensing that Ashford was about to dash her plan to ribbons—and nipping that prospect in the bud. "I'm sure Papa is pacing the floors by now, awaiting our return. Not to mention that the whist games are probably already under way." She stood on tiptoe, brushed her lips across Ashford's. "Think about it," she advised, flashing him a bright, impish grin. "You can make your decision after I've divested you of your gambling funds."
* * *
Chapter 7
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"Ah, André. Come in." Baricci frowned at his necktie, trying to decide if it was worth retying in order to eliminate that one stubborn wrinkle. In the end, he did, smoothing the white silk until it lay just so.
"You look elegant," André noted, his dark brows arching in surprise as he stepped inside Baricci's office. "Here I thought you'd summoned me to discuss my next assignment—or your next robbery. Instead I find you clad in formal evening attire. Clearly, you're going out." An amused look. "Am I invited?"
"I think not," Baricci replied with a tight-lipped smile. "The plans I have in mind for tonight are most definitely for two."
"I'm envious." André shut the door and leaned back against it, idly watching Baricci slip on his white gloves.
"With a different woman ea
ch night and my lovely Noelle soon to return from Northampton? Somehow I doubt that, André." Baricci angled his head, studying his reflection in the looking glass he kept on hand for occasions such as this. "Excellent," he pronounced with a nod of approval.
"Who is she?" André inquired.
"A rare and delectable beauty."
Baricci's evasiveness was not lost on André. "A rare, delectable, and married beauty would be my guess," he ventured shrewdly.
