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"No." Noelle shook her head. "Frankly, I'm not at all concerned with Mr. Baricci's hopes or his whims. Commissioning this portrait was his idea, not mine. I'm fascinated with the procedure, not with the man who originated it, nor with the olive branch he's extending."
If Sardo were taken aback by the fervor of Noelle's declaration, he gave no overt sign of that fact.
"And with the artist?" he asked instead, ceasing his preparations in order to scrutinize her. "Are you fascinated with him?"
A tiny smile. "How could any woman not be fascinated with you, André? You're incredibly exciting."
"As exciting as Lord Tremlett?"
Noelle feigned surprise. "Lord Tremlett? What made you mention him?"
"I was merely wondering what your relationship was to him. Lord Farrington seemed to think he was the reason you'd been invited to the party at Markham. And the glow in your eyes when you saw the invitation, when you mentioned Tremlett's name…" A shrug. "Forgive my boldness, but I like to know right away if I have competition."
"Competition?" Noelle's delicate brows rose. "Is that your way of saying you're interested in me?"
Sardo gifted her with a dazzling smile. "Interested? That's a passionless choice of words—certainly not the one I would ascribe to my response to you. Enchanted, bewitched, mesmerized—those are more appropriate descriptions for the reactions you inspire. Ah, Noelle." He placed his palette on an end table and walked around front of his easel, not halting until he was but a few feet from the stool. Then he rubbed his palms together and regarded Noelle with a possessive gleam in his eyes. "You're breathtakingly beautiful, spirited, and alluring. Lord Tremlett would be a fool if he didn't want you. The question is, do you want him?"
"Are you asking if Lord Tremlett and I are lovers?"
André looked only mildly surprised by her audacity. "Yes, I am."
"Then the answer is no." Noelle provided him with her rehearsed answer. "We're not lovers. We scarcely know each other. I met him on the railroad, where I trounced him at a game of piquet. My prize was a carriage ride to Mr. Baricci's gallery and another one back to Waterloo Station."
"And during the party at Markham? Surely you spent time with him there."
Noelle shrugged, realizing that to entirely refute Ashford's appeal would sound totally unbelievable, especially to a man like André, who was well practiced in discerning what types of men would be enticing to women. "We chatted a bit, shared several hands of whist and a waltz or two. Lord Tremlett is very charming."
"But…?" Sardo prompted.
"But I'm being brought out in a month," Noelle finished. "At which time I'll be meeting dozens of gentlemen. This is hardly the time for me to become infatuated—especially with a man Papa considers to be a womanizer."
/> "Your father's judgment is sound." Sardo stroked his chin. "From what I've heard, Tremlett treats himself to a wide variety of companions."
"As opposed to you, who would keep himself only to one woman?"
A profound and assessing stare. "If she was the right woman—yes."
"I'm flattered." Noelle tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, leaned forward a tad. "André, may I be honest with you?"
"Of course."
"I said before I didn't care about Mr. Baricci. That's not entirely true. It's just that … well, let's say that he's left me with deep emotional scars. But I would like to know more about him. Does he have any redeeming qualities?"
Sardo seemed pleased by her interest, if somewhat guarded in his reply. "Of course he does. I wouldn't be associated with him otherwise."
"Have you known him long?"
"About six years." André answered with a total ease that belied his earlier wariness, making Noelle wonder if this particular answer were rehearsed. "We met just after I came to London. I left Le Havre and the studio in which I'd been studying in the hopes of finding new inspiration. A mutual friend introduced me to Mr. Baricci, who asked to see my work. He was impressed by its quality and, shortly thereafter, began showing my paintings in his gallery. I've sold five of them thus far. With a modicum of luck, more will follow suit."
"How many of your paintings are displayed in the Franco?"
A careless shrug. "Ten. Twelve. Maybe more. I don't recall the exact number."
That fine tension was back.
"Are there many other competing artists whose works are shown there as well?" Noelle tried.
A mask settled over Sardo's features. "I try not to ponder my competition. It upsets my concentration and makes it difficult for me to work."
