The Theft

by Andrea Kane

  Ashford was as wild as she, his hands sliding beneath her bottom, lifting her up to meet each plunging stroke, driving himself harder and farther each time, in an instinctive need to be as deep inside her as possible when he came.

  Abruptly, Noelle reached a pinnacle of sensation, a million brilliant lights bursting inside her, then erupting into frenzied spasms of completion that tore through her like lightning. She screamed Ashford's name, her body arching like a bowstring, and he went utterly still, pushing into her contractions, holding himself there and then throwing back his head, shouting her name, his hips pumping wildly as he poured himself into her.

  The feeling of his hot seed spurting into her was excruciatingly erotic, and Noelle's climax resurged, the spasms so hard and sharp, she thought she'd faint. Ashford groaned, his own body still shuddering in the throes of release, and he pressed deeper still, crushing her into the cushions and fusing their bodies into one.

  They collapsed together, his body blanketing hers, their limbs trembling with reaction, their breaths coming in shallow rasps.

  Recovery took a glorious eternity, and Noelle was in no hurry for that eternity to end. Eyes shut, she floated, her entire body boneless, replete, her fingers trailing up and down the sweat-slick planes of Ashford's back.

  At last, in slow, jerky motions that seemed to require every remaining ounce of strength, Ashford shifted his weight to his elbows, staring down into Noelle's face, his own expression a mixture of wonder and concern.

  "Noelle?" His voice was husky, rough with emotion, taut with worry.

  Her lashes fluttered, then lifted. A dreamy smile touched her lips and she reached up, brushed damp strands of hair off his forehead. "H-m-m?"

  He caught her wrist, brought her palm to his lips. "Did I hurt you, sweetheart?"

  "You made me the happiest woman on earth." Noelle sighed. "Had I known it would be that incredible, I would have accepted your marriage proposal in one second rather than two."

  Ashford chuckled, easing them onto their sides, then bending to retrieve his coat from the floor. He covered them both, tucking most of the material around Noelle, tenderly cradling her against him. "If I'd known it was going to be that incredible, I would have married you that first day on the train."

  "With Grace as our attendant?" Noelle shook her head. "I think not."

  Tipping up her chin, Ashford regarded her soberly, all amusement having vanished. "I'll speak with your father first thing tomorrow. I want my ring on your finger at the first conceivable moment." His eyes darkened. "And speaking of conceiving…" He kissed her, slowly, deeply. "I want my child growing inside you. I want that almost as much as I want you."

  Noelle twined her arms about his neck. "Then it's fortunate the two go together." Her voice broke. "I can't believe this is finally happening."

  "Believe it. Because before this Season is a few weeks under way, you're going to be Mrs. Ashford Thornton."

  "In a month? I doubt that's possible."

  "Oh, it's possible, all right," he assured her. "I'll make certain of it."

  Somehow Noelle didn't doubt that he would. "Very well." An impish spark lit her eyes. "Although, according to that constable we met, marriage sounds rather bleak—at least from a gentleman's perspective."

  A corner of Ashford's mouth lifted. "I'll take my chances." Abandoning the lighthearted banter, he caressed her cheek with his knuckles. "Speaking of which, thank you for intruding tonight when you did. Had it not been for your quick thinking, I'd probably be in prison right now."

  Noelle's humor vanished as well. "My job, like yours, is to protect the one I love."

  "I realize that." Ashford's expression hardened, yielding that same penetrating intensity Noelle had sensed throughout tonight's robbery—and alerting her to the magnitude of his next words.

  "Bearing that in mind, and given that I'm going to have to take you home soon, I think it's time you learned precisely who the man you love is, and what he's guilty of."

  * * *

  Chapter 15

  « ^ »

  Noelle regarded Ashford solemnly.

  "I already know who he is," she said. "It's only what he does I'm uncertain about." A dismissive shrug. "As for my getting home, don't worry too much about that. Chloe and I worked out a plan that will ensure I get back to my room, undetected. It's far more important that you and I talk." She lay a palm against his jaw. "And I do want to know everything. But first, you know this. Nothing you tell me will change my feelings for you. Nothing."

  Ashford's eyes darkened again, this time in wonder rather than passion. "I'm humbled by your faith," he murmured, gathering handfuls of her hair. "I love you, tempête."

  "And I love you." Noelle settled herself comfortably against his chest, feeling dazed with happiness, sated by their lovemaking, and yes, extraordinarily curious—though not nearly as concerned as she'd anticipated—by what they were about to discuss. "Now tell me, why did you steal that painting? Who are you really? To whom is that money going?"

  A questioning look. "You're so sure I don't intend to keep it?"

  "Very sure." Noelle nuzzled the damp column of his throat. "You wouldn't do that."

  "I'm a thief. You witnessed that firsthand tonight."

  "A thief takes for himself. You don't. I won't believe it. So my question remains, why did you steal that painting? Does it have anything to do with Baricci—with your desire to outwit him? I'm sure that factors into your motives, but somehow I think there's more to it than that. And whatever the true explanation is, I think it involves your father."

  She saw the startled admission in his eyes. But before he could reply, she blurted out the question that was plaguing her most. "First, I need a more important answer. Why were you never going to tell me the truth? Was it really to protect me, or was it more a case of being reluctant to trust me? I know you've never shared this secret with anyone else, and I suspect there's a crucial reason for that. But I'm not anyone else. I'm the woman you love, soon to be your wife. And I need to know you believe I'd never betray you."

  A flash of anguish. "Is that what you think?" Ashford dragged her closer, enveloping her in his embrace, resting his chin atop her head. "Trust has nothing to do with this. I trust you with my life—and yes, with my secret, previously undisclosed or not. But I was frightened to death that you'd get hurt. You're such a reckless little fool—have you any idea what could have happened to you back there, what sort of things go on in that section of London?"

  "I stayed out of sight," Noelle protested, although she knew Ashford was right. Then again, so was she, and she needed to make him see that. "Fine, so I behaved recklessly. But don't you understand why? I couldn't let you erect a wall between us before we'd even begun. And you refused to share yourself with me. So what choice did I have but to follow you, to find out firsthand what you were involved in?"

  He made a choked sound against her hair. "Knowing you? None. I should have realized you'd never accept my decision to protect you from my past."

  "But it isn't just your past—it's your present."

  "No. Not after tonight. Tonight, as I promised you, I let it go."

  The conviction in his tone was absolute. "I believe you," she said. "Still, that doesn't change the fact that it's been a crucial influence on your life, an important part of the man you've become. Therefore, it's part of me as well."

  Ashford nodded. "I agree. Which is why I'm about to tell you everything, omitting nothing." He cleared his throat. "You asked if my actions relate to Baricci. The answer is: yes. To him and other greedy scoundrels like him. And is my father involved? In the most fundamental way possible, yes." Ashford drew a sharp breath, then exhaled it. "What do you know of the Tin Cup Bandit?"

  Noelle blinked, wondering what had prompted that particular question. "The same things everyone else knows. He's a legend. For over forty years he's been giving money to those in need and—" She broke off, her eyes widening at the ramifications of her words. "You work with the Tin
Cup Bandit?"

  "Closely. I'm his son."

  Silence crackled in the air.

  "Lord." Noelle struggled to a half-sitting position, fitting the pieces together. "How could I be so stupid?"

  A tiny smile touched Ashford's lips. "You're far from stupid, my love. You're uncannily smart. My father is one hell of an actor. He's fooled the entire country, everyone except my mother, for nearly half a century. And yet you sensed something about him from the start. And about me."

  Concentrating, Noelle recalled all the details she'd heard and read over the years. "The bandit—your father—used to steal jewelry from the undeserving rich and give that money to the poor, leaving it for them in a tin cup."

  "Um-hum. Then he met my mother."

  "And he gave up the robberies?"

  "After a fashion. First, my mother joined on as his partner—until Juliet and I were conceived."

  Noelle's brows shot up. "Your mother is even more remarkable than I realized."

  "That's an understatement. In any case, impending parenthood changed my mother and father's perspective. They gave up the dangerous aspects of their role and devoted their energies to raising and donating funds to fill the tin cups they distributed."

  "And still do," Noelle finished, comprehension sweeping over her in great waves. "So when you became old enough, you took over your parents' more active role—with them as your advisors, of course."

  "In a capacity that fit with my professional role; I substituted paintings for jewels," Ashford qualified. "What makes the situation even more satisfying is the fact that no one has any idea that the bandit's role as a thief was resurrected; they simply assume art thieves like Baricci are stealing those paintings. Thus, they believe there is and always has been one sole Tin Cup Bandit."

  "But meanwhile, Baricci knows better. It must make him livid that you're besting him at his own game—if and when you choose to. As, I presume, you have others before him."

  Ashford never averted his gaze, determined to give Noelle the honesty he'd promised. "I haven't restricted myself to swindlers and frauds. I've robbed from many who aren't criminals in the true sense of the word—men whose sins are inhumanity and greed, rather than unlawfulness."

  Understanding flooded Noelle's heart. "I can imagine how triumphant that makes you feel, especially given the inequity of your father's childhood." A contemplative pause. "This explains so much: your anger when you speak of unprincipled blackguards like Baricci, your father's way of getting his information so rapidly…" She broke off. "The commitment you referred to—it wasn't just to those less fortunate; it was to your father. And the confidence was to him as well."

  "Yes. All of which I resolved the other night at Markham."

  "Not all." Noelle wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. "Ashford, I understand you better than you think. It was crucial for you to officially sever ties with your past, end things with one final theft. You now believe you can walk forward and never look back. Well, I'm not certain you can. Your commitment might be satisfied, but what about your restlessness? There's a certain thrill that arises from this kind of life; I felt it emanating from you tonight. Are you truly ready to give up that rush of excitement you feel when you outwit an undeserving scoundrel?"

  "Definitely." Not the slightest hesitation marred Ashford's claim. "More than ready."

  "But—"

  "Noelle, listen to me." He drew her to him once again, threaded his fingers through her hair. "I'm not relinquishing anything. I'm simply trading one rush of excitement for another." His lips brushed each corner of her mouth. "Trust me. I know what I'm doing. And you, my darling, are all the excitement I want or need. Sometimes, in fact, you're more than I can handle. I nearly crumpled tonight when you leaped out of that rumble seat and I realized the danger you'd put yourself in."

  Hearing the absolute certainty underlying his words, his tone, Noelle was besieged by joy. He meant it. He was sure.

  He was hers.

  Weak with relief, she smiled against his mouth. "Then I'll have to think of equally remarkable but more acceptable ways of offering you excitement—and of making you crumple." She slid her arms around his neck. "Any suggestions?"

  Ashford rolled her onto her back. "Several." He bent to kiss the pulse at her neck. "We haven't finished our talk," he reminded her, his lips trailing down to the hollow between her breasts.

  "We'll finish it tomorrow," Noelle managed, her body clamoring to life. "As I told you at Markham, conversations can be conducted in public, while other things cannot. So our talk can wait—" Her words ended on a moan, as Ashford shifted, drew her nipple into his mouth.

  "My sentiments exactly," he murmured.

  This time he lingered, tormented her slowly. His tongue swirled over the rosy peak, his lips tugging rhythmically until Noelle felt the tight knot of passion coiling inside her, faster and sharper than before, spiraling instantly out of control, hot and wild—even more unbearable now that her body knew the pleasure it was capable of experiencing.

  Ashford felt it, too, because he made a rough, hungry sound, shifting to her other breast, torturing it with the same excruciating friction as he had the first, until she was writhing beneath him, her hips undulating with a will all their own. He then continued kissing his way down her body, holding her wriggling hips and wedging himself between her thighs.

  He lifted them over his shoulders, muttering, "You're mine, Noelle," before his mouth closed over her, taking her in the most intimate of kisses, his tongue gliding over her swollen flesh—again and again, his lips surrounding and tugging at the tiny bud.

  Shock waves of pleasure jolted through Noelle, and she screamed, arching frantically and, by doing so, deepening Ashford's presence in her body.

  His tongue plunged inside her, his lips burned into the very core of her being, and she shook her head wildly, begging him to stop, then never to stop, the sensations too acute to withstand.

  Ashford ignored her pleas, capturing her hands in his and holding them as he continued his sensual assault, his lips and tongue relentless as he drove her higher, higher still.

  Her climax slammed through her without warning, the spasms so powerful, she couldn't scream, couldn't even breathe. Ashford rode them out with her, gripping her bottom and fusing his mouth to her heated flesh, sharing, tasting, savoring every exquisite spasm.

  Finally, the pinnacle of sensation ebbed, and Noelle floated slowly back to earth—although she couldn't seem to steady her breath or still the tremors rippling through her.

  Pressing gentle kisses up the insides of her thighs, Ashford crawled over her, a look of primitive possessiveness in his eyes. "Your taste, your scent—they're intoxicating. I'll never get enough of you."

  A faint smile touched her lips. "I hope not."

  "I know not." He kissed her cheeks, the bridge of her nose, her chin, perceiving the magnitude of her exhaustion and, with a visible effort, squelching his own ardor. "Rest for a few minutes."

  "No." She shook her head, reached up to caress his shoulders, the nape of his neck, her palms gliding down over his taut biceps. Every one of his muscles was rigid, rippling with tension, and his body radiated a fierce, unmistakable heat that, despite her innocence, Noelle recognized and knew just how to assuage. "I don't want to rest," she demurred, her thumbs teasing his nipples.

  "Noelle, don't." He was shuddering, fiercely aroused, fighting for control.

  "I heed that particular plea about as well as you do," she informed him, her fingers moving down his abdomen, then lower, finding and caressing his pulsing erection.

  "God." Inadvertently, he thrust against her hand. "Sweetheart, don't. Don't." Another thrust. "You're sore. And I have to get you home. I…" His protest ended on a strangled groan.

  "Not that sore. And no you don't. Not yet." She explored his masculine shape and texture, rigid yet so smooth, steel sheathed in satin. He was huge, damp, throbbing with his need for her. "You're magnificent," she whispered.

  Ashford swo
re under his breath. "How much time do we have?" he muttered thickly, moving to increase the exquisite friction as her fingers curled around him.

  "Chloe's window will be open until the first rays of dawn." Her fingers stroked his velvety tip, absorbed the droplets of fluid he couldn't suppress. "It's still quite dark outside. And the sun rises so late at this time of year. We have at least three hours."

  "Three … hours…" Another violent shudder, and he began moving reflexively against her palm, fighting the urge to relinquish his self-control and plunge deep inside her.

  The war was lost the instant she raised her hips, teased him with the irresistible allure of her lower body.

  "You make me insane," he growled, dragging her hand away, kneeing her thighs apart with his own. "You're too damned sore for this. I should wait. Hell, I should have waited altogether—for our wedding night." He entered her slowly, stretching her sensitive passage one glorious inch at a time. "But, God, Noelle, I lose all reason, all control, all ability to think around you." He threw back his head, gritting his teeth as she closed around him, hot, wet, still quivering with the tiny aftershocks of her climax.

  Noelle cried out, in ecstasy not pain, and lifted her knees to take him deeper. "Ashford…" Unbelievably, her body jolted back to life, her entire being converging around him, her lingering spasms clasping his full length, tantalizing him beyond endurance.

  "Damn." His control shattered, and he hooked his arms beneath her knees, opened her totally to his possession, and buried himself inside her. "Sweetheart, forgive me…" he rasped, pounding into her with the full force of his need. "God, Noelle." He was lost in sensation, his handsome features contorted as he drove helplessly for fulfillment.

  Wrapping her arms about him, Noelle met his every thrust, her heart touched as deeply as her body, her soul sharing his unfathomable, bottomless need, the overwhelming emotion that inspired it.

  They reached the peak together, Noelle gasping out Ashford's name, contracting fiercely all around him as he erupted, drove—inconceivably—farther into her, flooded the mouth of her womb with his seed.