by Andrea Kane
Tenderly, Eric stroked Noelle’s hair, reflecting on how very typical this entire display was. Noelle was fervent about everything. Her love. Her curiosity. Her allegiance.
Her hunger for knowledge—knowledge that, in this case, she was more than entitled to be granted.
Yes, she was his daughter, his and Brigitte’s, but it hadn’t been that way from the start. She’d been born his niece, the unwanted illegitimate babe of his sister Liza. Liza and some nameless Italian aristocrat who’d thrown her aside the instant he learned she was with child. Not that Liza had proven to be any more principled than her lover. As always, she’d hastened straight to Eric, seeking him out as her inexhaustible source of love and protection. And, as always, he’d offered her both, convincing himself that she truly repented her reckless behavior, that she was ready to forgo her selfish whims and assume responsibility for the life of her unborn child.
What a fool he’d been. Liza had given birth to Noelle on Christmas Day, then abandoned her at the onset of the new year—forsaking Farrington Manor to sow her wild oats, only to die shortly thereafter, leaving Eric with a bitter heart, a deluge of self-censure, and an untenable dilemma.
Noelle.
God help him for his reaction. He’d been a wounded animal, incapable of feeling or forgiveness—especially when it came to himself. Uncertain of his sanity, unable to endure even the slightest reminder of Liza, Eric had wrested Noelle from his life, determined to live out his days in self-imposed isolation.
It hadn’t happened that way.
And not because of any heroic transformation on his part. No, Eric harbored no illusions on that score. His unexpected awakening, all its ensuing joys—every one of those blessings he owed to one extraordinary, incomparable woman.
Brigitte.
As his courageous bride, Brigitte had marched into Farrington Manor just shy of Noelle’s fourth birthday, a wife in name, a governess in fact.
Or so Eric had intended.
Within weeks Brigitte had undone four years of hell, healed all of Eric’s and Noelle’s emotional wounds, and transformed the future from bleak to miraculous.
Thanks to Brigitte, there was joy, there was unity, and there was family—a family that grew to include not only their beloved Noelle but their equally beloved Chloe, who made her appearance the summer before Noelle turned five.
Both girls had flourished—happy, nurtured, secure in the knowledge that they were loved.
Fortunately, Noelle had never had to know the selfish woman who’d given her life.
Or the despicable man who’d aided in the same.
There was no reason for that to change. No reason but one.
Noelle. Noelle and her inexhaustible curiosity.
“Tempest,” Eric murmured, easing Noelle away from him and gripping her small hands in his large ones. “Even if I knew who the scoundrel was who … that is, the scoundrel who was responsible for … for …”
“Impregnating,” Noelle supplied helpfully. “The scoundrel who was responsible for impregnating Liza.” She smiled a bit at the ashen expression on Eric’s face. “I do know how babies are made, Papa.”
“Why did I doubt that?” he muttered, shaking his head. “In any case, even if I knew his identity, I’m not certain I’d share that information with you. What would you do with it? Write him a letter? Ask why he’d chosen to walk away from his unborn child, why he wanted no part of the life he’d created?”
“Of course not.” Noelle gave him a you-can’t-be-serious look. “I know why he wanted no part of my life: he was, or is, an unfeeling coward. It was his loss, Papa, not mine. I have no misgivings or self-doubts on that score, believe me. Still, I am dreadfully curious. I’d like to know what he looks like, thinks like, what traits I might have inherited from him. Surely you can understand that?”
Eric swallowed audibly. “Yes, I can understand that.” A contemplative pause. “Noelle, he lived in Italy. I explained that to you when Brigitte and I told you all we knew of him, all Liza relayed to me after their relationship ended. Assuming he’s still alive, finding him would be like searching for a needle in a haystack.”
Soberly, Noelle nodded. “I realize that. And I’ve given it much thought. We could hire someone—an investigator. Surely he could travel to Italy, find someone who actually saw this man and Liza together. No matter how discreet they were, they were bound to be noticed. Liza was a very beautiful woman.”
And you look just like her, Eric added silently. “Yes, she was,” he said aloud. For a long moment he studied Noelle’s earnest expression. “This means that much to you?”
“I can’t bear wondering and not having answers. You know how I am, Papa.”
“Yes, I certainly do.” With that, Eric came to a decision. “All right Noelle, I understand your curiosity. And I’m willing to indulge it—in my own way.”
She leaped on his words. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’m proposing a compromise.”
“What kind of compromise?”
“I’ll do as you ask, hire an investigator to see what he can unearth about this blackguard.” Seeing the excited glint in Noelle’s eyes, Eric clarified hastily: “Bear in mind that this procedure could take months, maybe longer—years, if he’s moved from city to city or, worse, from country to country.”
Noelle appeared not the least bit deterred. “And once you’ve uncovered what I want to know—whenever that might be—you’ll share your findings with me?”
“Not immediately,” Eric replied, meeting Noelle’s honesty with his own. “I adore you, Tempest, but you’re as impulsive as that reckless cat of yours. Don’t bother denying it—” He held up his palm to silence her protest. “We both know it to be true. If this scoundrel should turn up in India or Tibet or even Tasmania, you’d be on the first ship traversing the globe. I can’t and won’t take that kind of risk. So I’ll find out what I can, with the stipulation that the information I unearth stays with me.”
“Forever?” Now Noelle looked crestfallen.
“No, not forever. Only until you’re older—old enough to think not merely with the intelligence of a woman but with the maturity of one. When I can be certain you’ll properly employ whatever details I convey to you. At that point, if you’re still interested in pursuing this matter, I’ll turn all my findings over to you.”
“Older? When is older? When I’m fifteen?”
Eric arched a sardonic brow. “That’s hardly a woman, Noelle. How does twenty-one sound?”
“Ancient. How does sixteen sound?”
“Youthful.” A hint of a smile curved Eric’s lips. No matter how dismal the subject, Noelle had a way of infusing it with filaments of joy—and a healthy dose of debate. “I’ll meet you halfway. Twenty-one is a woman; fifteen is a child. Shall we say eighteen?”
Noelle scrutinized him, her lips twitching slightly. “Is that your final offer?”
“It is.”
“Very well. I accept. Eighteen.” Lightly, she jumped to her feet, her chin set in that all-too-familiar way that made Eric’s gut knot, obliterated whatever hope he’d entertained that time might diffuse his daughter’s determination to locate her sire. Eric knew that particular look, and it meant only one thing: waiting for Noelle to change her mind would be like waiting for the sun to grow cold.
“Thank you, Papa,” she called out, skipping over to the doorway and turning to give him a victorious grin. “I feel ever so much better.”
“I might fail to find him,” Eric warned.
“You might. But you won’t. You’ve never disappointed me yet.” Noelle’s glowing faith was absolute, her enthusiasm irrepressible. “My eighteenth birthday is just five and a half years away. On that Christmas Day, I’ll learn all the missing pieces of my heritage.”
“And then?”
“Then my curiosity will be satisfied, and I can bid the past good-bye.” With a conclusive nod, Noelle dismissed the subject. Blowing Eric a kiss, she gathered up her skirts and s
cooted out of the library.
Eric gazed solemnly after her, the wisdom of adulthood cautioning him that the situation wouldn’t resolve itself quite that easily.
In fact, he had a sinking feeling that precisely five and a half years from now all hell would break loose.
Chapter 1
Farrington Manor December 25, 1874
I MUST HAVE BEEN INSANE to agree to this.” Eric finished buttoning his shirt, scowling at his own image in the looking glass.
“You didn’t have a choice, darling.” Brigitte lay her brush on the dressing table, her golden brown eyes soft with compassion—and clouded by more than a tinge of worry. “We both knew Noelle would ask, eventually.”
“No, we both didn’t know that.” Eric abandoned his task, running a hand through his hair. He met his wife’s pointed look and nodded resignedly. “Fine, maybe we did. Maybe I just prayed it would go away.”
One slender brow rose. “When have Noelle’s questions ever gone away?”
Eric’s scowl deepened. “She’s still a child, Brigitte. Do you know what she’s doing right this moment; for that matter, what she’s been doing since the first rays of dawn? Precisely what she’s done on this day every year since she turned four: pacing about what used to be my bedchamber and is now our celebration room, waiting to open her birthday gifts before we leave for church.”
“Perhaps this time what she’s waiting for is the information you promised to give her on her eighteenth birthday,” Brigitte amended softly. She crossed over and slipped her arms about her husband’s waist. “I dread this discussion as much as you do, Eric. But Noelle is not a child, not anymore. We can’t protect her from a truth that she herself requested. Further, we’ve never broken our word to her. We can’t start now.”
A muscle worked in Eric’s jaw. “If only the details my investigators uncovered were a bit more uplifting. Better still, if only they’d uncovered nothing at all.” He drew Brigitte to him, pressed his lips into her bright crown of chestnut hair, seeking a comfort only his wife could offer. “No matter how much Noelle insists otherwise, this information is going to be painful for her to hear. But you’re right. I promised her the truth. And I’ll give it to her, no matter how much I detest doing so.”
“It’s not her ability to cope with what she learns that worries me,” Brigitte murmured, leaning back to meet Eric’s gaze. “It’s how she acts upon it.”
“You believe she’ll seek him out?”
“I think we both know the answer to that.” Eric’s lips thinned into a grim line. “Yes. Unfortunately, we do.”
Noelle stopped pacing the instant she heard her parents’ oncoming footsteps. Whipping about, she fairly flew to the doorway, watching their approach with an anticipatory expression on her face.
“Mama, Papa—Merry Christmas,” she said fervently, hugging each of them in turn.
“Merry Christmas and happy birthday.” Brigitte returned Noelle’s embrace, feeling an incredible surge of pride and love. What she and Noelle shared was precious, a bond whose filaments had been forged fourteen years ago and had grown stronger each passing day.
“I can’t believe you’re eighteen,” Eric added gruffly. He tousled his daughter’s hair, trying to see her through objective eyes—and failing.
“Nor can I,” Noelle admitted, giving him a dazzling smile that illuminated not only her face but the entire room.
“Where’s your sister?” Eric inquired, glancing about for Chloe. Traditionally, his younger child would be perched alongside Noelle’s pile of birthday gifts, ready to aid her sister in opening them—just as Noelle did for her each August when Chloe’s birthday came.
“In her chambers,” Noelle replied candidly, staring from one parent to the other. “She’s agreed to give us some time alone together. She’ll join us afterwards, when we open the gifts.”
“Chloe knows what we’re discussing?” Brigitte asked, not even pretending to misunderstand the purpose of this private chat.
“Yes. Chloe and I have no secrets, Mama. Especially when it comes to the subject of my parentage. After all, she’s known the truth about my adoption since she was five—you, Papa, and I told her together. She also knows me, so there was never a doubt in her mind that I’d want to unearth every last detail about the man who sired me. As for the deal I struck with Papa, Chloe was aware of that from the start. In fact, she’s the one who encouraged me to go to Papa with my questions.”
Eric arched a disbelieving brow. “When have you ever required Chloe’s urging to incite you to act?”
“Never.” Noelle grinned. “But originally I intended to do my own investigating, venture forth to find my own answers. Chloe’s the one who deterred me, persuaded me to go to you instead. Even at seven she was far more practical than I.”
“Thank God for that,” Eric retorted. “Chloe’s inquisitive enough. Were she any more like you, I’d be locked away in an asylum by now.”
Noelle bit back laughter. “Then I’m glad she and I offer you the diversity you require to stay sane.” With that, she shut the door, leaning back against it and eyeing her parents intently.
Eric’s jaw clenched and unclenched. He averted his gaze, staring fixedly out the window. “I don’t want to have this conversation.”
“But Noelle needs to have it, Eric,” Brigitte reminded him gently.
Worry clouded Noelle’s face. “Not if it means hurting either of you.” She punctuated her statement with an earnest shake of her head. “Please be honest with me—both of you. Does my interest in learning about my sire cause you even a modicum of pain? Because if it does, tell me. Tell me and I’ll forget the entire notion, dismiss your findings without ever hearing them, and never speak of this again. I love you both far too much to hurt you.”
Brigitte answered for them both. “Darling, this isn’t about our hurt, it’s about yours. We don’t doubt your love for us, any more than you doubt ours for you. But it’s that very love that makes us want to shelter you, to spare you even a drop of anguish. So, no, we’re not disturbed by your curiosity—in truth, we expected it. We’re just trying to shield you.”
“In that case, I’m ready to hear whatever Papa has to say.”
Silence.
“Papa?” Noelle prompted, staring at his hard profile.
Eric swallowed, meeting her gaze once again. “In case you haven’t figured it out yet, you won’t like what you hear.”
“I assumed as much. But you did promise you’d tell me.”
“I also promised I’d protect you—a vow I made much longer ago and with a great deal more conviction than I afforded the one you’re holding me to.”
Noelle lay a gentle hand on his forearm. “There’s no need to protect me. Not in this case. He can’t hurt me, Papa. I’m too strong—we’re too strong—for that. But I need to know. I’ve contemplated the possibilities for years. I might have cousins, aunts, or uncles whose existence I know nothing about.”
“You don’t,” Eric bit out. “The son of a bitch had no siblings. And he was childless—with the exception of you. My investigators confirmed that fact after an extensive search.”
“I see,” Noelle replied after the barest of pauses. “Still, I need to know everything. Then I can let it go. Papa … please.”
With a terse nod, Eric pivoted, striding over to the writing desk and unlocking the bottom drawer. He extracted a thin folder, turning it over in his hands several times. Then he opened it, staring blindly at the pages within, not really needing to read them given the fact that he’d long since memorized every word.
“His name is Franco Baricci,” he began, his gaze still fixed on the papers he held. “He’s fifty-four years old. He has residences in Italy, France, Spain, and England—and an alias to go with each one. He makes a career out of courting wealthy, naive young women until he’s seduced away their innocence and their fortunes—fortunes that, incidentally, paid for his four homes. He then abandons these women, leaving them stripped of dignity and fund
s, and goes on to his next victim. Liza met him at the height of his career. She proved to be a complication in more ways than one. Not only was she sadly lacking in wealth—if you recall, she met him during my temporary business reversal—but she had the supreme audacity to conceive his child and to confront him with that fact. Needless to say, he abandoned any plans of waiting while her brother recouped his fortune. The day she told him about the child was the last time she saw him.”
Noelle’s eyes had grown wide with astonishment; “But Liza told you he left her for his wife and family. …”
“There was no wife and family. He invented the existence of both in order to disentangle himself from the ties of impending fatherhood.” Eric tossed the file onto the table. “You’re welcome to read my investigators’ findings firsthand. It’s a good thing you and I agreed upon a five-and-a-half-year time frame. It took nearly that long to uncover all the sordid details of Baricci’s life. He certainly keeps himself busy.”
Eyeing but not touching the file, Noelle asked, “Where is he now?”
A heartbeat of silence, Eric’s reluctance a tangible entity that swelled to fill the room.
His reply, when it came, was stiff. “In England. He owns an art gallery in London. Evidently, he spends several months a year there.”
“Including this month.” Now Noelle stooped, gathered up the file, and perused it thoughtfully. “He really was a snake, wasn’t he?”
“Is,” Eric corrected. “He is a snake. He’s not dead, Noelle. He’s alive. Alive and as unscrupulous as they come.” A meaningful glare. “And I want you to stay away from him.”
Noelle’s head came up at her father’s unusually harsh tone.
“I mean it, Noelle,” Eric reiterated. “I don’t want you attempting any contact with Baricci. He’s the worst kind of blackguard, polished veneer or not. Further, he forfeited any right to you the day he cast Liza aside. Not that he appears to regret that choice. He hasn’t made a single attempt to contact you these past eighteen years—a task, I might add, that would have been far easier to accomplish than the one we took on when we decided to locate him.” Eric broke off and walked over to gently lift Noelle’s chin. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I’d rather hurt myself. But I can’t emphasize enough how unprincipled this man is. Promise me you won’t seek him out.”