by Andrea Kane
"I suspect one of those arms will soon be free," Eric returned quietly, his observation meant for Brigitte's ears alone.
His wife gave a profound shake of her head. "Never free, my darling. Just shared. Which is as it should be—as it must be. But remember, your other arm is permanently taken." She pressed her lips into his palm. "As is the rest of you."
Their gazes locked, and Eric swallowed, absorbing Brigitte's implicit message, slowly nodding his understanding.
"I'll try," he promised roughly.
"I know you will."
With that, Brigitte directed her attention back to Noelle, who'd used this moment in which her parents were privately chatting to step closer to the ballroom doorway. Now she hovered on its threshold, peering inside and intently studying the throngs of people.
"Are you ready to be announced?" her mother inquired. Noelle was too engrossed in her search to hear, much less to reply.
"He's over by the punch," Brigitte supplied helpfully. "With his sister," she added, spying the laughing woman by Ashford's side.
Sheepishly, Noelle lowered her lashes. "Am I that obvious?"
"Yes," Eric confirmed.
"No." Brigitte tossed her husband an Eric-you-promised look. "Only Papa and I see it, because we know you so well."
"Chloe, too," Noelle confessed. "She says I glow when I talk about him. I don't mean to, but I suppose I do." A quick, worried look at Eric. "You do like him better now, don't you, Papa?"
Eric pressed his lips together, battling back the paternal voice inside him that urged him to damn his good intentions to hell, to deny her claim, and to safeguard his little girl.
The problem with heeding that voice was threefold.
First and foremost, he'd just made a vow to Brigitte, a vow to try to be a little less overprotective with regard to Noelle.
Second, he'd be lying. He did like Ashford Thornton. After three days of talking with—and scrutinizing—the man, Eric was convinced that Ashford was decent, principled, and dedicated to his family. In fact, the only glaringly unfavorable trait about the earl was his obvious attraction to Noelle—an attraction that Ashford kept carefully in check but which was indisputably visible to Eric, not only because he was a man but because he was Noelle's father.
And last, but certainly not least, was the third reason Eric couldn't deny Noelle's claim—a reason he couldn't blame on Ashford Thornton, but on life itself. Quite simply, he mused with more than a twinge of regret, Brigitte was right. The little girl he still longed to safeguard was no more.
Sometime between a heartbeat ago and now, she had become a woman.
"Papa?" Noelle repeated, an earnest pucker forming between her brows.
"Yes, Noelle, I like him better now," Eric replied, automatically smoothing the pucker away with his forefinger. "And apparently so do you." A swift intake of breath. "All I ask is that you temper your fascination with the earl until you've had the opportunity to meet a few other gentlemen—and until you have a better idea what Lord Tremlett's intentions towards you are."
"Speaking of Lord Tremlett's intentions, we'd best hurry and have ourselves announced," Brigitte inserted. "The earl spied us about ten seconds ago. He's on his way over."
Noelle's head whipped around, and she watched as Ashford wove his way through the crowd, his gaze fixed purposefully on her.
He halted several yards away, waiting politely while Eric guided his family forward.
"Lord and Lady Farrington, and Lady Noelle," the footman heralded their entrance.
"Nice of you to wait, Tremlett," Eric informed Ashford dryly as they encountered him a dozens steps later. "I was half-afraid you intended to accost us in the doorway."
Noelle almost groaned aloud.
Ashford, on the other hand, looked amused, a corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. "Accosting is not my forte, sir. You have my word on that." He turned to bow to Brigitte. "Lady Farrington, you look lovely."
"Thank you, my lord." Brigitte acknowledged the compliment graciously, then glanced about the room. "How elegant everything looks. Your parents should be commended—this entire event, all three days, have been delightful."
"I'm glad you enjoyed yourselves. Yes, Mother works endlessly planning this event each year. And I'm proud to say that thousands of pounds are always raised. In fact," Ashford added with great satisfaction, "Father tells me we've exceeded last year's donations by over ten thousand pounds. I needn't tell you what a difference that will make to some needy parishes."
"No, you needn't." Brigitte's eyes grew damp. "God bless your parents. They're quite remarkable."
"I agree." Ashford's gaze shifted to Noelle, unconcealed admiration and approval registering on his face. "Good evening, Lady Noelle." His gaze swept her from head to toe. "You look breathtaking."
So do you. Noelle wanted to say, unable to tear her eyes off him. He looked striking, magnificent, his black wool suit and white silk waistcoat fitting him to perfection, the essence of elegance—yet worn with that irreverent air that was Ashford. He was all polished charm and propriety.
Beneath which lay that heated charisma that made Noelle's breath catch, made everything inside her melt and slide down to her toes.
"Lord Farrington, may I have the honor of dancing with your daughter?" he was asking, still drinking in Noelle with his eyes.
The barest pause. Then: "Yes, Tremlett, you may."
Noelle glanced gratefully at her father. "Thank you, Papa," she murmured.
She placed her hand in Ashford's, letting him lead her onto the floor and into a waltz.
"My first ball," Noelle pronounced, excitement singing through her. She peered about, then lifted her enchanted gaze to Ashford's. "And you're my first partner."
"Good," he returned fervently, those compelling orange sparks flaring in his eyes. "I want to be your first at everything."
She swallowed. "So far, you have been."
"I know." His jaw set, and his heated stare swept over her with restless intensity as he whirled her about the room. "You have no idea how beautiful you look tonight."
"It only seems that way because you haven't seen me—other than from a distance—in days, since I trounced you at the whist table three nights ago, in fact. Ever since then, you've either been horse racing, playing billiards, or—"
"Indulging in fantasies about you," he finished for her.
Noelle missed a step. "Have you?"
"Constantly." Ashford's hand tightened about her waist, easing her back into the rhythm of the waltz. "The Season hasn't even begun, and already I want to kill every man who so much as approaches you."
Noelle wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. "What a coincidence. So does Papa."
"Not for the same reason, I assure you." Ashford's gloved fingers caressed hers. "Speaking of your father, he's still watching us."
"How do you know that? You haven't looked away from me for an instant."
"Pure instinct. I sense his scrutiny." A quick glance over Noelle's head. "Ah, good. Your mother is guiding him over to speak with my parents. The moment they're immersed in conversation, you and I are slipping away. We have some unfinished business to attend to." A pause. "And I don't only mean verbal business. If I don't feel you against me, I'm going to explode."
Noelle sucked in her breath, Ashford's declaration surging through her like a fiery wave. "I feel the same way," she admitted. "Not to mention that it's our last chance to be alone together. My family is leaving Markham early tomorrow morning. And once we're back at Farrington Manor—"
"Don't even think of saying we can't see each other until after your court presentation," Ashford ordered, "because I don't intend to accept that—not anymore."
"You never did," Noelle reminded him with a hint of a smile. "Nor did I want you to. And now—after these past few days? I wouldn't consider suggesting you stay away for five long weeks. Any more than I expect that you would. I know how resourceful you can be, and I didn't doubt you'd find a way to visit
me. What I was going to say was that we'll be hard-pressed to find time alone. Grace was blessedly absent from this excursion, thanks to Papa's decision that only the four of us travel to Markham. But normally? My overbearing lady's maid watches me like a hawk."
"Yes, I recall." Ashford didn't look the slightest bit concerned. "But that won't deter me. As you just pointed out, I'm very resourceful. Especially when it comes to something I want badly."
"Something you want badly—do I fall into that category?"
A corner of his mouth lifted. "Without question."
Noelle inclined her head, tossing him a saucy look. "I know a most plausible excuse you could provide for visiting Farrington. Just tell Papa you need to see me in order to negotiate a way to recoup your gambling losses. Juliet and I did divest you and Carston of several hundred pounds apiece at the whist table."
"Don't remind me. My sister will never let me forget your victory. She'll forever throw it in my face."
"If she forgets to do so, I'll remember," Noelle assured him. "You really are a very good whist player," she added consolingly. "Just not good enough."
"So you demonstrated."
"Wasn't it cordial of your brothers to bet on me?" Noelle continued, her expression innocent. "After all, Juliet is their sister and they know how skilled she is, but I was a total stranger. A total stranger they've been warned not to so much as glance at, for fear of their lives. Yet, they placed all their wagers—"
"Enough." Laughter danced in Ashford's eyes. "It's a good thing all your winnings went to charity. Otherwise, my pride would be in complete shambles."
"Charity or not, I still won. So your pride should be no less shattered."
A chuckle. "You're impossible, tempête. But revel while you can. I'll get even—when you least expect it."
"I'm counting on that."
All humor faded away, along with the final strains of the waltz.
"Our parents are in deep discussion," Ashford noted with a satisfied nod. "Let's go."
He didn't wait for an answer, just guided her through the throng of people and out into the hall. There he veered sharply to the right, away from the crowd, and led Noelle a short distance away, to a quiet and unoccupied anteroom.
The door shut behind them with a quiet click.
"We're alone," Ashford said softly. "Also, we have a perfect avenue of escape." He pointed across the room, where a set of French doors led out to the grounds. "That's why I chose this particular anteroom. If we hear someone coming, we'll simply slip outside, walk around, then reenter the manor from the front. Everyone will think we were milling about inside the entranceway."
"It's the dead of winter. We might freeze," Noelle managed, anticipation already coursing through her.
"Somehow I doubt that."
"So do I."
Ashford tipped up her chin with his forefinger. "Would you prefer to first finish our conversation of the other night?"
"No." Noelle smoothed her palms up his coat, stepping closer as she spoke. "Much as I want to resolve the issue of Baricci, it can wait. We don't know how much time we'll have before we're interrupted. If worse comes to worse, we can finish our conversation in public. We'll simply find a private corner in which to conduct it. But some things cannot be done in public. So let's not lose this opportunity."
"My sentiments exactly." Ashford was already capturing her arms, bringing them around his neck. "Noelle, I can't stop thinking about you," he muttered, lowering his mouth to hers. "About you—and about this."
His kiss was slow and hot and deep, and Noelle shivered beneath its onslaught. Sensations erupted instantly, Ashford's tongue possessing hers with purposeful strokes, his lips moving with blazing intensity as they seared hers. Noelle met his fervor with her own, sharing each hungry caress, each urgent fusion of their mouths. Her lips molded to his, her tongue eagerly receiving his ardent strokes, then gliding forward to initiate her own.
With a husky sound of pleasure, Ashford lifted her up and into him, pressing the contours of their bodies closer even as he deepened the kiss. His hand cupped her breast, caressed it through the fine velvet of her gown, and her nipple responded instantly, budding and swelling beneath his touch.
Noelle whimpered, pressing closer to his fingers, a thousand tiny sunbursts of sensation shimmering inside her. "Don't stop," she whispered. "Please."
"I can't." Ashford was shaking. His hands slid down to cup her bottom, to lift her more fully against him. He made a frustrated sound as he encountered the layers of clothing that prevented the contact he so desperately craved.
A brief, internal struggle ensued—a struggle he lost.
"Only for a minute," he muttered in capitulation, striding across the room, Noelle in his arms. "One unforgettable, unbelievable minute." He lowered her to the sofa, covering her with himself, shuddering with pleasure even as he resumed their kiss.
The sensation of Ashford's weight upon hers was almost too thrilling to bear. Noelle moaned softly, opening her mouth to his, her hands gliding beneath his coat, slipping beneath his waistcoat, eager to get as close to the warmth of his skin as possible.
Ashford tore his mouth away, his kisses blazing down her neck, her throat, her shoulders. His fingers were already dispensing with the top buttons of her gown, and he spread the material wide. Wordlessly, he bent to capture her nipple through the thin silk of her chemise, tugging it between his lips, wetting it with the tip of his tongue.
"Oh…" Noelle wondered if she were dying. Fire shot from her breasts to her loins, and her hips lifted, pushing her against the hardened contours of Ashford's lower body.
He went rigid, currents of desire shooting through him, a self-propelled energy she could actually feel.
"We've … got … to stop." Even as he spoke, Ashford was untying the ribbons of her chemise, so lost to his passion he hardly knew what he was saying.
"We will," Noelle gasped, tossing her head impatiently as she waited for him to complete his task. "But first—touch me."
"Noelle … dammit, I can't let this happen." Her breasts spilled into his hands, and his words died on his lips, his breathing suspended as he gazed down at her. "God, you're so beautiful." He lowered his head, nuzzled her gently, his lips feathering over her warm skin, pausing at one aching peak.
Noelle whimpered his name.
"I know," he muttered. "If I don't taste you, I'll die." His lips closed around her nipple, tugging it into the cavern of his mouth, his tongue lashing across it with heated purpose.
"Oh … God." She cradled his head in her hands, every inch of her on fire, lost to the world, to reality, to everything except Ashford.
He shifted to her other breast, lavishing it with the same attentions as he had the first, his hand taking over where his mouth had just been, his palm cupping her, his thumb circling the damp nipple. "I've got to be inside you," he rasped, grasping handfuls of her gown, his thighs rigid as they pressed hers apart. "Noelle … I've got to…"
Approaching voices intruded, shattering their exquisite moment of nonreality, splashing ice water over their heated senses.
"Dammit." Ashford's head came up, and his eyes narrowed as he regained his wits and assessed the proximity of their visitors all at once.
"Come on." He bolted to his feet, pulling Noelle up beside him. Swiftly, he retied the ribbons of her chemise and rebuttoned her gown, completing his tasks even before she'd managed to form a coherent thought.
Seizing her hand, Ashford strode over to the French doors, pausing only long enough to yank them open and ease Noelle and himself outside.
A blast of cold air slapped Noelle, and she shivered, wrapping her arms about herself and watching numbly as Ashford shut the doors, then grabbed her arm and propelled her away.
He didn't stop until they were out of view.
Then he halted.
"Tempête?" he murmured, tilting up her chin so he could study her face. Whatever he saw there seemed to disturb him. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry. So bloody sorry.
" He enfolded her in his arms, holding her close, and Noelle noticed vaguely that he was trembling—but whether it was from the cold or from what had just happened between them, she wasn't certain.
"Noelle?" His expression was hard, grim, and Noelle realized with a start of surprise that, despite the gentleness of his tone, he was angry. Very angry.
"I…" She tried to stop her teeth from chattering. "Was that Papa we heard?"
"I don't think so. None of the voices was deep enough to be his."
"Did whoever it was see us?"
"No. The anteroom door hadn't even opened when we dropped out of sight."
"Then why are you so furious?" Noelle's brows knit, her mind searching for an answer. "Before we were interrupted … well, it seemed to me you were enjoying yourself—or am I wrong?"
"Are you—?" Ashford's mouth snapped shut, his breath expelling on a hiss. "I was much more than enjoying myself," he replied tersely. "I was lost to some unknown, euphoric madness. Hell. I was on the verge of making love to you on an anteroom sofa in my parents' house with the entire ton frolicking just outside. That's how much I was enjoying myself."
He gripped Noelle's shoulders, his palms rubbing warmth back into her—a tender motion that belied the harshness of his tone. "Noelle, let me tell you some things about myself. I don't lose control. I don't act before I think. I don't take stupid chances. I don't compromise my principles. And I never, ever put anyone other than myself at risk. Well, I've just disproved every one of those facts. So am I furious? You're damned right I am. But not at you. At myself."
Slowly comprehension dawned, and Noelle's muddled thoughts and emotions began to right themselves. "Oh." She gave him a small, shaky smile. "I'm sorry to hear that. Because I'm not furious at you. Quite the opposite, in fact. I'm floating on the most magnificent cloud I could ever imagine. And you're the cause of that cloud, the man who created it for me. So how could I be angry? What's more, how can you be?"
