The Theft

by Andrea Kane

  Noelle flung another caustic glance at Ashford, who had now recovered himself and was bending over the horse's hoof. "Have you removed it yet, you dolt?" she barked.

  "Yes, my dear." Ashford sounded strained—a condition Noelle suspected he didn't have to feign. "I have it." He stood, tossing the imaginary stone to the roadside. "He's as good as new."

  "Well, it's about time." With a piqued sniff, Noelle turned back to the constable, whose suspicious expression had transformed to one of consummate pity—not for Noelle, but for Ashford. "If you would please provide my witless husband with directions, I'd be entirely in your debt, and we can finally be on our way—the right way."

  "Yes, ma'am." The constable tipped his hat, gazing at her with visible distaste. "I'd be glad to."

  "Thank you." Swishing about, Noelle marched over to the phaeton, waiting pointedly for Ashford to assist her in alighting. Once he complied—his biting grip an indication of his true state of mind—she crowded into the far corner of the front seat. Using her heel, she wedged between her feet the mask and what turned out to be a bag, not a case, of money. Then she folded her hands primly in her lap and stared straight ahead.

  "I wouldn't blame you if you left her here, sir," she heard the constable whisper.

  "I'm glad you understand," Ashford responded flatly.

  "Oh, I understand all right. I've got one just like her at home. It's a married man's curse." He sighed and patted Ashford's shoulder, raising his voice to a normal tone. "Now, let me give you the fastest route back to the West End."

  Three minutes later, Ashford climbed into the phaeton, waved appreciatively at the constable, and guided their horse onto the road.

  Silence prevailed, during which time Noelle cast a furtive glance at Ashford, hoping to see gratitude on his face.

  She didn't.

  In fact, his jaw was clenched so tight, she feared it would snap.

  "I think it's safe now," she ventured at last, when the East End had long since been left behind and home was mere minutes away.

  "Is it?" Ashford ground out. "I wouldn't bet on it. In fact, if I were you I'd be more frightened by me than you were by those murderers and thieves. Because right about now I feel capable of doing almost anything."

  Noelle swallowed. "Where are you taking me?"

  "Why? Afraid I might kill you—as I did Lady Mannering?" He shot her a fierce sideways look. "Or hasn't that brilliant mind of yours gotten that far yet?"

  "It has," she reassured him. "But I rejected the notion the instant it occurred. It's preposterous."

  "Oh, is it? Why? I'm an expert rider. And I had more than enough time to leave Markham while my parents' guests slept, ride to London, steal and kill, and return to the party before I was missed."

  Ashford's caustic words sent a shiver through Noelle—though not because she believed there was a shred of truth in them. No, it was his tone, low and menacing, filled with accusation and fury that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

  "That's not why I deemed the idea preposterous," she informed him, trying to abate his rage with a confirmation of her faith. "I don't believe you're a murderer, Ashford. You're too fine a man to take another person's life. So there's no point in goading me as punishment for my interference."

  "Goading you—is that what I'm doing? How very brave an assumption, given all you've witnessed tonight. But, tell me, if I'm such a fine man, how do you explain everything I did these past few hours?"

  "I can't. Only you can." She inclined her head in his direction. "In fact, that's exactly what I'm waiting for you to do."

  "Then you haven't long to wait."

  Noelle glanced up, realized they were turning onto Bond Street, at the far end of which Ashford lived. "We're going to your house."

  A hard nod. "But don't let that ease your fears. There are no servants at home to rescue you. They were all sent away tonight—for obvious reasons."

  "So we'll be alone." Despite all that had just transpired, all that was still transpiring, Noelle felt herself tingle at the concept.

  "Yes." Ashford halted before his gates, jumped out of the phaeton to yank them open. "Drive through," he ordered Noelle.

  Silently, she complied, waiting until he'd shut the gates behind them and returned to climb into the carriage.

  "Yes, we'll be alone," he repeated, urging his horse around the drive. "Until your father discovers you're missing and charges over to shoot me. Of course, I might already have done you in by then."

  "Ashford—don't." Noelle lay her hand on his arm. That simple contact—and the dam burst. Swerving to the edge of the drive, Ashford brought the phaeton to an abrupt stop. He jerked around, grabbing Noelle's shoulders and hauling her nearly out of her seat. "What the hell were you doing back there?" he demanded in a voice that slashed through her like a knife. "What possessed you? Have you any idea…?" He stopped, drew a harsh breath. "Damn it, Noelle. God dammit."

  He released her shoulders—but only long enough to vault from the carriage, then snake an arm about her waist, hoisting her out and holding her against him. He stalked around, leaned into the phaeton to scoop up the mask and bag with his other hand, then strode up to his front door. He opened it in one smooth motion, hauling Noelle inside and slamming the door behind them.

  The entranceway was dark, as deserted as he'd claimed. Ashford flung the bag and mask aside. "Now," he began, turning to plant one arm on either side of Noelle's head, his palms flattened against the wall, effectively trapping her. "How dangerous have you decided I am? Because I'm only just realizing I'm more lethal than even I suspected."

  Staring up into Ashford's face, Noelle saw the depth of his rage and knew she should be terrified. His eyes raked her with sparks of fire, burned through her like the tiny orange flames that blazed in their depths. A vein in his forehead stood out, and the muscle in his jaw worked furiously, pulsing its way down to the grim line of his mouth. He was another person right now, someone she didn't recognize. He was more unnerving than anyone she'd ever faced. Oh, she'd seen glimpses of this side of him—the coiled intensity that emerged when he spoke of Baricci or of André. But he'd never before turned that intensity on her, other than in passion. Still, she'd always known it was there: powerful, disconcerting, yet carefully leashed, monitored by self-discipline.

  That was Ashford: leashed power and overwhelming magnetism.

  Except that the magnetism was abandoned now, as was the self-discipline, supplanted by a raging torrent of anger. He looked livid enough to choke her with his bare hands.

  Yes, she should be terrified.

  But she wasn't.

  Partly because she understood the basis for his rage; partly because, in the end, she did recognize him after all.

  And mostly because she loved him.

  "You're not dangerous," she replied softly.

  "No?" Ashford's eyes narrowed into fiery opalescent slits. "Are you sure?"

  "Yes." She never flinched from his gaze. "Very sure. You're not dangerous. You're frightened. Not for yourself, for me. You're also not used to losing control like this—which frightens you even more. I understand, Ashford." She leaned up, brushed her lips across his chin. "I was terrified for you, too."

  A harsh groan tore from his chest, and his arms flexed, dropped to her shoulders, then down to her waist. He pulled her into his arms, lowered his head to devour her mouth with his. "God, if anything had happened to you…" He kissed her deeply, savagely, his tongue sweeping inside to mate with hers. He was shaking, the energy that had consumed him now transforming to something else, something Noelle recognized and yearned for as much as he.

  "I'm fine." She twined her arms about his neck, pressed as close as she could, and met the hunger of his kisses with her own. "I'm here. You're here. It's over."

  "No." He unfastened her mantle, let it drop to the floor. His mouth moved greedily down her throat, her neck, his entire body shuddering with an urgency that pulsed through him, coursed through them both, until it fill
ed every particle of space, pervaded every raw emotion. "It isn't over. Not yet. Not until this."

  His mouth captured hers again, moving back and forth in relentless possession. He sought her tongue, her breath, lifting her higher and crushing her lower body to his.

  Noelle's heart was slamming against her ribs, her head swimming with sensation. She realized, with whatever final vestiges of reason she possessed, that Ashford was cementing his decision, sealing his resolution with the entirety he'd promised her. And, oh, how she wanted that, wanted that with every fiber of her being.

  He was all she'd professed him to be: decent and honorable; not guiltless, perhaps, but still the very finest of men. He'd stolen that painting, yes. But there was a reason for it. And whatever that reason was, he'd tell her—later. For now, all that mattered was that she was here with him, that they belonged together, and that this culmination was as right as dawn melding with day.

  She needed to show him.

  Brimming with emotion, Noelle threw herself into the moment. She met Ashford's desire with her own, caressing the nape of his neck, gliding her tongue into the warm recesses of his mouth, and telling him without words all she felt.

  He understood. His groan vibrated through her, and the world tilted askew as he swept her into his arms, carried her down the hall and into his sitting room. He lowered her onto the settee, coming down over her and giving her his full weight as he continued devouring her mouth with his.

  Had anything ever felt this good? Noelle wondered, wrapping her arms around his back. She doubted it. Nothing could feel this right, this wonderful, this unbearably erotic.

  Pulses racing, Noelle lifted her hips, pressed herself against Ashford's rigid erection, intensifying the exquisite pressure building between them, their bodies separated only by frustrating layers of clothing.

  "Noelle." Ashford muttered her name thickly, his hands balled into fists above her head, depressing the cushions as he nudged her thighs apart, settled himself between them. His mouth was traveling again, tasting her cheeks, the delicate line of her jaw, the pulse fluttering at her neck. "We need to talk. I have to explain…"

  "You will. Later." She shook her head when he hesitated, met his burning gaze with her own. "I know all I need to for now. Ashford, please … don't stop."

  A harsh growl escaped him, and he buried his lips in her throat. "I don't think I can."

  "Good." Noelle arched her neck to give him free rein, and he took it, his hands shifting to drag her gown off her shoulders. His mouth moved lower, his lips devouring every inch of exposed skin leading to the upper slope of her breasts. His fingers worked frantically at the buttons of her gown, but his mouth, unable to wait, found her nipple, tugged at it through the muslin. He paused only to push the gown aside, resuming his heavenly torture with only the barrier of her chemise between them.

  Even that was too much.

  With a slight tearing sound, the fine linen gave, and Noelle felt a rush of air against her breasts—quickly replaced by Ashford's mouth, Ashford's hands. She dragged air into her lungs, wondering if she was going to die with pleasure, crying out as he worked his magic—stroking, tasting, circling her aching nipple with his tongue and drawing it rhythmically into his mouth.

  God, she was going to die.

  Frantically, Noelle reached up to yank at Ashford's coat, desperate to see him, touch him, learn him as he was her.

  He raised himself onto his elbows, his eyes nearly black with desire, his breathing labored. Urgently, he stood, flinging his clothing off in hard, determined motions, his fingers hesitating, then halting, when they reached the buttons of his trousers. Relinquishing his task, he returned to Noelle, knelt over her.

  "Why did you stop?" she whispered, sitting up, her eyes drinking in his hard masculine beauty.

  "Because I'm already out of my mind. If I strip away that last barrier, I'll lose all control," he replied huskily.

  "But it's not a last barrier. I'm still half-dressed." She reached out to touch him, to let her hands explore what her eyes had just feasted upon.

  "Not for long. God, Noelle." Ashford expelled his breath in a rush, shuddering when her palms caressed his shoulders, his chest, gliding through the dark mat of hair, stroking his nipples and moving down to the taut planes of his abdomen. "You could convert a saint to a sinner."

  "You're not a saint," she breathed.

  "No. I'm not." He pulled off her gown and everything under it, his fingers shaking as he untied her silk drawers, drew them down her legs and cast them to the floor. His hot gaze swept over her, devouring every curve and hollow, lingering on the dark cloud between her thighs.

  With fire blazing in his eyes, he met her gaze. "Your beauty defies words."

  A seductive smile curved her lips. "But not actions, I hope."

  "Oh, no. Not actions." His fingertips skimmed over her thighs, moved between them to caress the dark nest, then sank lower to part the delicate folds, to find the core of her femininity with his touch.

  Bursts of pleasure exploded deep within Noelle, and she gasped aloud as drenching heat pooled between her thighs, made her body clamor for more. She lifted against Ashford's hand, burning, throbbing, wild with a longing she'd never imagined and couldn't withstand.

  Sweat broke out on Ashford's brow, his chest heaving with each labored breath. He entered her slowly with his fingers, feeling her intensifying moisture, her swelling flesh, her hot, clinging passage as it welcomed him.

  "Noelle." Her name was an endearment, a discovery, a wonder, and Ashford lowered his head, covering her mouth with his as he continued to awaken her. "So soft. So warm. Open for me, sweetheart," he urged. "Let me have all of you."

  She complied instantly, parting her thighs and whimpering at the resulting jolt of sensation as Ashford's fingers slid deeper, caressed her inside and out, starting a rhythmic motion that matched the gliding presence of his tongue against hers. She clung to him, her arms wrapped fiercely about his neck, drowning in pleasure and a bottomless need for more.

  More, more. The plea echoed inside her head. She didn't think she'd uttered it aloud, and yet she must have, because Ashford groaned a wordless assent into her lips, quickening the motions of his fingers and finding the bud of her desire with his thumb, rubbing it once, twice—then again and again and again.

  This time Noelle did cry out. She heard her own sob, her broken words of need, and she arched, restless with a void that grew, rather than diminished, with each of Ashford's heightened caresses. "Please," she breathed. "Please."

  Ashford seemed to sense she was pleading for something far more profound than release, because his head came up, and he stared deeply into her eyes.

  "You promised me everything," Noelle managed, her words a breathless whisper. "And everything is what I want. I want to feel you against me, inside me." Her fingers shifted to the buttons of his trousers. "Together—please."

  Holding her gaze, Ashford vaulted to his feet, nearly tearing the remainder of his clothes from his body.

  He came down over her, groaning aloud at the first exquisite contact of their naked skin. He settled himself within the cradle of her thighs, poised at her heated entrance, and cupped her face as he stared into her eyes. "Noelle," he said reverently. "I love you. God, how I love you."

  Tears burned beneath her lids, and she wondered if she could withstand the combined ecstasy of hearing his declaration and feeling the exquisite sensations of his naked body against hers, stirring purposefully as it prepared to make them one.

  "I love you, too," she breathed, wrapping her arms around him and arching instinctively to welcome him inside her. "Oh, Ashford, I love you so much."

  Still he waited, although his pupils dilated at her declaration of love. He gritted his teeth, fighting the instinctive motions of his hips, already urging him inside her. "Marry me."

  Sweetheart, when I finally make love to you, it's going to include it all: the words, the commitment—everything.

  Noelle didn't hesitat
e. "Yes."

  Her acceptance was swallowed by Ashford's mouth, his powerful shaft nudging her where she yearned for him, pressing slowly up and inside her. Noelle's grip around him tightened, and she could feel the sweat-sheened surface of his back, the rigidity of his muscles as they fought to slow his penetration.

  Time stood still, and Noelle memorized every incomparable sensation; the breadth of his shoulders, the exquisite friction of his chest hairs as they rasped against her sensitized nipples, the powerful columns of his thighs as they flexed between hers. And most of all, the indescribable wonder of his manhood, rigid as it filled her, stretched her, forging a path that was his and his alone.

  "You're so small. So tight. I'm … trying not to…" He shook his head wildly, biting off his own words in an effort to retain a modicum of control.

  "You won't." She kissed his shoulder, raised her knees to hug his flanks. "You couldn't. Please—no holding back." She arched to take him deeper. "Please."

  Ashford lost the war.

  With a growl of capitulation, he thrust into her, tearing through the thin veil of her innocence and pushing as deep as he could go.

  Noelle turned her face into his neck, wincing at the pain and yet reveling in it as well. She was Ashford's now—his in a way she was destined to be, not only now but forever.

  "Sweetheart." His voice was rough with passion, rife with worry.

  "Everything," she whispered, already aware that the pain was subsiding.

  "Everything," he echoed, easing back then pushing forward again, testing her pain and her pleasure thresholds, groaning when he discovered them. "Noelle…" He began moving—not slowly and easily, but deeply, totally, melding their bodies with the same fire that infused their love. "Sweetheart … ah, God, Noelle…"

  Roaring fireworks blazed to life inside Noelle, each thrust taking her closer to an explosion she wasn't sure she'd survive. Her entire body was gathering, tightening, screaming with its clawing need for release. Her nails scored Ashford's back, and she tossed her head on the cushions, arching and arching until she was crying out with every fiery thrust, aware of nothing save the battering invasion of his body.