Because We Belong: A Because You Are Mine Novel (31 page)

Now that he’d learned he was, without a doubt, the progeny of rape, the need to comprehend his biological father’s motives and cleave himself from his origins had only sharpened. He needed to compile what information he could and make some logical sense of Gaines before he could do that, however. It had been a dream to stay here at Belford in the warmth of family, to bask in Francesca’s presence. But it was a dream he needed to awaken from if he ever wanted to find his rightful place in it.

Her light rap struck him like a death knell.

He opened the door. A strange, unpleasant tingling sensation coursed over his skin when he saw her standing in the hallway. She wore a pair of jeans and a light blue cotton button-down blouse that emphasized her narrow waist and full breasts. Her rose-gold hair spilled down around her shoulders and arms, but she’d pulled it back in the front, letting him plainly see the poignant expression of fear and resolve on her lovely face.

She knew.

His suspicion was confirmed when she stepped into the room and he closed the door. She said nothing when she saw his suitcase and briefcase sitting at the foot of the bed. For a moment, neither of them spoke while she stared at his packed bags. She finally looked at him. What he saw in her dark brown eyes cut at him from the inside out.

“This morning before he left, Lucien told me what he’d told you about his mother and yours,” she said.

“So that’s why you’re not surprised that I’m going,” he said.

“I suppose. That, and also James came into the reception room a while ago.”

“Grandfather told you I was leaving Belford?” Ian asked, surprised. He thought his grandfather would give him a chance to speak to Francesca first and break the news himself.

“No. He didn’t have to,” she said quietly. “He said that Markov had called, and that all indications were that Stern and Brodsik were working alone. With them both gone, so is the threat. You didn’t have a reason to be here anymore.” Her chin went up. He was glad to see the flash of defiance and anger in her eyes. He’d much rather see that than her sadness. “You did tell me it was the only reason you returned to Belford, after all. Because you were concerned about my safety.”

“I came because I love you,” he said roughly. “I’d understand if you have trouble believing that, given the—”

“I believe it,” she interrupted starkly. He saw her throat convulse as she swallowed. She studied the carpet for a moment, breathing through her nose, and he knew she was trying to steady herself. The desire to take her into his arms and soothe her was like a lance in his side, but he forced himself to ignore the instinct. The pain. It would just make things worse for her when he went. Worse for both of them.

And he
must
go. He must.

“After I spoke to Lucien,” she said in a congested voice, “I did a little research online.”

“About what?” Ian asked, wary.
She
hadn’t started researching Trevor Gaines, had she?

“About children of rape.”

Her simple reply made him blink.

“What about them?” he asked uncomfortably.

She crossed her arms beneath her breasts and looked away. “I know that to have substantial evidence that Helen was, in fact, raped must have been overwhelming for you.”

“You and I both know I always suspected it, especially after learning about Gaines.”

“Yes. But suspecting and knowing are two different things, aren’t they?” she asked hollowly. He didn’t reply. He was too busy experiencing the truth of her words. Confirmation that his mother had been raped had rattled him to the core—the description of how Fatima had discovered her, so vulnerable and hurt. “I don’t know why I haven’t tried to understand better,” Francesca was saying. “Or I do understand, and just don’t like to admit it.”

“What are you talking about?” Ian asked her, bewildered.

“As I read some of those articles about other people who were the children of rape, some of their testimonials about what they’d endured as children and adults and how it had affected them, I realized that
I’ve
been the one who has been in denial.” She met his stare. Her eyes glistened with tears, but her face remained defiant, seeming to blaze with something he didn’t understand. “I wanted you to return to being the man I remembered, the lover I remembered. I didn’t want to admit that the knowledge of Trevor Gaines had altered you. I didn’t want to admit it, because to do so would mean that I was entirely helpless. To do so would mean I might have to turn you loose and let go forever.”

“I don’t want this to be forever,” he grated out. “I want to find my way back to you.”

“I know. I said I knew before—while we were in the cottage—but I really didn’t,” she said with a brittle laugh. Her arms tightened around her ribs as if she were trying to brace herself. “I think one of my problems is that you always seem so strong. So impenetrable. All those people I read about online—the ones who’d also been born of rape—talked about how it affected their self-esteem. They felt so ashamed, and worthless, even though logically they knew they hadn’t done anything. So many of them wrote about what it was like when they realized—really
got
it—what it’d meant for their mother to bear them . . . raise them . . . the child of the man who had raped them.”

Her shining eyes were like dark mirrors.

“It’s hard to explain,” he muttered after a moment. “Sometimes I used to think Lucien understood, but now I know even he . . .”

He faded off. Lucien, at least, was now secure in the knowledge that he wasn’t a result of depraved, selfish violence. Yes, what Gaines had done to Lucien’s mother was sick and unforgivable, of course, but this was . . . different. Ian knew most people would consider the child born of rape a monster, a vicious, cruel reminder to the victimized woman of what she’d endured.

Francesca nodded as if in understanding, even though he hadn’t finished his thought. “And your mother couldn’t come to terms with it like other women might.” Ian closed his eyes and forced himself to inhale as Francesca put that horrible truth to words for him. His mother had had even less of a chance to psychologically cope with the rape and heal. When her psychosis was at its worst, she couldn’t differentiate present day reality from horrific memory. She couldn’t help it.

At times, Ian and Gaines had become one and the same for her.

He felt Francesca’s hand on his upper arm and he resisted an urge to flinch. Her touch was almost unbearable, it was so sweet.

“When your mother was herself, though, Ian,” she said in a quiet voice that vibrated with emotion, “when she wasn’t being ruled by her illness, she
did
love you. So much. You have told me so many times how she loved and prized you. ‘She was the sweetest, kindest, most loving mother in the world.’ That’s what you’ve told me.
That’s
who she really was. That’s who
you
really are, the person who deserved her love.” Her hand tightened on his arm. “The man who deserves mine.”

He inhaled, forcing the invisible clutches on his lungs to release. He opened his eyes.

“I have to go,” he said.

“Let me come with you then.”

“I can’t. I can’t stand to think of taking you with me, of you being there. Please understand, Francesca,” he said stiffly.

She dropped her hand and took a step back. He clenched his teeth together at the loss of her touch, at the expression of defeat on her face. “It won’t help you, Ian. I’m convinced of that. But even if I don’t agree with what you’re doing, I understand. Anne and James understand, too. Will you at least let us know you’re all right this time?”

“Yes. I already told Grandfather I would. And I also told him I want you to stay here at Belford Hall,” he said, finally meeting her stare.

Her eyebrows arched. “I can’t promise for how long.”

“I know,” he admitted. “I can’t ask you to put your life indefinitely on hold for me. But it would give me comfort for now, to know that you’re here with my grandparents. Promise to at least stay for the next week or so.”

She hesitated, her pink lips trembling. “All right,” she said finally.

He nodded once, hoping she saw his gratitude. Realizing there was nothing more to say, he went to get his bags. He moved past her toward the door.

“Ian.”

He had no choice but to look back at her and test his crumbling fortitude one more time.

“Find your way back to me,” she whispered fiercely.

He turned, reaching blindly for the door handle, unable momentarily to breathe.

Chapter Fourteen

S
he stood before the canvas, her concentration such that she only became aware by degrees that people had entered the room and were speaking quietly to one another. She blinked, moving a tendril of hair off her forehead with the same hand that clutched a pencil.

“Hello,” she called, her voice sounding dazed even to her own ears. She wasn’t annoyed by the interruption for her work’s sake, but she was disappointed. Since Ian had left yesterday, the only real peace she’d gotten was when she finally entered that coveted zone of creative focus.

“Mr. Sinoit was just saying that you seemed to be in a trance, and I was telling him that’s how you always look when you work,” Mrs. Hanson told her with a smile as she arranged a tea tray on a table between two chairs. The housekeeper’s expression turned apologetic. “At least when your work is going well.”

“It is going well,” Francesca said.

“I’m sorry to have interrupted, but you worked through breakfast. It was just James, Short, and myself, and the pair of them talked about Brooklyn the whole time,” Gerard said. Francesca smiled. She’d met the clean-cut, square-jawed Arthur Short, an American who worked for James, last night at dinner, and thought he was very nice. “I missed you and Anne,” Gerard continued with a dry smile. “I thought some refreshment might be appreciated at this point. Anne’s worried that your appetite is going off again since . . .”

Francesca forced a grin when Gerard avoided mentioning Ian and his departure. So . . . they were back to skirting the topic of Ian again. Not if she could help it.

“Since Ian left? Yes, I suppose I haven’t been that hungry. But leave it to one of Mrs. Hanson’s teas to get my appetite going again,” she said, eyeing the scones, Danish, sweet cream, and fresh jam on the tiered porcelain serving dish.

“Shall I pour for you?” Mrs. Hanson asked.

“No, I’ll do it,” Francesca said, sitting across from Gerard. She opened her mouth to ask Mrs. Hanson to join them, but then closed it when she focused on Gerard. As much as it was the norm for her to take tea with the housekeeper, she doubted it was typical for Gerard.

“I’ll just leave you to it then,” Mrs. Hanson said warmly before departing.

“I’m glad to hear your sketching is going well,” Gerard said. “May I have a look after we finish?”

“Please do,” Francesca said as she poured from the china pot.

“I feel as if I haven’t seen much of you lately,” Gerard said.

She studied his face closely as she stirred cream into her tea. “Well, a lot has been going on, I guess. And I’m afraid I can become a bit withdrawn when I’m working on a project. How have you been?” she asked, her concern for his well-being after the shooting audible in her question. “I’ve never really had much of a chance to speak with you in private after what happened with Brodsik,” she said. “It must have been awful for you . . . and still is.”

“It was a shock, certainly,” Gerard said, sipping his tea, his expression sober.

“I haven’t thanked you, either.” She set down the scone she’d picked up, her appetite suddenly fleeing. “If it hadn’t been for you,” she hesitated, not wanting to sound so melodramatic as to say,
I might be dead.
“Who knows what havoc Brodsik might have created?” she managed to say instead.

“As much as I would prefer that the circumstances were different, I am glad I was able to do what I could to stop him,” Gerard said quietly.

“I would never wish the situation on anyone, but you responded very bravely.”

He gave a small smile and set down his teacup.

“And you? Are you suffering again, with Ian’s departure?”

She blinked at his question, given the fact he’d been avoiding saying Ian’s name in her presence earlier.

“I’m doing all right,” she said, keeping her voice even. “At least he’s agreed to keep in contact this time. With Anne and James anyway. At least we’re not fearful for his life or well-being.”

“Yes, well that’s something, of course.” He paused. She sensed he was trying to broach a delicate subject.

“What is it, Gerard?”

“I’m well aware that you, Anne, and James know of some kind of secret about why Ian became so emotionally disturbed last summer and disappeared. And I understand,” he said, holding up his hand in a placating manner when she opened her mouth to try and explain her silence yet again. “I value your discretion. I’m not trying to pry. It’s just that . . . I came upon Lucien and Ian talking together in the sitting room a few days before he left Belford Hall. They were talking about a man called Trevor Gaines. Ian has apparently bought his house and has been conducting some sort of search in it. I only bring it up because I was very concerned by Ian’s tone. He sounded quite . . .
intense
. I won’t go so far as to say ‘mad’ but he certainly sounded obsessed with the topic.”

Francesca swallowed thickly, shocked, absorbing the disturbing news while Gerard studied her.
Ian had bought Trevor Gaines’s house?

“I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. It’s just . . . I assumed that Ian’s secret that you’ve all been guarding is somehow related to this man Gaines. I wanted to assure myself that if you, Anne, and James were aware of whatever Ian is involved in, that you were also aware of how . . . unbalanced he sounds on the topic.”

“Unbalanced?” Francesca asked warily. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Even Lucien was uncomfortable while they talked. I could tell. Who wouldn’t be, with Ian ranting the way he was. He sounded very angry, but for the life of me, I couldn’t comprehend at what his fury was aimed.” His laugh sounded uneasy. “For a moment, I thought he sounded a little like . . .”

“What?” Francesca asked, her alarm mounting. The idea of Ian purchasing Trevor Gaines’s home, searching in it. . . . Had he been
living
in that monster’s residence this whole time? Ice water seemed to shoot through her veins at the thought. She shuddered, placing her hand on her chest when an uncomfortable spasm went through it.

“Gerard, what did you think Ian sounded like?” she asked, her voice growing high pitched.

Gerard winced. “Well he sounded a little like my cousin Helen,” he admitted uneasily.

Francesca stared at him, shock making her flesh tingle. “Gerard, that’s a horrible thing to say. Ian is as sane as anyone I know. He’s been through a hell of a lot in a short period of time. He’s had to deal with more than most could endure. More than you know.”

“Francesca, please don’t go,” Gerard said when she abruptly set her napkin on the table and stood. “I realize that Ian doesn’t often appear the way I observed. That’s why I wanted to make sure I brought it up to someone who has an idea of whatever he’s been experiencing for the past half year. I was aware that Lucien and he were discussing something secretive by their manner, but I’d never seen Ian behave in such a . . . an irrational way. Although,” he added under his breath, “surely you’ve noticed he’s been rather . . .
frayed
at times during this visit. Anne and James certainly have. Actually, I
have
seen him act oddly one other time in his life,” he said, pausing in reflection. “When he first came to Belford as a child, he could be very moody and unpredictable. Sometimes he reminded me of one of those feral children, to be honest. Not to that degree, of course, but still . . . It was tragic to see it, imagining what he must have endured with only a madwoman for a companion for the first ten years of his life. For a moment when I saw him there in the sitting room, I was reminded of that child. I thought he was going to strike out at Lucien like a cornered animal.”

“He would never do that,” Francesca grated out, her chaotic thoughts suddenly landing on how wild Ian had looked the other day behind the stairs, how he’d flung Lucien’s hand away from him. She didn’t believe that Ian was mad for an instant, but what if he really had endured too much emotionally? She’d worried what he was doing during this soul search was unhealthy for him, but she hadn’t imagined him doing something as extreme as buying Trevor Gaines’s house and conducting some sort of obsessive search. And for what? What could he
possibly
hope to find?

A wave of powerful nausea went through her at the thought.

What if Gerard was right? She’d worried that Ian had been emotionally cut open with the news of Trevor Gaines and his mother’s death, but what if he really was skating on the edge? What if he’d gone
over
the edge at times? He was always alluding to the fact that he had no choice in his mission, and she’d fought that concept tooth and nail.

But wasn’t it true that the closer a person got to madness, the less and less choice they had? They felt compelled, ruled by powers other than their own.

I didn’t choose any of this. Fate did.

She moaned softly, nausea rising to her throat at the memory of him saying those words.

“Francesca, please sit down,” Gerard implored, standing and looking alarmed. “You look very pale.”

“No. No, I’d just like to be alone,” she managed, hardly aware of what she said when Gerard reached out to steady her. She removed his hand and somehow made it out of the room.

* * *

Francesca rushed into her suite, experiencing a strange sense of rising panic overlaid with a clear focus. She needed to go and find Ian. She needed to assure herself that he was safe and not descending into a place where she couldn’t reach him. Never in a million years would she have allowed him to continue on this soul search if she’d thought his mission included spending time alone in Trevor Gaines’s house, sifting through the remains of his sick life.

But was he alone? She wondered, pausing as she began to open her drawers. Hadn’t Elise referred to the fact that Lucien might join him? When Elise had mentioned it before, she’d had some vague idea that perhaps both of them would go to Morocco together so that Ian could ask Fatima about his mother. She hadn’t been happy about the idea, but it seemed downright healthy compared to what Ian had
actually
been doing and planned to continue to do. God, if Ian really was in Trevor Gaines’s house, please let Lucien be with him. Lucien, at least, could steady him in this bizarre mission. She rushed to her purse and pulled out her cell phone.

“Elise?” she said a moment later, relief rushing through her at the sound of Elise’s voice. “I’m so glad I caught you.”

“Francesca? What is it? What’s wrong?” Elise asked, making Francesca realize how panicked she sounded.

“Nothing, I hope. It’s just . . . is Lucien with Ian?”

There was a short pause. “Yes. They’re in France,” Elise finally said.

“Elise, are they at Trevor Gaines’s
house
?”

“Yes,” Elise replied in a thin voice. “I’m not happy about it, but Lucien insisted he wanted to do it, especially for— Francesca, who told you where they were? Did Ian?”

“No, he told me he didn’t want me to know above all else,” Francesca said, frowning at the memory. He knew if she tried to talk him out of it, he might listen, so he’d preferred to leave her in the dark about the exact nature of what he planned.
Damn him
. “Gerard told me. He overheard Lucien and Ian talking. Why didn’t
you
tell me what they were doing?” she accused.

“I just found out yesterday, before Lucien left. He told me that Ian didn’t want you to know. I told Lucien I wasn’t going to lie to you about it. In fact, I’d almost decided to call you one way or another. You just happened to call me first.”

“It’s
mad
,” Francesca hissed. She blanched and grimaced when she recognized what she’d said. “Ian is already skating on the edge. How is wandering around that awful man’s house going to help his state of mind any?”

“I agree,” Elise said, sounding miserable. Francesca held the phone to her ear, listening as she dragged her suitcase out of the closet. She’d just pack some bare essentials and leave her nicer clothes and jewelry behind at Belford. She doubted she’d need eveningwear for this mission. “But they want to know if they can discover any other of Gaines’s children, or at least I know Lucien wants that, very much. Apparently, there’s a man who lives on the grounds even now who is . . . you know . . . one of Gaines’s offspring,” Elise finished uncomfortably.

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.