Because We Belong

“Hold on to it for a bit. You might change your mind,” he said silkily, his breath causing her hair to stir and tickle her ear. “Not that I’m complaining about your not wearing jewelry tonight. A wise woman knows that no decoration is necessary to complement absolute perfection.”

She glanced across the table and saw Elise’s wide-eyed, comical stare. Given Elise’s amused look, she guessed Gerard was gazing down at her breasts. She grabbed her water glass, her jabbing elbow forcing Gerard to lean back in his chair. Elise suppressed a laugh and choked on her wine. Her suspicion about where Gerard had been gaping was confirmed when she noticed Ian’s stone-cold stare.

Gerard took her hand as they left the dining room.

“May I have a word in private?” he asked her. “It won’t take but a moment.” Perhaps he noticed her hesitancy. “It’s about Ian.”

She glanced behind them anxiously, but no one immediately followed them out of the dining room. Anne, James. and Lisle had already gone ahead, while the rest of them lingered in the dining room. They were momentarily alone in the Great Hall. She nodded once hesitantly and Gerard pulled her toward a private alcove that was situated behind the massive grand staircase.

“What is it?” she asked in a hushed tone, made uneasy by his secrecy given his earlier flirtation. Especially when he stood so close and leaned down over her. She realized he was striving to keep quiet, and resisted stepping back.

“Have you spoken with Ian yet? About where he’s been? About what he’s been doing? I was speaking to Anne and James, and they’re curious to know,” Gerard whispered.

“No,” she said, not thinking that Ian’s general reply of “France” counted as much of an answer at all. “But he’s given me the impression he’s going back there. He said he has unfinished business . . .” She faded off at the sound of a door opening and conversation echoing in the all. She heard heels tapping and recognized Lucien and Elise’s voices, then Amy Gravish’s laughter.

“The sitting room, correct, Ian?” Lucien asked.

“Yes,” came Ian’s deep, quiet voice.

“Unfinished business? Is he leaving soon?” Gerard asked once the sitting room door closed and the hall was quiet once again.

“I don’t know for sure,” she whispered. “You mean he hasn’t revealed any of this to you or his grandparents?”

Gerard shook his head. “Francesca,” he began uneasily. “Is there a possibility that Ian has been . . . ill? Perhaps hospitalized.”

The blood rushed from her head. “Why do you say that?” she asked, alarmed.

Gerard shrugged. “It’s a pretty good explanation as to why he’d disappeared off the face of the earth for so long.”

“No, he said he wasn’t sick, and I believed him. I thought maybe he told you something about where he’s been when you walked earlier . . .”

“No, that wasn’t what he wanted to talk about with me,” Gerard answered grimly, looking thoughtful. “I get the impression he’d been speaking to Lucien about what he’s been doing, though. The two of them certainly clammed up quickly when I walked in on them in the billiards room earlier today.”

An uneasy feeling went through her. She knew the intimate truth he shared with Lucien. They’d been talking together about their biological father, Trevor Gaines. What had Ian been doing all these months in regard to Gaines? And how in the world did he think it would help him discover who he was? She’d never hated anyone or anything more than she did that criminal. He was dead, but he was continuing to make Ian’s life a misery.

Her own.

She blinked when Gerard wrapped his hand around her upper arm and pulled her closer.

“Have you asked him why he left?” he asked in her in a pressured whisper.

“No,” she said, starting to become offended by his intensity.

“Don’t you think that would be the easiest solution?” Gerard asked.

“Excuse me.”

Francesca jumped at the unexpected hard voice. Ian stood there, his hands behind his back, staring at them coldly. Francesca stepped away from Gerard, realizing too late that her action made her look guilty. She lifted her chin and gave Ian an annoyed glance, feeling her pulse starting to throb at her throat. Gerard let his arms drop to his side and faced Ian rapidly, as if expecting a blow.

“Yes?” Gerard asked coolly.

“Grandfather is looking for you,” Ian said, his stare on Gerard like twin nails made of ice.

Gerard seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then he nodded briskly. “Francesca?” he said, holding out his hand for her. She paused, reluctant, but then reached for it as a last-ditch effort to escape the incipient explosion hinted at in Ian’s eyes. Ian halted her action by taking her hand in his before it ever reached Gerard.

“I need a word with Francesca,” Ian said to Gerard with a note of finality.

Gerard’s jaw tightened. “Very well,” he said coolly when Francesca didn’t protest. He turned and left them. Ian didn’t look at her, just stared toward the Great Hall. It took her a moment to realize he was waiting for Gerard’s footsteps to fade. She could hardly tell when they finally did disappear, because her heart had started to beat so loudly in her ears.

She knew what usually happened when Ian’s eyes became fire and ice at once. He firmed his hold on her hand and pulled her behind him into the hall. She could have refused to go with him.

She could have, but she didn’t.

Chapter Six

She followed him, struggling to keep up with his long-legged stride in her heels. He opened a paneled door that Francesca knew led to an area Anne had called the reception room when she’d given her the tour, a formal, gilded room that Anne said she rarely ever used anymore. She thought he’d pause in the empty room, but instead he continued walking purposefully straight through the room to another door.

“Ian,” she called from behind him, her breath coming erratically. But he didn’t turn, just opened the door and pulled her after him. They were in a short, dark corridor. She followed him down it. He opened another door and turned on a light, prompting Francesca to pass before him. This wasn’t a room Anne had shown her, Francesca realized. She had a brief impression of a long, narrow mudroom with locked gun racks on the wall, dozens of coats hung on hooks, a giant Chinese urn filled with umbrellas, assorted Wellington and snow boots lining the wall, and an oversized washer and dryer. Two worn upholstered chairs that had probably once adorned a great room faced each other, placed there for convenience, Francesca supposed, for people to sit and put on or take off boots before walking or hunting on the grounds.

She spun around when she heard Ian shut the door with a thud. Blood roared in her ears when she heard the snick of the lock.

“What are you doing?” she asked when he came toward her.

“You asked me this morning if I’d been with another since we’d been apart and I told you no. Can you say the same to me?” he demanded coldly.

“I don’t owe you any explanations for my behavior for the last six months, Ian,” she grated out, infuriated by his manner, but inexplicably excited as well.

“Are you sleeping with my cousin?” he shot out, stepping closer. She backed up until her bottom ran into the edge of the washer.

“No. But even if I was, it wouldn’t be any of your business.”

“Do you want to fuck him?” he asked crudely. “Because he obviously wants it. Rumor has it he’s a good lover. Do you figure he’d do the trick for you?”

She slapped his cheek. Hard. She’d never hit anybody before. It felt fantastic . . . and yet she’d never hated her loss of control more. Her flash of aggression barely seemed to penetrate Ian’s consciousness.

He opened his hand along her jaw and tilted up her face. “Francesca?” His voice was quieter this time, but it