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Noelle was already twisting away. "André—don't."
Sardo smiled, the self-assured smile of a man who knew women, who knew how to transform a "no" to "yes." With calculated precision, he sifted Noelle's hair through his fingers. "Now I have shocked you. Forgive me." He brought the silky strands to his face, inhaled deeply. "Your scent is intoxicating. As intoxicating as your beauty, your innocence. I didn't mean to frighten you, chérie."
"I'm not frightened," she denied, tugging her hair free. "Just startled."
"Don't be startled." He caressed the nape of her neck. "We'll go slowly. As slowly as you like. Just tell me what you want, when you want it, and it's yours."
Noelle took a small backwards step, breaking contact with Sardo. "I can't think when you say such things." She massaged her temples, clearly unnerved by his flagrant advances. "Please, André. No more today."
"Of course not." The look he bestowed upon her was gentle, sympathetic, and he made no move to touch her again. "I have a suggestion. You have a great deal to do today—packing, preparations. Why don't I take my leave now? I'll drop by your Town house in several days and arrange to escort you to the Franco Gallery. How would that be?"
"Perfect." She lowered her lashes. "Thank you for understanding."
"The most precious treasures are those that must be searched for, yearned for, and once found, savored." He captured her hand and pressed a chaste kiss to her knuckles. "I'm a patient man, Noelle. I can wait. Just remember that what you'll experience in my arms you can never find among the cold, passionless members of the ton. No self-contained nobleman or impersonal ball, however glittering, can awaken you as I will. Think about that while you're packing for your London Season."
Noelle's gaze lifted and met Sardo's. "I will."
"Most of all, think about me."
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, giving him a tentative smile. "I already do, André. You're on my mind more than you can imagine."
His answering smile was dazzling. "That fact will sustain me these next few days. And we'll explore it once you reach London."
* * *
Ashford accosted Noelle the instant Sardo left the manor. "I don't know who to kill first, you or that lecherous snake," he ground out, his eyes ablaze. "What the hell were you thinking, enticing him to take you to Baricci's gallery? How am I supposed to protect you on that risk
y jaunt? I'm a bit too large to fit in your mantle pocket, or hadn't you noticed?"
Noelle's lips twitched, and she folded her arms across her breasts. "Honestly, Ashford. For a man who swears he never loses control, you bellow like a wounded animal every time André comes near me."
"Near you? Near you? Do you call the way he just devoured your mouth coming near you?"
An impish grin. "Don't worry. You're a far better kisser than he is."
Ashford's eyes narrowed menacingly. "Noelle, don't push me."
"Very well," she sighed. "The reason I suggested the tour of the gallery was to see if I could determine what other artists paint for Baricci. André certainly didn't want to discuss the topic when I broached it head-on. So I thought perhaps the subtle approach would be more successful."
She leaned forward excitedly, warming to her own scheme. "I'll stroll about the gallery, lovingly scrutinize every painting André created, and extol his artistic genius. Conversely, I'll comment upon the obvious inferiority of those paintings that aren't his. During the course of our conversation, I'm sure I can prompt him into uttering the names of some of those mediocre artists—names I'll eventually pass on to you for investigation. Who knows? Maybe we'll find that one or two of them have been supplying Mr. Baricci with more than just their own paintings."
"I've already checked out the other artists whose works have come and gone from Baricci's gallery," Ashford informed her. "At least those whose signatures were or are visible."
"But there were some signatures you couldn't make out?" Noelle probed.
"Seven or eight of them over the past year," he admitted. "Those were either missing or scrawled so far in the corners that the frames conceal them."
"Then you'll describe those paintings to me, tell me where in the gallery they're located. I'll concentrate on them."
"No, you'll concentrate on Lady Mannering's maid. I'll handle the gallery."
"If you could handle the gallery, you would have done so already," Noelle assessed shrewdly. "The truth is, there's no realistic way for you to get the missing information we need. If you walk up to Mr. Williams and ask him for the names of the artists whose signatures are concealed, do you really think he'll merely provide you with them, assume it's passing interest on your part?"
Ashford's jaw set. "No. But if you think he won't be wary of you, won't watch your every move, then you're mistaken."
"Of course I realize he'll be eyeing me like a hawk. But I'll do nothing to arouse his suspicions. Remember, I won't be requesting inflammatory information—at least not from him. I'll simply be wandering about the gallery, hanging onto André's arm and admiring the Franco's extensive collection. Also, remember that whatever reports Baricci has received thus far have shown me to be putty in André's hands. As for my relationship with you—whether personal or conspiratorial—it's nil. André believes I'm falling desperately in love with him—a fact he'll have boasted about to Baricci and to Williams. So they might be wary of me, but they'll have no basis for apprehension. As a result, I'm far more likely than you to find out something."
Noelle tossed Ashford a saucy grin. "And who knows? Perhaps I'll spy the Rembrandt peeking out of a closet somewhere."
