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"I appreciate that, sir." With a formal bow, Langley took his leave.
Pierce shot Eric a questioning look. "Shall I tell Noelle you're looking for her?"
An ambivalent pause. "No, I suppose not. Chatting in the hallway is harmless enough."
"Very well." Pierce paused only long enough to caress Daphne's cheek. "I'll only be a minute, Snow Flame."
"Take as much time as you need," his wife returned. "Mr. Blackstreet's business must be pressing if it compelled him to ride here at this late hour and call you away from your guests."
"Yes," Pierce agreed, his gaze holding Daphne's. "It must."
* * *
Chapter 8
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"You're certainly adept at stealing your way into a house," Noelle teased, peering about the hall where she and Ashford now stood, halfway between the entranceway and the ballroom. "You got us in without making a sound or alerting a single guest. Tell me, my lord, does that ability come in handy when you're coming and going from secret ventures?"
Ashford's eyes narrowed. "What does that mean?"
"Women," Noelle supplied, her saucy tone belied by the vulnerability in her eyes. "Do you often steal your way in and out of their chambers?"
He relaxed, giving her a lazy smile. "No."
"I'm glad." She glanced beyond him, watching the guests drift in and out of the ballroom. "Seriously, I'm grateful for your proficiency at making unobserved entrances. With any luck, everyone will assume we've been right here in the hall the entire time."
"By everyone, I assume you mean your father."
"Yes—especially Papa." Noelle chewed h
er lip. "My fingers are crossed. We've been inside for a quarter hour, and there's still no sign of him."
Ashford shrugged, still dubious. "I'd keep them crossed a while longer. My parents might be fascinating conversationalists, but not fascinating enough to cause your father to relinquish his role as your sentry."
"Wherever Papa is, he's not talking with your parents anymore," Noelle amended. "At least not with your father. His Grace left the ballroom not five minutes after we inched our way into the manor."
A heartbeat of a pause. "Yes, I know." Ashford shifted his weight, more than aware of his father's actions, fairly certain of where he was and with whom.
Simultaneous with easing Noelle back into the manor, Ashford had spied Langley making his way to the ballroom—approaching not from the front door but from the rear—doubtless in search of the duke. Clearly he'd located him, because a few minutes later Ashford's father had exited the ballroom, veering off in the direction of his study.
He hadn't yet emerged. Which could mean only one thing: Blackstreet was here. The question was, why? What had their informant come to report?
Another robbery had occurred. Ashford could feel it in his bones. That son of a bitch Baricci had used these days when he knew he was free of scrutiny to plot and steal yet another masterpiece.
Dammit.
"Ashford?" Noelle's questioning voice interrupted his musings, addressing the very subject he himself was contemplating. "I want to discuss my plan to help apprehend Baricci."
"Using Sardo, you mean."
"Yes, using Sardo."
Scowling, Ashford considered the notion for the umpteenth time. It was tempting—very tempting, especially in light of what he surmised was transpiring in his father's study. But no matter how many modifications he made to Noelle's plan, how hard he tried to minimize her involvement, there was no way to use Sardo to their advantage without putting her in the thick of things. And, while Baricci wasn't known to be a violent man, there was no telling how angry he would get if he suspected Noelle was aiding in his capture.
"Tempête, I—" Ashford broke off as he spied his father stride into the hall, scrutinizing the area until he located his son, then weaving his way through the guests.
"My father is about to join us," Ashford advised Noelle tersely. It was all he had the chance to say before Pierce reached their sides.
