Because We Belong: A Because You Are Mine Novel (15 page)

“Vacation?” she asked, her light tone disguising not only her chaotic thoughts, but her anger. “Does that mean we’re all off the hook then?”

“Off the hook?” Anne asked uncertainly as she returned to her seat next to James.

“Has Ian let us all off the hook?” she clarified, her anger making it possible to stare directly at Ian as she took another sip of coffee. “Are you planning on returning to run Noble Enterprises, now that you’re back?”

She could tell by the stunned silence that no one else had yet dared to ask him the question. Ian returned her stare calmly before replying.

“I haven’t decided yet. Lin has kept me generally apprised of what’s been going on, and Lucien and Gerard filled me in on the details of the Tyake acquisition last night.”

“I do hope you’re pleased with our efforts,” Francesca said.

He didn’t blink at her quiet sarcasm. “I am. You’ve all arranged things almost as precisely as I would have. Everything is in place for the plan to move forward in the New Year. I was waiting until a moment when I could thank you all more formally, but Francesca’s right. You all deserve my gratitude now . . . as well as my apologies for leaving you in such a fix. I can’t thank you all enough, for all you’ve done on the Tyake acquisition,” he said, glancing at each of them in turn. His quiet sincerity left her feeling even more agitated.

“That’s what family is for,” James replied for everyone.

She stood, taking her cup to the sideboard. She hadn’t meant to say those things; she really needed to get ahold of herself. No one deserved her bitterness, save Ian.

Save herself.

“I hope you all have a good time at the movies,” she said with a smile, picking up her coat, hat, and the fingerless gloves she wore for outdoor sketching in the winter. “I think I’ll get started on some rough sketches before the canvas arrives. I could use a little work.”

“She’s right,” Gerard said. He stood to retrieve her sketchpad and pencils while she put on her gloves. “Work always sets things on track, I always say. And I’m not going to the movies, so I’ll take Francesca to the gardener’s cottage. That’s where you two were saying you wanted her to set up base while she draws, isn’t that right?” he asked James and Anne.

“Gardener’s cottage?” Francesca asked, hearing of this for the first time.

“Well, it’s not really a gardener’s cottage anymore,” James explained. “It hasn’t been anyone’s cottage but an occasional guest’s for the past twenty years. But it’d be a good post for you. It’s right at the edge of the woods, and it’s got an excellent straight-on view of Belford through a picture window. It won’t do for the details, of course, but we figured that since it’s so chilly out, it might save you a few days from the cold while you get the panoramic sketches. I had Mr. Sayers turn on the cottage furnace just yesterday, so it should be warm enough by now. If you think that’d be useful?”

“Very useful,” Francesca assured. “Thank you for thinking of it. It’ll save me having to go in and out to thaw out my fingers, for a few days, at least.

“I’ll take her to it,” Ian said, standing. Gerard shared Francesca’s nonplussed expression.

“I said I’d show her to it. You should go and relax with the others,” Gerard said.

“We’ll both show her then,” Ian said quietly, but his eyes flashed dangerously at Gerard before he picked up his coffee cup.

“It’s not really necessary for you to come,” Gerard prevaricated as Ian set his cup and saucer on the tray on the sideboard.

“It is, actually,” Ian said. James shifted uncomfortably in his chair at the hard edge to Ian’s tone. Ian’s stare at Gerard was one that Francesca could only describe as a silent, simmering challenge. Concern mingled with her annoyance. His calm exterior was far more brittle than she’d ever seen it before. “Because the gardener is off today, and I have the only other set of keys to the cottage.”

Gerard flushed. Clearly, Ian had preempted Gerard’s actions and asked his grandfather for the keys in advance. There was something subtly, but distinctly proprietary underlying Ian’s statement, as if he was reminding Gerard who the future master of Belford was. Or who the master of
Francesca
was. Resentment bubbled up into her chest. She noticed Elise giving Lucien an uncomfortable glance in the prickly silence that followed, and Anne and James did the same. Ian was acting like a caveman. It was all extremely awkward. She shot a fulminating look at Ian, which he didn’t notice as he studied his cousin.

“Come on, Gerard,” she said with false brightness. “I’ll enjoy your company.”

Gerard seemed a little angry, not to mention embarrassed, which made her even more irritated at Ian. At first, she thought he was going to stand down, but then he gave her a smile and nodded toward the door as if to say,
Let’s proceed then.
With everyone watching them in the uncomfortable silence that followed, she felt she had no choice but to follow Ian out of the room, Gerard falling in step behind her.

Chapter Five

S
he, Ian, and Gerard walked to the cottage at the edge of the woods, their boots crunching on the frosty path leading through the gardens, the cold winter air seemingly doing nothing to cool either her irritation at Ian or the charged atmosphere swirling among the three of them.

The cottage itself was nice, she decided once Ian had unlocked the door and they’d entered, but chilly despite the furnace being activated. The interior was modest in comparison to the luxury of Belford itself. In fact, the little house looked like it hadn’t been redecorated for several decades. She found the shabby elegance of it cozy.

“Stay here. Both of you,” Ian said after he’d closed the front door. She gave Gerard a questioning glance, but Gerard was watching his cousin dubiously as well.

“What is
with
him?” Gerard mumbled for her ears only.

Francesca just shrugged, too irritated to reply.

They stood next to the cold hearth of the fireplace as Ian stepped into the kitchen and looked around, and then stalked down the hallway, his dark head just two feet away from the low ceiling. At first, she’d thought he was inspecting the place like someone might a rarely used property in order to make sure there were no leaks or property damage. By the time he returned to the small living room where she stood, however, another suspicion had struck her.

“Ian, you’re not checking out this place for . . . I don’t know,
bad guys
or something, are you?”

“What’s this?” Gerard asked, both amused and confused.

“Just making sure everything is in order for you to work here today,” Ian said evenly, stepping closer, blue eyes pinning her. His size struck her suddenly, his
presence.
He was really too large for these cramped quarters. She stepped back reflexively, and then felt foolish when he only knelt and started to build a fire.

“Were there any other unusual occurrences either before or after that man tried to take you in Chicago?” Ian asked in an offhand manner as he began to arrange logs and kindling.

“No one tried to
take
me,” she insisted. She noticed Gerard’s puzzled expression. For some reason, a sharp somatic memory of the assailant’s brutal grip rose to her awareness. She rubbed her upper arms as if to erase the unpleasant recollection. Was there any possibility that Ian was right in his suspicion? “And in answer to your question, no. Nothing unusual at all has happened other than that.”

“Gerard? Anything odd that you noticed while you were in Chicago?”

“Other than the fact that the waiters there whisked away my plate the second I took my last bite, everything was boringly normal,” Gerard said dryly.

Ian just continued to build the fire in silence. She shook her head in disgust, knowing him well enough to recognize he wasn’t going to argue, but that he hadn’t changed his mind in the slightest. She left Gerard and looked around the little house, familiarizing herself with the location of the bathroom, which was in the hallway between the living room and bedroom. The small, tidy bedroom included a made double bed, upholstered chair, a desk and bureau. She’d be very comfortable working here, she decided. She found some tea bags in a kitchen cabinet and filled the kettle on the stove.

When she returned to the living room with a mug of tea in her hand, Ian had successfully started a fire. It felt warm enough for her to remove her coat.

“There’s hot water for tea, if you’d like it,” she said politely as she hung up her coat. Personally, she was hoping both men would vacate as quickly as possible. She’d never be able to focus with Ian there in the small confines of the cottage, sending her simmering, churning emotions up to a full boil.

“That sounds good,” Gerard said, starting for the kitchen.

“I’m going to walk around and inspect the grounds a bit, maybe look in at the stables,” Ian said pointedly to Gerard, who came to a halt. “Why don’t you come with me? There are some things we need to discuss.”

Francesca went still in the process of lifting her mug to her lips, her gaze bouncing from Ian to Gerard to Ian again. Surely Ian wasn’t planning on confronting Gerard.
Surely
he wasn’t considering talking to Gerard about
her.
The thought angered her—what right did he have to tell Gerard what to do when it came to her? At the same time, she’d be lying to herself if she said she didn’t experience a little relief. She’d already determined she wasn’t interested in Gerard’s advances. With Ian here, Gerard’s attraction to her just seemed to muddy the waters even more when all she needed was clarity.

“Francesca doesn’t like people around when she works,” Ian said quietly when Gerard opened his mouth—Francesca would have guessed to protest. “It makes it difficult for her to concentrate.”

She took a sip of her tea to hide the pain that went through her at Ian saying out loud something she’d told him once in an intimate moment. It seemed too strange, the paradox of the closeness she felt with him combined with a glaring distance, given his actions. It suddenly felt unbearable. Strangling. She wanted nothing more than to be alone.

“It’s true,” she told Gerard apologetically. “I freeze up when people are around.”

“We’ll walk then,” Gerard said, shrugging. “I have plenty of questions for you as well, Ian.”

“Grandfather bid on an old boxer-engine World War Two motorcycle at Higsby’s last month. Care to have a look at it?” she heard Ian say to Gerard as they headed toward the door.

“Is it in running condition?” Gerard asked, and Francesca was glad to hear the note of interest in his voice. Ian was trying, at least. He must feel guilty for his earlier heavy-handedness with his cousin. She’d always heard from Ian that Gerard and he were close. If they weren’t getting along, it was most likely due to some misplaced jealousy on Ian’s part.

“Needs some work.” Ian opened the front door and cool air rushed into the room. “I’ll be able to keep an eye on the cottage from the grounds, but lock this after we leave,” he called back to Francesca.

Francesca rolled her eyes.

“Francesca?” he prompted in that hoarse, compelling voice of his. She met his stare reluctantly. “
Double
lock it. Please.”

“Fine,” she muttered, willing to say anything to get him out of there. It felt like she hadn’t taken a full breath of air into her lungs since she’d entered the sitting room that morning. She finally did so after she’d slammed the door shut behind the two men and twisted the locks.

She couldn’t take this for much longer. If Ian didn’t leave Belford sometime very soon, she would have to be the one to go. It was a simple matter of survival.

But could she really do it? Could she really walk away from him after so many months of worrying, so many unbearable nights of feeling his absence like a gaping hole in her spirit?

If he could do it, you can.

Somehow, that incendiary thought didn’t help any.

* * *

Ian and Gerard returned after their inspection of the grounds, but thankfully her focus on the sketch gave her some measure of defense.

Or so she’d thought.

Someone tapped lightly on the door, but then immediately used the key to enter. Ian. He knew she’d be lost in her own little world. She glanced around distractedly from where she sat on a chair in front of the cottage picture window and saw him walking toward the fireplace, looking rugged and very appealing with a load of logs in his arms and his short hair windblown. He met her gaze, but didn’t speak as he put the logs in the firebox and kindled the fire. She resumed moving her hand over the sketchbook propped in her lap, distantly aware that Gerard stood for a moment at the threshold looking at her before walking out again, closing the door gently behind him.

The thought that she and Ian were alone in the cottage penetrated her awareness. She swallowed uneasily, her entire focus transferring from the view before her and the unfolding image on the page to the sounds of him moving behind her. What had Gerard and he talked about? Would he say anything to her now that they were alone?

She heard his boots scuffling on the marble hearth as he stood. He returned the poker to the holder, with a muted sound of metal on metal. She tried to locate him in the room by sound in the anxious silence that followed.

Her sketching hand went completely still a second later when she felt him touch her nape at her hairline, his fingertips cool . . . slightly abrasive. Shivers cascaded down her spine.

I’ll wait for you in my bedroom tonight.

Her heart seemed to jump into her throat. He hadn’t said the same words he’d uttered in the sitting room early this morning, and yet she’d heard them perfectly in her head. She sat looking out the picture window, frozen, every cell of her being focused on him standing just behind her. His fingers moved slightly, stroking her, creating a fresh wave of tingles down her spine . . . tightening her nipples.

“I’ll lock the door from the outside. Start back to Belford before it gets dark. If you don’t, I’ll come and get you.”

It could have been that he was alluding to the fact that she frequently lost track of time when she worked, and that she would be expected for dinner at Belford. It could have been that he was referring to her prickliness when it came to his presence, and he was letting her know point-blank if she stayed too long, she’d have to endure him.

Whatever the subtleties, he was making it clear that he’d claim her upon his whim.

Anger swelled in her breast at the thought, but that sensation was nothing in comparison to the other places in her body that his touch had enlivened.

Those places prickled with awareness long after he was gone.

* * *

That evening after she got out of a warm, relaxing bath, she found Clarisse in her suite hanging out a dark green dress for her to wear.

“I poured some club soda for you,” Clarisse said, nodding at a glass on a tray sitting on the coffee table. “Her ladyship told me to tell you that they met up with some friends who are staying in town over the holiday, and they’ve been asked to dine at Belford tonight—a Mr. Gravish and his wife. Her ladyship is friends with Mr. Gravish’s mother, and his wife was a school friend of Mr. Noble’s.”

“Ian you mean?” Francesca asked.

Clarisse nodded. “Yes, she knew him when Mr. Noble was still a boy, you know, in the local primary. Back when he first came to Belford Hall, I believe. One of the older maids told me he hadn’t ever been properly schooled before he came to England, and so her ladyship enrolled him in the local school for a year and gave him a private tutor in order to get him up to snuff. Mr. Noble was sharp as a blade, though, even if he was rough around the edges. It only took that year before he was ready for private, but that’s when he met Mrs. Gravish—I mean, she wasn’t Mrs. Gravish back then, of course.” Clarisse realized she’d been prattling on and gave Francesca an anxious glance. “Anyway, I’d started to stay that everyone is going to meet in the sitting room at seven before dinner,” Clarisse said. She held up a pair of brown suede pumps. “These with the dress, miss?”

“Sure,” Francesca said distractedly, thinking about what Clarisse had said about Ian as she removed the towel on her head and watched the young woman bustle around. “Did you have a good time at the ball last night, Clarisse?”

“Oh, yes. It was amazing.” She said excitedly before something seemed to occur to her and she hesitated.

“What is it?” Francesca asked as she toweled her hair.

“It’s only . . .” She bit her lower lip as she withdrew silk underwear from a drawer. “Mr. Noble returning . . . it must have upset you a lot.” She fumbled, looking at Francesca worriedly. “I mean . . . we heard that you and his lordship’s grandson were engaged to be married . . . before,” she finished lamely.

“We were. Once. But that’s over now,” Francesca said, picking up a comb from the dresser.

“But you must still have feelings for him.” Clarisse burst out.

Feelings for him.
Against her will, Francesca felt his fingers brush against the tingling skin of her nape. She shivered and her sex tightened just from the memory. “I mean . . . Mr. Noble is the most handsome man I’ve ever seen,” Clarisse added lamely.

“Handsome is as handsome does,” Francesca said with a small smile. “I’m going to go and dry my hair. Oh . . . and Clarisse?”

“Yes?” Clarisse asked over her shoulders, holding a pair of sheer stockings in her hands.

“No offense or anything, but I’ll pick out my own underwear. Call it an American thing.”

Clarisse’s blue eyes went huge before she saw Francesca’s smile. Laughing, she scooped the underthings she’d set on the bureau back into the drawer and closed it.

Francesca dried her hair, and then used a curling iron to make a loose fall of waves. Leaving the bathroom, she stared at the conservative wool dress Clarisse had set out for her for dinner. She thought about Ian’s arrogant assumption that she would go to him tonight in his bedroom.

Maybe she would. Maybe she wouldn’t.

Whatever she chose, she would be miserable. It was only a matter of when she’d feel it. He was the one responsible for all these opposing feelings, all this unbearable friction grinding away inside her. Her agitation caused a usually buried but all-too-familiar rebellious streak to flare to life inside her.

She hung the green dress back in the closet and withdrew a long-sleeved, ruched sheath dress in brilliant cobalt blue. Five minutes later, she studied herself in the full-length mirror. Her long hair spilled around her shoulders, the reddish-gold color a striking contrast to the brilliant hue of the dress. She wore drop pearl earrings and no necklace. The dress had a low-cut, square-neck collar that left her throat, chest, and the top curves of her breasts exposed. It clung to her body, but the ruched fabric added an element of modesty. Overall, the dress gave the impression of sophisticated, confident sexuality.

The last thing she wanted to do at that moment was to let the world suspect how she felt on the inside. This dress would handily disguise all that.

Or that was her plan anyway. She thought it might work until she walked into the subtly lit sitting room minutes later, chin held high, only to discover it was empty. Deflated, she paused just inside the room, checking the clock on one of the bookcases. No . . . it was seven o’clock sharp. Had Clarisse mentioned the wrong room?