Because We Belong: A Because You Are Mine Novel (28 page)

After his last shudder of orgasm had shaken him, he continued to hold her tightly against him, breathing harshly.

“Put down your heels,” he said eventually, his voice sounding both harsh and fond at once. She hadn’t even realized she’d remained under his command, even after his moment had passed.

She did as he directed, sighing in relief at the release of tension. She’d wondered why it was so arousing for her to sacrifice a little in order to give him pleasure, but when he put his hand between her thighs, she no longer cared. It was enough that it was true. Her body knew what it wanted, what it loved. She was soaking, aroused to the breaking point. She could hear his fingers moving in her well-lubricated flesh and the sounds of his satisfied grunt at the flagrant proof of her arousal. Her clit sizzled beneath his expert touch. In a matter of seconds, she was coming against his hand while his cock twitched high inside her.

* * *

The entire experience hadn’t only been an erotic and intimate one for Francesca, but also an intensely emotional one. She hadn’t been aware of any tears falling, but they must have at some point. A few minutes later, while they showered together, Ian gently washed her cheeks clean of them. He looked into her eyes as the hot water rushed around their naked bodies.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I
know
how hard this is for you. All of it. I’m sorry.”

She swallowed thickly. There. He’d apologized. Was she petty to be gratified? She didn’t think so. Wasn’t it better that he felt he at least had the
power
to apologize for his actions? Before, it’d been as if he didn’t apologize because it was like saying he was sorry for a tornado, hurricane, fate, or some other force of unpredictability.

Didn’t saying he was sorry imply—even in a small way—that he realized he had some choice in how he responded to all of this?

His thumb moved, stroking her cheek as she looked up at him soberly. “I just want to know for certain that I deserve to be by your side,” he said, his deep voice sounding hollow.

She shut her eyes upon seeing the pain he usually shielded so well. That dreaded feeling of helplessness hit her like a slamming wave. There was nothing she could say. He knew how she felt.

She went up on her toes again, ignoring the soreness of her calves, and took him into her arms, pressing their warm, wet bodies tightly together, using the only weapon she possessed to shield him from his misery.

Chapter Twelve

H
e’d said he’d take his fill of her that night, and he did just that after they returned to bed, making love to her with an almost wild desperation until they both collapsed and fell into exhausted sleep. The thought occurred to Francesca that he reminded her of a man feasting madly the night before he was forced into a barren imprisonment, but then she quickly shoved aside the thought, finding it unbearable to consider for long.

When they went down to breakfast the next morning together, she took his hand in hers when they reached the Great Hall. He turned, blinking at her gesture, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. She just gave him a small smile and didn’t let go, even when they walked past several of the staff and into the dining room, where James and Gerard already sat reading their papers and breakfasting.

The house staff, a technician that Lin had hired, and Anne were all bustling around in preparation for the press conference. It was to be held in the reception room, since it was large enough to seat the thirty or so reporters that had been invited, but small enough for good acoustics.

Lucien and Elise hadn’t come down yet, but Gerard, James, Francesca, and Ian were sipping coffee and eating the breakfasts they’d served themselves from the sideboard, when Mrs. Hanson entered the dining room with a gray-haired, stern looking, thin woman. Francesca blinked and set down her fork when she saw Clarisse hovering behind the two older women, obviously uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry to disturb you during your breakfast, your lordship,” Mrs. Hanson apologized.

“Don’t be silly. Is something wrong, Eleanor?” James asked, looking politely puzzled.

“As you know, Ms. Everherd is the housekeeping supervisor. She came to me with a concern this morning, and I thought it best . . . well . . . with everything that’s been going on,” Mrs. Hanson said delicately, “that she report it to you straightaway.”

“What’s wrong, Ms. Everherd?” James asked.

“The staff has been informed about tightening up security around Belford Hall, your lordship, and we’ve all taken pains to be ever so careful.
Most
of us have, that is,” Ms. Everherd said, glancing behind at Clarisse, her mouth set in a severe line. Clarisse looked very pale and younger than usual.

“Your lordship, I do apologize,” she said quietly, her blue eyes shiny with anxiety. “I reported it to Mrs. Everherd as soon as I realized it was missing. It seems I’ve misplaced my passkey.”

“Again,” Ms. Everherd said severely.

Clarisse blushed and stared at the carpet. Francesca experienced a sharp pang of discomfort for the friendly young woman. She wished she could excuse herself and vacate the room, sure Clarisse didn’t appreciate being called out like a child in front of an audience.

Gerard tossed his napkin on the table. “Really, Clarisse? When we’ve made it clear how important security is, especially with this press conference this morning.”

“Do you know when you misplaced the key, Clarisse?” Ian asked her.

“No, sir,” Clarisse said miserably. “It might have been anytime between yesterday afternoon and this morning.” She blushed bright red. “I thought I used it to get into work this morning, but Catherine, the assistant cook, said I came in the back door with her.”

“She’s a featherhead,” Ms. Everherd declared in a hard voice. “This isn’t the first time Clarisse has lost her passkey.”

“It’ll be all right,” Ian said calmly. “I can get her a new passkey when I finish up here and delete her old code.”

“Clarisse, you really should be more careful,” Gerard chastised mildly as he stirred cream into his coffee. “As if Ian doesn’t have enough to be worried about with this press conference. Now our security has been breached.”

“It’s not all that bad. A lost key doesn’t equate to catastrophe. It can be rectified easily enough,” Ian said evenly. Francesca gave him a thankful glance for sparing Clarisse more shame. The maid looked miserable.

“It’ll all be taken care of, no harm done. Thank you all,” James said, including Clarisse in his glance, “for bringing the issue to our attention so it can be rectified.”

Francesca felt extremely awkward when the three women filed out of the room. She considered Clarisse a friend, and hadn’t enjoyed sitting at the table like one of her condemners.

Everyone continued eating in silence. Everyone but Ian, that is, Francesca realized. She slowed in chewing her toast when she saw the way Ian was sipping his coffee and studying Gerard through a narrow-eyed stare.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Gerard waited patiently in James’s private office. He knew James would be near Ian’s side for every second of the press conference, always ready to show absolute support for that apple of his eye, his tragic, perfect grandson. Gerard rolled his eyes at the thought. Gerard had used James’s office in the past and was very familiar with the venerable room. When he’d mentioned he had important business to attend to and needed to miss the press conference, James had insisted he use his office, just as Gerard had known he would.

Gerard certainly had crucial business to attend to today.

Brodsik was late. The man was almost as scattered as Clarisse, and twice as thick. Add a healthy dose of greed to that combination, and it was the recipe for volatility. He hated when he had to put even a small amount of trust in men such as Brodsik and Stern. Stern, he’d already disposed of soon after the criminal partners arrived in England. Brodsik, he needed. Brodsik had been the one Francesca saw in Chicago, after all. His was the face that Ian and she equated to threat. Stern, on the other hand, was a walking, talking loose end with absolutely no purpose whatsoever to Gerard. He’d had to go early on.

Gerard had been forced against his better judgment to hire the two men after Francesca had blocked his plans to financially gain control of Noble Enterprises in a hostile takeover. Once that had occurred, he’d known he had to find a way to bring Ian out of hiding, and what would galvanize his
noble
cousin more than a potential threat to his abandoned lover? True, it’d been a risk. Ian had left his fiancée, after all. Perhaps he wouldn’t care if Francesca were threatened? But no, Gerard had been correct. The moment Francesca had been in danger, he’d flown onto the scene, ready to play the role of tragic knight in shining armor.

He read Ian as effortlessly as a cheap novel.

It’d worked perfectly. The time to strike was now. He couldn’t very well get Ian in his sights if he remained mysteriously invisible. Ian was vulnerable. No one would be utterly shocked when he finally went over the edge and took Francesca with him.

He checked his watch and scowled. In the distance, he could hear the muted sound of Ian speaking in the microphone. The press conference had begun. His cousin was busy rallying the troops, showing the world the face of a confident, brilliant leader.

But Gerard knew the truth. The password he’d deciphered from the surveillance video had worked. He’d copied Ian’s files yesterday. All of them. He’d had the opportunity to begin to go through them last night—after he’d listened in on Ian and Francesca’s rousing lovemaking, that is. Damn Ian for continually fucking in places Gerard couldn’t determine beforehand, however. He’d repositioned one of the two cameras in Ian’s suite, no longer needing the one aimed on the desk and computer. He’d positioned the surveillance camera in a spot where he’d thought Ian had sported with Francesca last night. But as in all things, Ian had refused to cooperate with Gerard’s plans. He’d been forced to only listen as Francesca was paddled. Afterward, he’d masturbated as he’d eagerly listened to the sounds of her being sodomized. His climax had been so explosive after that, he hadn’t bothered to spy on the couple’s sexual activities any more. Instead, he’d plunged into Ian’s computer files.

That’s how he knew that Ian Noble was nowhere near to being the coolly aloof, in-control genius billionaire he pretended to be right now in front of those reporters’ cameras. He was, in fact, a man on the edge of madness, teetering after his mother’s death and the truth he’d discovered about the identity of his biological father.

Ian Noble, the son of a condemned rapist.

After Gerard had perused some of the volatile contents on Ian’s computer, he’d calmly altered his plans.

The mark of
true
brilliance, after all, was the ability to glean a person’s weakness and then add just the appropriate amount of pressure on that spot, so that the resulting break seemed inevitable in retrospect.

He’d learned that skill particularly well for the first time with his parents. He’d inadvertently learned that the make of car his parents drove had a weakness in the braking system. A school friend from Oxford who belonged to an influential family had let the industry secret out to another schoolmate, and Gerard had overheard. The news had not yet gone public. Once he’d had that information, all it had required was just a small mechanical nudge on Gerard’s part—not difficult as he’d often tinkered and worked with cars and motorcycles since he was a boy—and voila. His parents were dead. Not only was their fortune and property his to do with as he pleased, but he’d been primed for a very lucrative lawsuit against the car company. It had been almost laughably easy, but Gerard knew that patience had been required in waiting for that perfect opportunity to arise.

Patience was his forte.

Apply just the right amount of pressure in just the right spot: that was his motto. Never overdo it. Certainly Francesca and Ian were the weak points in this scenario, but Francesca had proved to be too independent and meddlesome, thwarting his plans both for seduction and with the Tyake acquisition. She’d blocked his subtle efforts to finally gain control of Noble Enterprises along with that infuriatingly smug Lucien, one of many wild cards for which Gerard hadn’t been able to entirely plan.

But again, Gerard was nothing if not flexible. One had to roll with the tide, not fight it. He felt like he’d been rewarded with a major boon, understanding just how vulnerable Ian was. Of course, he’d known his cousin had been weakened after his mother died and he’d disappeared. Gerard had moved quickly to take advantage of Ian’s wounded and absent state. When the opportunity arose with Tyake, Gerard had been ready to strike at that rare weak spot that would have given him an inside hold on Ian’s company. He needed Francesca’s cooperation for that, however, and he’d quickly learned that with Lucien around to coach her, she wasn’t quite as malleable as he’d hoped.

Now he had the ammunition he needed to set off an explosion, and if he was very lucky, he could include the annoying Lucien in that conflagration. Aurore Manor, the place where Ian had been holing up and surely descending into madness, would be the perfect location for him to die. When the story broke about what he’d been doing there, few would doubt that Ian Noble was a walking time bomb. They wouldn’t be surprised at his self-destruction.

With his alternative plans, Gerard no longer wanted Ian at Belford, so it was now necessary to eliminate the apparent threat of Brodsik and clean up some ragged ends in the process.

He glanced up calmly at the sound of the door at the back of the room opening. He’d instructed Brodsik on how to enter, telling him to arrive early and stay concealed in the billiard room until Gerard could conveniently meet with him at a designated time.

“You’re late,” he said, remaining seated in the chair behind James’s large desk.

“I had to be careful. This place is crawling with security,” Brodsik said, walking toward him.

Gerard shrugged. “All due to the press conference. Ian is the god of the Western world of business, after all,” he said sardonically. “Well? Are you ready to get down to business? I’ll instruct you on how to get into Noble’s suite from here. You’ll remain hidden there until he arrives, then take him by surprise. I’ve already described how to get away cleanly afterward.”

“Where’s the money?” Brodsik asked roughly. Gerard threw a contemptuous glance at his hulking form. He pointed at a backpack that sat on the desk in front of him.

“It’s all there. Your fee for the work, more than enough money to disappear and . . .”

“My incentive to keep quiet about my ‘work,’” Brodsik said. He grinned, eyeing the backpack hungrily. Gerard had never seen him smile before. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Something seemed to occur to Brodsik and his grin turned to a menacing scowl. “And if I should find out anything happened to Shell, I’m gonna hold you responsible. That’ll mean more money,” he said, referring to Shell Stern, his partner.

Gerard snarled, hatred and anger flaring in him fast and hot. “How dare you threaten me with more blackmail.”

Brodsik looked a little taken aback by his sudden, intense fury. “
Something
happened to him. Shell’s not the type to stay quiet for two minutes, let alone go missing for days. I’m not saying it was you who did something to him, but—”

“It certainly sounded that way to me,” Gerard grated out.

Brodsik seemed to regret bringing up the topic as he continued to eye the backpack.

“Let’s just get this show on the road,” Brodsik mumbled, stepping toward the desk, his hand stretched toward the backpack.

Gerard made a halting gesture. “I’ll open it for you in a moment. First, let me see the gun. I have a right to assure myself that you’re prepared.”

Brodsik looked like he was going to argue, his gaze glued covetously to the backpack. He eventually shrugged his linebackerlike shoulders and reached into a deep pocket of his parka, extracting an automatic firearm.

“It worked just like you said. The guy in London asked no questions,” Brodsik said.

“So you needed to tell no lies,” Gerard replied, his gaze running over the familiar gun with satisfaction. He’d used the very same weapon to kill Shell Stern less than a week ago. “Jago Teague is nothing if not discreet. He has to be, in his line of work . . . or
lines
of work, I should say. Well, let’s get this over with, shall we? The sooner Noble is out of my life, the better. He’s been in it for twenty years too long.”

He unzipped the backpack. It contained no money whatsoever—he would never be bribed by anyone, let alone an idiot such as this—but did contain several of his work files. And something else.