Because We Belong: A Because You Are Mine Novel (16 page)

A sudden prescience overtook her and she turned to the right. Ian stood at the far side of the room looking devastating in a tuxedo with black tie, a book in his hand, his eyes gleaming from the shadows as he watched her.

* * *

She wavered awkwardly in her heels for a moment before she recalled the confident, unconcerned role she was supposed to be playing for the evening.
Shit,
she thought as Ian calmly replaced the book he’d been perusing in the shelf and walked toward her. She’d never been much of a good actress.

“Where is everyone else?” she asked.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” he said. His gaze dropped over her, lingering on the exposed skin of her chest and breasts. Her nipples pinched tight. She gritted her teeth. “That’s a pretty dress.”

“You bought it for me,” she said, as if it were an unimportant, throwaway fact. She started to glance around the empty room, but did a double take when she noticed his small smile.

“And are you
wearing
it for me?” he asked, his low voice causing her neck to roughen in awareness.

“I brought exactly four dresses to Belford. You’ll likely see me wear most of them. Knowing you, you’ll think I’m wearing all of them for you. I can’t control what you think,” she said coldly.

“No,” he said, his gaze lowering over her once again. Hot. Possessive. His nostrils flared slightly. “It’s hard enough to control our own thoughts. Isn’t it?” She realized she’d been staring covetously at his chest and wide shoulders. He looked indecently handsome in his tux.

She inhaled sharply and looked around the room. “Should we go and look for the others?”

“No, the fire has been laid and a man was in earlier restocking the liquor. This is where we are meeting. Would you like anything from the bar?” he asked.

“A glass of white wine, please,” she said, eager for an excuse to get some distance between them. She stayed where she was at the edge of the room, comforted by the shadows that clung there. He returned soon enough, however, a glass of chardonnay in one hand, a highball glass of bourbon and water in the other. She took the glass from him quickly when he offered it.

“Who told you we were meeting in here tonight?” she asked, fixating on the reason why they were alone instead of surrounded by the protection of chatting friends and family.

“Gerard mentioned it I think. He must have gotten the time wrong.”

“Maybe he wanted to get back at you for earlier,” she said, taking a sip of the chilled, dry wine.

“Get back at me?” he asked in polite confusion, black brows arching.

She rolled her eyes. Sometimes he was so
British
in what he chose to notice and what he decided to ignore.

“Earlier today. Here in the sitting room. The keys to the cottage?” she pressed when he remained impassive. “What
was
all that about between you two?” she demanded, finding a vent for her all of her unspoken, volatile questions.

“It was nothing,” he said, shrugging. She gave him a sarcastic glance. He frowned and took a sip of his drink, seeming to consider. “Gerard and I are like brothers at times. As you probably guessed from working with him on the Tyake acquisition, he would do anything for me, and I would do the same for him if he were in a pinch. But the other side of that is a little . . .”

“Brotherly rivalry?” she said dryly. “You never told me about that part of your relationship with him before.”

“I don’t consider it relevant,” Ian replied, leaving her with the definite impression that if there was an issue, it was on Gerard’s side. “Maybe it’s inevitable. His mother and my grandfather were exceptionally close, even though my aunt Simone was almost a generation younger than Grandfather. Gerard was always close to my grandfather as a result of that bond, and they only grew closer when Gerard’s father and mother died years back. Gerard was only eighteen when they were killed in a car wreck. He stayed alone at Chatham, a force unto his own from that day forward. But he still sought out Grandfather. He needed him, I think. Craved a pillar of strength, despite his show of independence. My grandparents have been parental figures to both Gerard and me. It’s only natural that there might be some friction once in a while.”

“And then there’s the whole issue of the title and the properties being divided up between you two,” Francesca observed. “How does Gerard feel about that?” she wondered, knowing from personal experience that Ian was very insouciant about the fact that his grandfather’s title would go to his nephew versus his direct descendent—Ian himself.

He flashed a glance at her, his eyes catching the firelight. “You seem awfully interested in Gerard.”

“He’s been very kind to me since all this business with Tyake started up,” she said stiffly.

“I’ll bet he has been,” he muttered before taking a swift draw on his drink.

He was there for me a hell of a lot more than you were.

His eyes widened slightly. She felt scored by his stare. She hadn’t said the furious thought out loud, had she? Maybe it didn’t matter. Ian was a mind reader when it came to her. She tore her gaze away from his and lowered her head. Her anxiety mounted even higher when she glanced again at the empty room . . . the intimate lighting.

His presence and nearness seemed to set every cell of her being vibrating in acute awareness. If only she could shut off this immense attraction she had for him . . . this compelling
connection.
Ian had found the strength necessary to sever that connection by leaving her. Why was it so hard for her body and spirit to comprehend that rift?

She hesitated, wanting nothing more than to swallow the familiar question again, but the burn had become too great on her throat and tongue.

“What is it?” he asked quietly, obviously sensing her internal battle.

“Are you well?”

She closed her eyes briefly, mortified at how shaky . . . how
naked
her simple question had sounded in the silent room. “In good health, I mean,” she hurried to say. When he didn’t immediately reply, she met his stare. She struggled to explain. How could she tell him in these circumstances that she’d existed in hell, wondering if he was suffering or sick for all those months . . . alone. “It’s just . . . you’ve lost weight,” she added lamely.

“I’m healthy enough. The state of unhappiness doesn’t qualify as an illness.”

“I’m sure there are plenty of psychologists out there who would disagree.”

“Do you think I need treatment?” he asked deadpan, his blue eyes spearing.

“What if I do?” she defended. “Most people who’ve been through what you’ve been through would benefit from some support.”

“Don’t worry, Francesca. Please.”

The thread of entreaty in his tone, the way he said her name like a gentle caress with that rough voice, made emotion surge up on her unexpectedly. “Were you unhappy with me? Did I just not want to see the signs?” she asked before she could stop herself. She was a little horrorstruck by her boldness. Or was it her weakness that had made her ask? Would her allowing one question to escape set off a mass outbreak of wild, shameful curiosity?

She had never despised herself more, and yet still she waited, perched on a ledge of anticipation waiting for his reply. The question seemed to hang between them in the full silence. Her throat swelled when he stepped closer and she could make out the tiny, ambient dots of blue in his eyes. He touched her with the ridge of his forefinger just beneath her chin, and then gently stroked her throat. She shuddered at the caress.

“I have never been happier in my life than when I was with you. I didn’t know what happiness was until you,” he breathed out.

“Then
why
? Why did you leave?” she asked, unable to disguise her wretchedness. The words seemed to cut her as they came out, having grown sharp and crystallized from being kept inside for so long. Her heart seemed to stop when he brushed the corner of her mouth and cheek with the side of his hand. It felt so good, but she turned her chin away from him in hurt and confusion. He set down his drink on a nearby bookcase in an impatient gesture and stepped closer, using both hands to capture her face, a palm on each side of her jaw. He lowered his head until his mouth was just inches from hers.

“Because after my mother died, after I found out about Trevor Gaines, I had never felt more dark standing next to your brilliance, never so hollow beside your fullness,” he said in a quiet, pressured voice. “My leaving had nothing to do with you, Francesca. Nothing. It was about me, trying to figure out who the hell I am.
What
the hell I am. I still don’t know . . . and I don’t deserve you until I do.”

“You’re Ian Noble, no different than you were before you found out about that foul man,” she grated out. Her eyes burned, but she didn’t want to blink lest she spill tears. “And that’s not an answer, what you just gave me.”

In the distance, she heard heels tapping on the Great Hall marble floor and a woman talking as though giving instructions.

“I’m sorry. It’s the only answer I have,” Ian said bleakly before he dropped his hands, grabbed his drink, and walked toward the fireplace. He set his glass on the mantel and faced the door just as Anne entered the room with a maid.

“Ian,” Anne said in surprise. “You’re down early.”

“We were confused about the time,” Ian said as Anne approached and he leaned down to kiss her cheek in greeting.

“We?” Anne asked, glancing around.

Francesca walked out of the shadows at the edge of the room. Anne’s eyes went wide in pleasant surprise as Francesca greeted her. She mentally damned the maid when she chose that moment to switch on a lamp. Anne’s animated expression fell when she noticed the strained quality of Francesca’s smile and her damp eyes.

* * *

Lisle Gravish was a nice-looking but fussy man of about thirty-five whose affected accent and pretentious jokes abraded Francesca’s already raw nerves. His wife, Amy, defied all English stereotypes with her perfect beauty queen smile, exotic, curling jet-black hair, and the curves of an Italian film goddess. It looked as if a display case from Cartier had exploded on her, she glistened so greatly with diamonds. She combined all this glamour and beauty with talent. Apparently she was a gifted opera singer. Francesca wondered irritably as she watched Amy flirt outrageously with Ian during dinner if she’d begun to sprout those amazing breasts while they’d still been in primary together. Ian didn’t necessarily reciprocate the flirtation, but he did occasionally smile. Ian’s full-out smiles were so rare, and so brilliant, that in Francesca’s opinion, they were the equivalent of another man’s hotly whispered indecent proposal.

Perhaps that extra dash of jealousy added to her already chaotic mix of emotions was what made her careless in her interactions with Gerard, who sat next to her during dinner. She hadn’t realized how distracted she’d been, failing to send up red flags as they talked quietly together. Things finally pierced her distraction when Gerard leaned close to her and spoke near her ear as they waited for the main course to be cleared.

“You have yet to wear the diamond choker I gave you.”

“That’s because I plan to return it. I told you it was too much,” she murmured softly, keeping her face forward because Gerard’s lips were barely an inch from the side of her head.

“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.”