Because We Belong

A bitter taste rose at the back of Francesca’s throat. It was such an ugly scenario. She hated, despised the idea of Ian submersing himself in it. She tossed her suitcase on the bed and opened it.

“I can’t let him do it,” she said, opening a drawer and grabbing handfuls of underwear and bras and tossing them into the suitcase. “It’s absolutely the most unhealthy thing in the world for him.”

“At least Lucien is there this time,” Elise said hopefully. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, either, Francesca, but I understand the need to heal. For closure. And Ian . . .”

“What?” Francesca asked, pausing with some sweaters clutched in her hands.

“I think he wants to compile all he can learn. Try to make sense of Gaines’s motivations, how he became the way he became. Lucien said something about Ian not being satisfied with the psychological profile a prison psychiatrist wrote about Gaines.”

“And Ian thinks he can write it better?” Francesca asked incredulously. She shut her eyes, that feeling of nausea rising in her again. She remembered what Anne had said about her grandson’s search for himself. You know how important clarity is to him. He prizes seeing clearly above all else.

“I don’t think he wants to write a psychological profile, of course,” Elise said uneasily. “I just got the impression from Lucien he’s trying to fix in his mind who his biological father was, and that all available information from news articles and everything wasn’t sufficient for him. He wants to sort it all out in some kind of organized fashion so he can make sense of it.”

“Yes,” Francesca said starkly. “And in doing so, prove to himself he’s not Trevor Gaines.” She tossed the sweaters in the suitcase and went in search of some jeans.

“You don’t actually believe that Ian thinks he’s even a little like that man?” Elise asked, sounding stunned.

“I think he’s hurt and confused. And I think he’s grasping for evidence of who he is in a place that will only give him lies for answers. This search is taking him down a dark path, one that could very well kill him,” Francesca said grimly.

There was silence on the other end of the phone for a few seconds. “Francesca, do you really think things are that bad?”

“I don’t know,” she replied honestly. “Maybe.”

They talked for a few minutes more while Francesca finished packing. Elise grew more and more concerned as she listened to Francesca’s worries, but Francesca assured her that she was actually greatly relieved that Lucien was there with Ian.

“But you’re still going to Gaines’s house?”

“Yes,” she said. “As soon as I can get packed and hire a taxi to take me to the airport.”

“Maybe I should meet you there,” Elise said, sounding worried.

“No, it’ll be all right, Elise. I’ll call you if I think you need to intercede with Lucien.”

“Call me either way once you get there,” Elise begged.

“I will,” Francesca assured grimly.

* * *

Gerard was waiting for her when she entered her one-bedroom flat early that evening. Clarisse started and gave a little scream when she turned on a bedside lamp and saw him sitting calmly in a living room chair.

“Oh my God, you gave me such a fright,” the young woman squealed.

“Why are you so jumpy? Does it have to do with this?” Gerard asked. He turned his hand, the diamonds flashing in the light catching Clarisse’s attention.

“Why do you have Francesca’s necklace?” Clarisse asked, confused, staring at the diamond choker. She set down her purse and coat at the back of the couch and walked toward him.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?” Gerard asked.

She halted. “What do you mean?”

“Francesca came to me early this afternoon, in a panic because this very necklace had gone missing,” Gerard lied smoothly. Francesca had told him no such thing. In fact, she’d sought him out, distracted and harried, and returned the necklace to him with apologies for being unable to accept his gift. He’d followed and watched her unobserved afterward, and saw her leave Belford Hall with a suitcase, her manner furtive as she got into a cab. “She was beside herself,” he continued his story to Clarisse. “I told her not to worry—the necklace is insured, after all—and assured her that I would find it. And so I did.”

Clarisse’s mouth fell open. Her blue eyes grew wide in shock. “Wait . . . you can’t mean you think I took it?”

“I found the necklace in your bedside table. You’ve been a very bad little maid, Clarisse,” he purred.

For a few seconds, she just stared. She moved jerkily, suddenly lunging for the couch but stumbling. She caught herself on the arm of the sofa and fell into it.

“I never took that necklace!”

“I found it here,” Gerard said simply, standing and walking toward her. He looked down at her, smiling.

“If you found it here, then you put it there,” she muttered in rising disbelief.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I put a necklace that I already own in your apartment?” Her pink lips opened and shut several times as she stared at him in bewilderment. He was enjoying seeing her helpless. The trap had snapped shut with her securely in it. She would do whatever he said now. “Didn’t Francesca tell you that I gave her this necklace for Christmas?” he continued. “She told me she planned to return it, though. We both know how obsessed she is with Ian. She must have felt guilty about receiving such an expensive piece of jewelry from another man. Misplaced loyalty. Even now, she’s on a plane flying to confront the love of her life for having abandoned her once again.” He shook his head sadly. “Those two are a keg of gunpowder set to explode, if you ask me.”

Clarisse’s wide eyes grew even larger. “Please don’t do this. Don’t tell Francesca I took that necklace. I need this job.”

“I know,” Gerard said earnestly. He nodded to several framed photos of her family set on the mantel. “You have a younger brother that’s quite ill, isn’t that true? Cystic fibrosis. Such a shame.”

“How do you know about Scott?” she asked incredulously.

“I know all about you,” Gerard assured, his voice rich with compassion. “Including the fact that you’ve been arrested before for stealing.”

Every ounce of color drained from her face. “I was only sixteen when that happened. My friends dared me to steal some clothes from a shop, and I was stupid enough to do it.”

He nodded. “A very expensive shop, no less. It seems you have a liking for luxurious things you can’t afford,” he said, rolling the sparkling choker over his fingers thoughtfully. “And you failed to mention that crime in your application as a maid at Belford, didn’t you? Even though the question was asked, you lied.”

“I was sixteen years old!” she repeated, her voice shaking. Tears filled her eyes. “Please don’t tell Francesca I stole from her. I never took anything from her. I wouldn’t.”

“Shhh,” Gerard soothed, taking her hands and lifting her from the couch. He palmed her jaw and caressed her cheek with his thumb, drying a few spilled tears. “I won’t. There’s nothing to worry about. No real harm has been done.”

“You mean . . . you mean you’re not going to tell Lady Anne or the police?”

“No, of course not,” he said softly, stroking her. He was becoming aroused, feeling her young, supple body plastered against him . . . seeing how vulnerable she was. “As long as you do whatever I say.”

She blinked, wariness freezing her expression. She started to back away, but he pulled her tighter against him, trapping her with his arms.

“What do you mean?” she asked. “What do I have to do?”

“If you don’t want to be arrested for stealing a valuable piece of jewelry from a guest at Belford Hall, then anything I say.”

“Like what?’ she asked, horror creeping in to her delicate features.

“Don’t look so alarmed,” he laughed. “Hardly nothing.” He made a mock-impatient sound when she continued to stare at him in rising fear. “All right, if you want some examples. I’m leaving Belford tonight, and I’d like it very much, if the occasion should ever arise,” he said kindly, loosening his hold on her by degrees when she