Because We Belong: A Because You Are Mine Novel (12 page)

She just stared at the note for an extended moment, holding her breath, a strange, tingling sensation settling in her limbs. No . . . it couldn’t be.

Forgive me for being remiss
. Wait . . . hadn’t Gerard said that to her recently? And he knew she didn’t have a dress.

Disappointment flooded her.

“Are you excited for tonight? The ballroom is going to look so amazing. Did her ladyship tell you that the decorations are all in silver and white? You’ll look like a fairy princess in it with this dress,” Clarisse enthused, running her hand along the skirt so that the exquisite fabric flowed over her forearm.

“No. Just a lucky chance, I guess,” Francesca said dubiously.

“My gown is nothing to this, but I still can’t wait,” Clarisse said.

“You mean you’ll be attending the ball?”

Clarisse nodded, her eyes shining. “Her lady and lordship invited the permanent staff. It’s sort of a nod to the tradition of the servant balls they used to have on Boxing Day years ago. Since it’s also their anniversary, Lady Stratham thought it’d be nice to combine the celebration into one grand ball. We’re all very excited. Aren’t you?”

“Oh, yes,” Francesca assured. She shoved the note into her pocket, ashamed of herself for the flash of hope that had gone through her for a split second as she read those typed words.

* * *

As it turned out, she and Anne were unsuccessful shopping for a dress in town. Of course she’d been spoiled for another one. No other dress stood a chance next to that exquisite creation that had been delivered. It rankled at her a little, knowing that Gerard had recognized how much she’d love it.

Later that afternoon, she held up the brushed and freshened red dress next to the white and silver gown. Her heart sank. Of course she’d wear the delivered gown. She realized the diamond choker would look stunning with it. Was that why Gerard had chosen it?

But no. She would return that choker to Gerard. It was too much. Far too much. Her triple strand of pearls would look just as lovely with the dress, along with the diamond pins Ian had once given her to wear in her hair. She tried to convince herself that her choice to return the necklace had nothing to do with Gerard’s comment on Christmas Eve about Ian leaving a choker on her as he’d touched the pearls. No, he hadn’t meant anything by giving her a diamond choker, as if to replace Ian’s pearls. It was all ridiculous anyway. Ian had certainly not left a hold on her of any kind.

“Exquis,”
Elise said wide-eyed later that afternoon when Francesca showed her the gown. She and Lucien had arrived just before an especially lavish afternoon tea—Anne had explained that a traditional dinner wouldn’t be served at the ball since it officially began at nine p.m., but instead hors d’oeuvres and then a midnight supper buffet were planned. After the filling tea of sandwiches, fruit, and pudding, Elise had accompanied Francesca to her suite to chat before it was time to prepare for the ball. Elise seemed to notice her puzzlement at her exclamation. Francesca’s French was not good. “That dress rocks,” Elise translated succinctly. “And you say Gerard gave it to you?”

Francesca nodded, unable to disguise her disquietude.

“He
is
a handsome one,” Elise conceded doubtfully, plopping down on the couch. “Seems nice enough as well. Course he’s not Ian.”

“Isn’t that for the best?” Francesca said dryly, hanging up the gown.

“I guess that all depends on what you think. Francesca?” Elise added when she didn’t immediately turn around, but busied herself adjusting the gown. “What
do
you think?”

Francesca was glad when Clarisse rapped at the door, asking to start her bath in preparation for the ball. It seemed like a good time to change the subject.

* * *

Her heart pounded uncomfortably at eight forty-five that evening as she stood in the reception line with Lucien and Elise behind her, waiting to offer her official well wishes to the earl and countess on their anniversary. Elise and Lucien looked like a vision—Elise in a gown of deep purple that optimally highlighted the rare color of her eyes, an exquisite platinum and sapphire necklace and her pavé diamond and sapphire wedding ring; Lucien strikingly handsome, as usual, in a formal tuxedo with white tie. The Great Hall was breathtaking, decorated with firelit crystal globes, magnificent silver candelabra, and fresh, aromatic garland, the Christmas tree ablaze.

She wasn’t quite sure why her heart was beating so fast in anxious excitement, but thought perhaps it was due to all the fine people filling the hall: the rich, the titled, and the famous mixing with the house staff and several people from the village. They all milled around, sipping the champagne being passed by waiters, waiting for the ballroom doors to be thrown open. A string quartet played in muted tones, contributing to the festive mood of anticipation. Lucien and Elise’s presence right behind her in the line gave her some of the reassurance she sorely required. She glimpsed Clarisse in the distance, looking pretty in a pale gold dress. The maid gave a little wave and Francesca waved back, returning her excited grin.

She saw the back of a tall, broad-shouldered man in the distance in the receiving line wearing a tuxedo, and realized she’d get a chance immediately to thank Gerard for the dress. He deserved her gratitude. She’d never felt so pretty. The dress fit her like it’d been made for her. Clarisse had styled her hair in a delicate weave, using the diamond pins to skillfully form it into a red-gold, loose sort of crown that struck Francesca as unpretentious yet supremely elegant.

They finally reached the anniversary couple.

“Francesca, dear,” Anne said, her voice sounding unnaturally high as Francesca leaned down to kiss her cheek and offer her congratulations. Why did Anne look so undone—strangely radiant and worried at once? Francesca wondered blankly when she straightened and noticed the countess’s expression.

“The dress looks lovely on you. I knew it would.”

An electrical pulse seemed to start at the very base of Francesca’s brain and course down her spine, setting off a chain reaction to every nerve in her body. She stood as if frozen. It hadn’t been Gerard she’d seen standing in the reception line with Anne and James.

“I didn’t have time to tell you,” she distantly heard Anne mutter apologetically under her breath.

“He just came down as the first guests arrived,” James said.

Ian’s face looked like it’d been carved from cold alabaster, but his eyes seemed to burn right through her.

“Well,” he said quietly, his familiar deep, slightly gruff, British-accented voice seeming to scrape gently over her prickling skin. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

She inhaled fully for the first time since seeing Anne’s anguished expression.

“Yes,” she replied. “Excuse me.”

She turned and plunged into the mingling crowd, the brilliant gowns and flickering flame and abrupt laughter striking her stunned brain like an assault. The only thing that she could be sure of, the only thing that felt terrifyingly real, was that invisible tether that had always seemed to join her and Ian stretching tight. It tugged painfully deep in her chest as she fled, threatening to rip at something vital.

Chapter Four

T
he tap that came at her suite door was light and cautious . . . feminine. She gave her face one last glance in the bathroom mirror and went to open the door. Her limbs still felt numb from shock.

Ian is here.

Her mind kept repeating the sentence like a harsh mantra, as if her brain was stubbornly refusing to absorb the truth and it had to be pounded into her consciousness by force. Even though she’d suspected that the knock was feminine, she sighed in relief when she saw Elise standing on the other side of the door. She stepped back, granting her entrance, and closed the door.

“Sit down,” Elise instructed. “You’re white as a sheet.” She handed Francesca a glass of water from the bathroom a moment later.

“I can’t believe it,” she muttered more to herself than to Elise.

“Yes. It came as a shock to everyone. He told Lucien before I followed you up that he just arrived a half hour before the reception began. He snuck upstairs to his suite to dress before anyone realized he was here.”

She tried to focus on Elise’s concerned face. “Did he say why he came?”

Elise shook her head helplessly. She could read a hundred questions in her friend’s sapphire-blue eyes, but Elise expressed none of them. She must know Francesca didn’t have the answers, either.

“I have to go back down,” Francesca said, setting the glass on a side table. “I can’t hide in here like a moody adolescent. It’d be so rude, when Anne and James asked me here for this event.”

“They would understand, I’m sure. Given the circumstances,” Elise said. “Her ladyship is the one who asked me to check on you. After she tried to stop Ian from following you, that is.”

Her gaze flew to Elise’s face. “Tried?”

Elise nodded hesitantly. “He’s out in the hall right now. No one could stop him. He barely allowed me to come in first.”

A powerful feeling of dread and sharp anticipation surged through her.

“Send him in,” she said, her level tone surprising her. Apparently, she was too numb with shock for emotional displays.

Elise bit her lip. “Are you certain?”

Francesca nodded and stood, steadying herself.

“I have to face him sometime. It might as well be now.”

Elise’s doubtful expression remained, but she turned to open the door.

* * *

He entered and closed the door behind him with a hushed click, his gaze steady on her the whole time. Her chin went up and her spine stiffened when he walked toward her. He came to an abrupt halt, reading her body language. His face seemed leaner than when she’d last seen him. That and his glittering gaze gave him a fierce look, like he had some kind of invisible fire burning nonstop inside him, fueling him . . . perhaps destroying him as well. His short, dark hair always created a striking contrast to his skin, but he seemed even paler than usual, as if he’d been cloistered from the sun.

“Where have you been?” she asked without preamble, unable to stop herself from expressing the question that had burned inside her for half a year.

He didn’t reply for a moment. As always, she felt pinned by his stare. They stood ten feet apart or so. Francesca couldn’t decide if the distance felt too close or like a yawning, mile-wide chasm.

“France,” he said in his characteristic hoarse voice. She tried to gird herself against the familiar sound of it.

“Why?”

Her one word query seemed to hang between them, its various meanings hovering like a toxic cloud. For the first time, she saw uncertainty flicker across his stoic features, but it was quickly gone.

“There are some things I have to take care of . . . look into.”

She waited, the tension rising between them, but he said nothing else. “That’s it?” she asked with a bark of incredulous laughter. “That’s all you’re going to say by way of explanation for disappearing without a trace for half a year?”

His mouth tightened. “Would it really matter what I said?”

“No,” she said without pause. “It wouldn’t.”

His expression hardly altered, but knowing him as she did, she sensed his flash of anger at her words. Or was it frustration?

“So you really don’t want an explanation,” he clarified.

“I’m saying there isn’t one that would suffice, so maybe you shouldn’t bother.”

His nostrils flared slightly. “I see you’re not wearing the ring anymore,” he said after a moment, his gaze lowering to her left hand, which hung at her side.

“Are you surprised?”

He looked into her eyes again. Suddenly, she wished he was gone, or that she was anywhere else. In that moment, she’d glimpsed his pain, and it had acted like a spark to her own. It flamed to life, hot and scoring, seeming to rob her of breath. She barely kept her composure.

“No. Not really,” he said quietly.

She inhaled with effort. Well, there it was. He’d known he was ending their relationship by doing what he’d done, and yet he’d done it anyway. She nodded once and looked away.

“Well, that’s it, I guess,” she said with a note of finality. She started when another knock came at her door. “Come in,” she called, glad for the distraction. She was barely holding herself together, and the last thing she wanted was for Ian to witness her discomposure.

Gerard stepped into the room. His concerned gaze moved from Francesca to Ian and back to Francesca again.

“Ian. This is quite a surprise.” The two men shook hands and gave one another a half hug of greeting. “We’re all extremely relieved to see you.”

“Gerard,” Ian greeted solemnly.

Gerard’s gaze slid over to Francesca. “Are you all right?” Gerard asked, and it was clear he was asking her, not his cousin.

She nodded. “Yes. I’m ready to go back down.”

Gerard seemed uncertain when neither she nor Ian moved. He must have sensed the palpable tension swirling in the air.

“We have a lot to discuss,” Gerard told Ian. “We’ve all been worried sick.”

Ian’s eyes gleamed as he glanced between his cousin and Francesca, but he didn’t reply.

“I’ll wait for you in the hallway, Francesca,” Gerard said.

“Thank you,” she said.

That strangling silence settled again when Gerard walked into the hall, leaving the door open.

“Excuse me,” Francesca muttered, knowing there was nothing left to say. She was foolish to wait for anything. He remained unmoving when she walked past him.

“Francesca.”

She paused before she reached the door, her back remaining to him. Her breath burned in her lungs.

“You may not wear the ring, but you’re here in my grandparents’ home. You’re wearing the dress I sent.”

She turned in amazement. “What makes you think I knew who sent it?” she demanded, her cheeks flushing with anger. Or was it embarrassment?

“You knew. Or at least you thought you knew before you second-guessed yourself. You know I never liked to leave you unprepared for any event where you might question yourself.”

She gave a shuddering gasp. He hadn’t said it cockily. He’d just stated it as an established fact. Damn him. He’d always read her like a book. What he’d said was true, of course. She’d recognized his taste in the dress. Her thoughts had immediately leapt to him when she’d read the message. Some part of her had realized the perfection of the gift suggested an intimate knowledge of her body . . . her person. But it was more than that. It struck her heavily for the first time that her actions for the past few weeks were far from being that of a person who had given up on her lover. She
was
staying with his grandparents in his childhood home and she
had
spent a great deal of time and effort on following through on what she believed would be his wishes for Noble Enterprises. Hadn’t she hungrily eaten up the sights of his youth during her tour of Belford Hall, imagined him as a child, that distrustful, withdrawn boy slowly coming out of his shell, pictured him as a man filling even the most grand of the rooms with his bold presence?

If the fact that she’d agreed to sleep in his bed at the penthouse didn’t prove his point, she didn’t know what did. She hadn’t entirely given up hope.

God, she was a fool.

Unwilling—and unable—to see the fierce pain in his eyes anymore, she turned and fled the room.

* * *

She thought maybe she’d never smiled more, and certainly never so unnaturally, when she went down to the Anniversary Ball with Gerard. It somehow seemed like a personal mission to show that she could hold her own in these circumstances.

The party was in full swing by the time Gerard escorted her downstairs, a small orchestra filling the house with music. Even through her shock and disquietude, Francesca wasn’t immune to the beauty of the transformed ballroom. James and Anne certainly knew how to throw a “do,” as Anne had called it. The already beautiful, white, wood-paneled room with enormous fireplace had been transformed into an ice palace. Round tables that seated eight were set up around the periphery of the large space, each of them with a fantastic, lit “ice” chandelier hovering above it, all of them unique and exquisitely beautiful. An elaborate, crystal candlelit bar was at one end of the room, a buffet table on the opposite would serve a late dinner in a few hours. James and Anne were just finishing their solo anniversary dance to kick off the ball when she walked in on Gerard’s arm. Other couples were starting to join them on the dance floor.

“Shall we?” Gerard asked, nodding toward the dance floor.

“I’d love to,” she said a little too brightly. She could tell from his quirked brows that he was concerned by her brittle animation. When he tried to bring up the topic of Ian’s return while they danced, she made an abrupt observation on the beauty of the room. He seemed to take her hint, and kept things light for the remainder of the dance.

At some point, she wondered if Ian had known precisely what he was doing by sending her this backless dress. She sensed his gaze on her bare skin as Gerard and she circled on the dance floor. She ignored the sensation, continuing her conversation with Gerard with a fierce determination that hardly matched their lighthearted topic.

She spotted Lucien and Elise sitting at a table when Gerard led her off the dance floor. Relieved to see Ian wasn’t there, she went to join them while Gerard went to find a waiter for drinks. She swore she wasn’t looking for Ian in the crowded ballroom, but her gaze immediately found his singular form on the dance floor, his grandmother in his arms.

“No one can make Anne beam the way Ian can,” Gerard observed with a smile as he arrived at the table, two waiters on his heels, one waiter carrying a bucket, champagne, and four glasses, another a platter of hors d’oeuvres and iced caviar. Her brow furrowed. Had there been a note of bitter envy in his tone? She wasn’t entirely surprised. Only Ian could be so rude as to leave his grandparents worried and anxious for half a year, only to return and have them thrown in an ecstasy of happiness at the sight of him. Besides, it wasn’t as if what Gerard said wasn’t completely true, Francesca thought as she gave a reluctant sideways glance at Ian’s striking profile. The countess looked especially diminutive next to his tall form, both of them moving gracefully on the dance floor. She’d never seen Anne look so happy, so relieved, and she stared up at her grandson, sometimes solemn as they conversed, sometimes smiling and laughing. No, she understood Anne’s relief, empathized with it. Anne had lost her only daughter this year. She was likely feeling light-headed with relief to know her only grandson was alive and healthy.

You’re every bit as relieved. In fact, part of you is euphoric at the evidence of his well-being.

It was a strange combination, she realized. Light-headed relief and focused fury.

She plunged into conversation with the others. Lucien raised his eyebrows when she allowed Gerard to pour her a third glass of champagne, but she was immune to his concern. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling at that moment, so how could anyone else accurately interpret her mood?

Someone touched her lightly on the shoulder. She turned to find James standing there, straight and handsome in his tuxedo.

“May I have this dance?” he asked her.

“I’d love to,” Francesca said, standing.

“Holding steady?” James murmured quietly once they’d spun together on the dance floor for a moment.

“All things considered, I think I’m doing very well.” She met his kind stare and smiled. “I didn’t get to tell you congratulations, earlier. Your and Anne’s dedication to each other is wonderful to see.”

His gray eyebrows went up. “I’m sensing an underlying message there.”

She laughed, but averted her gaze. “What? Like that without a true dedication to your partner, there can be no trust? No future?”

“That’s true,” James said. “But people show their dedication in different ways. Anne’s and my commitment hasn’t always looked like it does today. I’m sure she questioned my dedication to her when I was in my twenties and thirties, traveling as much as I did, attending to business. I’m sure there was a time in Anne’s life she had trouble recognizing that as devotion on my part to our marriage, but that’s how I always saw it.”

“Now I’m sensing an underlying message,” she said wryly.

James smiled. “Did you listen to Ian? Did he tell you where he’s been?”

“No. And I mean no offense, James. I know he’s your grandson, and you’re bound to feel differently about it than his jilted fiancée. No,” she interjected when James started to protest. “That’s what I am. No reason to sugarcoat it.” She paused as the music swelled making talking difficult. “My point is,” she said as the music quieted, “I’m not sure I want to know what he found so important to do that he couldn’t pick up a phone and relieve your worry. Anne’s. Mine. It was incredibly selfish on his part.”

“I’m not trying to change your understanding of the situation, Francesca. Just—”

“Broaden it a little?” she finished for him, giving him a small smile.

“You can’t blame an old man for trying,” he said as the music came to an end.

“I blame you for nothing but loving your grandson,” she replied honestly. James leaned down to give her a kiss on the cheek as they came to a halt. As he released her hand, another one took it. She looked over her shoulder and saw Ian standing there, one arm still around Anne’s waist.