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"I agree the close quarters of our Town house will be good for dampening his ardor," Eric muttered thoughtfully. He shot a quick, knowing glance at Noelle. "Although I do realize that has little to do with your eagerness to go and much more to do with providing me an excellent reason why you should." Having made that accurate assessment, Eric folded his arms across his chest, dismissing Noelle's attempt to best him and keeping to the issue at hand. "Still, even though you're far more intrigued by the prospect of talking to Lady Mannering's maid than you are by the notion of deterring Sardo, our traveling to London will accomplish just that. Unless he uses this as an opportunity to drop by for a ceaseless number of visits."
"I considered that," Ashford put in, duly impressed by Eric's insight into Noelle. "But even if he does, it's still preferable to his unexpected visits to Farrington. When he rides out here, he uses the distance as his excuse to remain in Dorsetshire for hours, even days. But in London, he has no excuse for lingering when it's time to go home—not when home is but a few miles away."
"True." Eric nodded. "Getting rid of him will be far easier in that sense. Very well, that takes care of my first concern. Then there's my second."
"Baricci," Ashford supplied, "and his proximity."
"Exactly. How do we know that blackguard won't try to make direct contact with Noelle once he knows she's right there in London?"
"We don't. But what would he hope to gain by doing so? He couldn't very well show up on your doorstep; he knows damned well you'd never agree to let him see Noelle. As for the prospect of Noelle going to him, maybe responding to a persuasive letter from her sire, why would he expect that—at least at this point? Sardo has yet to win her over. So, Baricci has no reason to expect that Noelle's feelings towards him have changed.
"But for the sake of supposition, let's take the opposite point of view. Let's say Baricci does intend to contact Noelle once she reaches London. If so, we might as well find out now. Because the Season will be commencing in a matter of weeks, by which time Noelle will definitely have arrived in Town. And Baricci knows it."
Eric frowned, pondering Ashford's irrefutable logic. "I realize you're right, but that doesn't stop me from worrying,"
"I vowed to protect Noelle, Lord Farrington," Ashford reiterated quietly. "And I intend to keep that vow."
Some of Ashford's intensity must have conveyed itself to Eric, because he turned, meeting the younger man's gaze before nodding, a flicker of awareness in his eyes. "I believe you will." He cleared his throat. "It's agreed then. We'll begin packing tomorrow, right after Noelle's sitting. The following day, we'll leave for London."
"Wonderful!" Noelle hugged her father.
"I wonder how Sardo will react to this bit of news," Ashford commented aloud. "He certainly won't appreciate relinquishing the privacy afforded him at Farrington Manor. On the other hand, he'll realize just what we did: that he'll be in closer proximity to Noelle, better able to press his suit more frequently and, in his mind, with a better degree of success."
"We'll soon find out," Noelle replied. "I'll tell him tomorrow."
* * *
André's reaction was astonishment.
In the process of cleaning up, he lowered his palette, his dark brows arching in surprise. "London? So soon?"
"Yes." Noelle nodded, leaping lightly down from her stool. "According to Mama, we have days of shopping yet to do, and several trips to make to the modiste. My Court presentation is mere weeks away. I've got to be ready."
Concern flickered in Sardo's eyes. "This doesn't mean we're abandoning the painting of your portrait, does it?"
"Of course not. We're just changing the address where our creative sessions will take place." Noelle walked over, touched André's arm lightly. "You'll love our Town house sitting room. It's sunny and light and infinitely cozier than this one is. I'm sure you'll feel greatly inspired there."
He captured her fingers, brought them to his mouth. "If you're there, I'm sure I will."
"I have a splendid idea!" Noelle proclaimed in an exhilarated tone that made Ashford tense beneath the ledge. She was up to something—something he knew instinctively he was not going to like.
Her next words confirmed it.
"André, I know you're terribly busy, and Lord knows I'll be exhausted from a constant stream of parties, but maybe when I get to London we could find time for you to escort me to the Franco Gallery and show me around. I've only been there once, and I barely caught a glimpse of the paintings that were on display. I'd love a guided tour—not to mention a chance to see which of those creations are yours. Would you be willing?"
"Chérie, I'd be willing to take you anywhere, anytime." Sardo's evocative reply had that muffled quality again, and Ashford gritted his teeth, wondering where the hell the bastard's lips were this time.
He crept forward, peeked around the sofa's corner, and saw Sardo kissing the inside of Noelle's wrist.
"Then we can go?" she asked.
"The instant you arrive in Town." Sardo's lips shifted upwards to her forearm, then to the curve of her neck. "And afterwards, we can send Grace off on an errand, go somewhere we can be alone." He raised his head, gazed deeply into her eyes. "Does that notion shock you?"
Noelle wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. "Shock me? No. But I don't think—"
Her words were silenced by Sardo's mouth, a persuasive kiss that was clearly the prelude to something more.
Irrational fury exploded in Ashford's skull, and it took every shred of his self-control not to lunge forward and beat Sardo senseless.
