Because We Belong: A Because You Are Mine Novel Page 6

  Ian closed his eyes at the sound of Reardon’s heavy boots on the stairs, fighting down the bitter taste at the back of his throat.

  * * *

  Later that evening, he shoved aside an uneaten dinner that had mostly come from a can. He stood to remove the meal from the quarters where he’d been staying and noticed his reflection in the mirror. After a strained moment, he set down the plate and glass on the dusty bureau, his mission forgotten. He peered closer at his image.

  When had his two– and then three-day overgrowth become a full-blown beard? When had he gotten that feral look in his eyes? When had he started to resemble Kam Reardon?

  Resemble worse than Reardon?

  You’re starting to look like him. People will start to swear that dear old daddy’s ghost is haunting this garbage dump.

  He hissed, smashing his fist into the bureau and sending the china plate crashing to the wood floor, where it shattered jarringly.

  Stupid fuck. Ian was nothing like Trevor Gaines. His entire reason for buying this godforsaken house, for sifting through every item in its rat-warren rooms, was to purge that criminal from his mind and body. It was an exorcism of sorts.

  He’s in your very blood, a nasty voice in his head reminded him. You’ll never be free of the taint of him.

  His other life—the once methodical, organized, sterile one that had recently been transformed by Francesca, blessed by light and laughter and love—was starting to feel like a dream to him, an elusive memory that he couldn’t quite grasp with his clutching fingers. His world was starting to become a watered-down nightmare—not terrifying, necessarily, but dirty and gray, vague and pointless. A personalized version of hell.

  “No,” he said roughly out loud, his gaze growing fierce in the mirror. He did have a purpose . . . a goal. Once he understood who Trevor Gaines was, once he comprehended why his biological father had become so depraved, he could more easily separate himself from the man. There was a method to his madness.

  Just be sure the madness doesn’t get you before the method ever works.

  He snarled at the sound of the sardonic, taunting voice—his voice, his own doubts about his mission breaking through the surface. He turned away from the vision of the disturbing image in the mirror.

  Just a little longer.

  He’d search just a little longer. Surely there was something in this old ruin that would help him pigeonhole Gaines, categorize him like a neat, labeled forensic specimen; something that would allow him to wrap his brain around the enigma of a man that had become like a spear piercing deep within him, its handle broken so that he couldn’t get an adequate hold to extract it and allow the wound to heal cleanly.

  He muttered a curse and threw himself on the dusty, sagging canopy bed, staring up at the ceiling. His fury had become his constant companion. It was the only thing that ever penetrated his numbness, coming upon him in frightening, savage waves.

  No. There was one other thing that made him feel, even here in this gray wasteland: the sharp pain of desire. Against his will, Francesca’s beautiful, anguished face rose in his mind’s eye as he’d seen her last night on his computer screen, the image rising to torture him. He clamped his eyelids tightly, trying to banish the evocative, haunting image . . . and failing.

  As usual.

  He did this for her, he recalled with furious desperation. If he didn’t exorcise his demons, how could he present himself to her with any honor? How could he offer himself to her with a stained spirit? She was lightness and warmth. Every casual glance she sent his way conveyed more love than he’d ever known, more than he’d ever even been capable of envisioning before she entered his life.

  No . . . he wouldn’t be set off balance by Kam Reardon, another one of Trevor Gaines’s leavings. He wouldn’t be knocked off his path by his mad half brother.

  If you’re not like your pervert father, how come you want to do what you want to do this very second?

  He grimaced at the silent, sarcastic question. He should get up from this bed, perhaps go for a late-night run. He could delve into more of the research he’d collected about Trevor Gaines, try to connect the disparate clippings of information he’d gathered, looking for a meaningful outline . . . do anything to focus his mind away from the computer that sat on the desk.

  For the next minute, he remained on the bed, stiff and unmoving, an invisible battle warring inside him. A sweat broke out on his temple at the effort he expended.

  Still, no amount of rationalizations and silent bids for self-control could stop him from rising from the bed and grabbing his computer. He was what he was, and this, at least, he could not control or banish. With a sense of grim inevitability—not to mention a wild hunger combined with a healthy dose of self-disgust—he sat on the bed and opened the video.

  It was the equivalent of masochistically flailing himself, but he did it anyway, knowing from experience it was impossible to resist the urge. Maybe Reardon was right. Maybe he was like his father.

  Moments later, he stared, utterly transfixed by the image of Francesca’s sublime face as ecstasy overcame her.

  He continued to watch even after he’d climaxed. He received no real satisfaction from his masturbation, but it did make him feel. It was the equivalent of cutting his own skin, one of the few things that penetrated his numbness.

  He only roused when his emissions cooled on his belly and he experienced vague discomfort. He glanced at his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he cleaned up, once again reminded of Kam Reardon’s nasty insinuation.

  Once again thinking of Kam Reardon, period.

  Of course.

  Reardon was another one of Gaines’s biological children. Perhaps his mother had lived somewhere near here. One thing was certain, the people in the local village insinuated that Kam had lived illegally on the Aurore property for a while now. Reardon, out of all Gaines’s ill-gotten children, would likely know more secrets and insights about Gaines then anyone. He was bound to give Ian some answers.

  He tossed aside the towel and left the suite with a newfound sense of grim purpose.

  * * *

  The next morning, Francesca hurried down the hallway toward the penthouse entrance, eager to greet her visitor.

  “Thank you so much for coming,” she said when the elevator door opened before she even saw Lucien. “I really didn’t want to interrupt, though, with Elise just returning home.”

  “I figured you might feel that way, so I brought her along,” Lucien said, stepping off the elevator along with a stunning blond woman with large sapphire eyes.

  “Elise,” Francesca muttered, torn between discomfort at her sudden appearance after such a significant break in their friendship and the genuine happiness she felt at seeing her. Elise’s warm, gamine grin was, as always, a striking contrast to her elegant beauty. It also went a long way in helping Francesca forget her embarrassment.

  “Don’t be mad at him. He couldn’t shake me,” Elise said, eyes sparkling as she glanced up at Lucien. “I latched onto him and wouldn’t let him come without me.”

  “I’m so glad you did,” Francesca said, a smile breaking free. The two women hugged. Francesca blinked several times when they broke their embrace and she looked at Elise’s beaming face. “I understand you just came from your parents? You must be . . . exhausted.”

  Elise’s lips trembled in amusement. She’d shared stories with Francesca in the past about her . . . colorful, trying parents. Louis and Madeline Martin had been a large part of what Elise had fled when she’d come to Chicago, looking for a way to make her life worthwhile. It wasn’t always easy for a gorgeous heiress who had been handed every material luxury on a platter to make a meaningful existence, Francesca had learned. With Lucien’s guidance and love, and Elise’s determination and talent, she’d done just that, however.

  “Exhausted is one way to put it. Louis and Madeline always extract
their pound of flesh. But how are you?” Elise asked pointedly, her brows bunching as she studied Francesca.

  “Fine. I’m fine,” Francesca assured. “Just . . . very happy to see you. Both,” she added, looking up at Lucien. She looked down, faltering at the sight of their compassionate gazes. “I’m so sorry for . . . you know . . . avoiding your calls. It had nothing to do with you. It was wrong of me. I know that, now that I’ve seen you two again . . .”

  “None of that, now,” Elise chastised softly, taking her hand, the naturalness and elegance of her gesture humbling Francesca further. “We’re friends. Lucien and I know how much pain you’ve been in.”

  “Thank you,” Francesca said earnestly, hoping Elise understood the depth of meaning behind the two inadequate words. “Come inside and sit down. I’ll get us something to drink.”

  A half hour later, the three of them sat together in a salon, Francesca in a winged-back chair and Lucien and Elise on a couch across from her, their hands lightly clasped together in a prizing, comfortable gesture. Their commitment to each another was almost tangible to observe. She was glad to see them both so happy, but still . . . her chest ached dully at their steadfast, touching exhibition of love.

  After Lucien had finished talking, she set down the club soda with lime she’d been sipping and leaned back with a sigh.

  “I see. I understand now what you meant yesterday by advising caution. If Noble should default on even the smallest thing in the contract with the acquisition loan company, Ian’s private shares could go into someone else’s control.” Her hands formed into fists as she thought about everything Lucien had just told her. “You’re right, Lucien,” she said after a pause. “Ian was assiduous about the idea of keeping one hundred percent of the shares in his company in private ownership. He wouldn’t like taking the risk, if it could be avoided.”

  “Mind you, the chances of a default occurring are very small,” Lucien said fairly. “But as opposed to a bank loan, if there was even a slight default, the acquisition loan company could legally take shares of Noble Enterprises as alternative payment. It’s happened before . . . and sometimes in hostile takeovers. Not that I’m saying anyone has any underhanded or malicious intent in this situation—”

  “No, of course not,” Francesca murmured. “As you said, the method is used regularly for quick cash. It might be a viable means to make the Tyake acquisition, if it weren’t for the fact that keeping Noble Enterprises exclusively private meant so much to Ian.”

  “Other companies might be willing to take the risk. The potential consequences are negligible.”

  “But not in the case of Noble Enterprises,” Francesca finished, meeting Lucien’s stare. “Not in Ian’s case.”

  Lucien’s slight nod of his head told her she’d got it exactly correct, in his opinion.

  “We should start looking for the money elsewhere then. No reason to keep putting it off,” she said, leaning forward, suddenly filled with a sense of purpose. “Will you come with me and talk to Gerard, James, and Anne? I’ll listen to their rebuttal, of course, but now that I understand your caution, I don’t think there’s much they can say that will change my mind. They probably won’t be pleased, after all the work Gerard has done on this. Anne and James dote on him almost as much as they do Ian. I get the impression he can do no wrong in their eyes.”

  “Of course,” Lucien said, helping Elise to stand. “I wouldn’t let you face this alone.”

  * * *

  She’d been right. Gerard, James, and Anne were concerned about her expressed doubts in regard to the proposed plan and at first argued their points eloquently. But with Lucien’s support and Francesca’s own reports of past conversations she’d had with Ian about his desire to keep the company under his exclusive control at all costs, she eventually won their agreement. Even Gerard, who had put so much time and work into the proposal, eventually conceded that the decision was hers, and said that he’d follow and support her in whatever she chose. He methodically began to list alternative sources of capital and brainstorm with the rest of the board, his affability making her appreciate him even more.

  “We have a lot of work ahead of us, and time is still of the essence,” Anne said during a lull in their deliberations. She looked at James worriedly. “And here we are, with Christmas soon upon as and the Anniversary Ball to follow.”

  “Anniversary Ball?” Francesca asked, curious.

  “Yes, it’ll be James’s and my fifty-fifth on Boxing Day.” Anne beamed first at Francesca and then at James, her radiant expression reminding Francesca of a much younger woman. “We’re having quite a do the night after Christmas. Belford Hall hasn’t seen a party this big in decades. We usually were in London during the Christmas season,” Anne added as an aside to Francesca, who understood her to mean they’d wanted to be close to their daughter, Helen, during the holiday.

  “How wonderful. I hadn’t realized. Congratulations,” Francesca said.

  Something seemed to occur to the older woman. “But you’ll come! Of course. I wanted you to come all along, aside from all this business, you and—” She trailed off, realizing what she’d been about to say. She gathered herself. “But now, it will be a total necessity for you to be there. The five us should be together while we go through the process of liquidating assets and building capital, Lucien included. It will do you good, Francesca, to get a change of scenery. Belford Hall is a sight to behold this time of year. We’ll spend a quiet Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, just family.” Her eyes suddenly widened as if she’d been jolted by electricity. “I have it! The perfect plan.”

  James gave Francesca an amused glance. He was clearly used to Anne’s occasional inspirations of genius and had long ago given up trying to stop her while she was on a roll.

  “You said you had just finished a painting and didn’t have a commission yet for the New Year. You’ll do Belford Hall for your next commission,” she said, as if it were obvious. “James and I have been considering hiring someone to do a painting ever since our fiftieth anniversary, but we’ve never gotten around to it. It must have been fate that we waited until now. No other painter James and I know combines the creative depths and knowledge of architecture that you do, Francesca. It’s the perfect idea!”

  James’s amused expression faded to a thoughtful one. “You know, she’s right, Francesca. It’s a very good idea. You’d be ideal to do the painting of Belford.”

  “We want the painting to show the splendor of Belford Hall in the springtime . . . the woods, the gardens. Not a grand painting, like you did for Ian for Noble Towers; an intimate one for our favorite room, where we’ll gaze at it night after night,” she said, glancing fondly at James. “You could begin with your preliminary sketches of the structure while you visit, and return when things are in full bloom,” Anne said, seemingly making plans as she spoke.

  “Well . . . maybe. I’ll have to think about it,” Francesca said, bewildered and set off balance by the turn of topic. She had to admit, a getaway might be just what she needed. She’d never been to Belford, although on several occasions she’d stayed with Ian at his grandparents’ home in London while they visited Helen Noble at the hospital. “We did study Belford Hall while I was in school. It’d be amazing to see it, let alone paint it.”

  Anne took one of her hands. “I’m so looking forward to showing you my home.”

  Francesca grinned at her absolute certainty, finding it heartwarming to suddenly come face-to-face with an Anne she’d only glimpsed so far: the razor-sharp, unstoppable, warm, charming woman who managed to get the wealthiest—and sometimes stingiest—people in the world to open their checkbooks for her charitable causes.

  “And you will come, too, Lucien,” the countess insisted. “Not only because of the Noble Enterprises deal, but because James and I sincerely want to get to know Ian’s brother better. You’re part of our family.”

  “Thank you,” Lucie
n said, seeming genuinely moved by Anne’s request. “But this is Elise’s and my first Christmas together. I doubt she’d approve,” he added wryly, speaking for Elise, who was in the kitchen with Mrs. Hanson while the ad hoc board met. Elise was a chef, and liked observing and learning from the experienced housekeeper.

  “Well she’ll come, too. I’d consider us lucky to have that delightful, vibrant girl with us. I’ve met her before today, you know,” Anne said as an aside to Lucien and Francesca, a teasing sparkle in her eyes. “Louis Martin’s daughter is always a breath of fresh air to any stuffy function. Life of the party, guaranteed.”

  “If a breath of fresh air means a cyclone of gossip, you’ve hit the nail on the head as far as my wife,” Lucien murmured, his lips twitching to break free in a smile.

  Francesca caught Gerard’s amused glance and laughed aloud for the first time in what felt like ages.

  * * *

  They all went over to Noble Enterprises that afternoon to meet with various Noble executives and members of the mergers and acquisitions team. They paused only for a brief, very enjoyable dinner together at Catch 35, where Gerard entertained them with family stories. Apparently, Gerard’s father Cedric had been good friends with James since their early days at Cambridge, and it’d been James who introduced his friend to James’s considerably younger sister, Simone. Gerard played raconteur, regaling them with stories about James and his father as young men. He painted a picture of Cedric Sinoit as sort of a cheerful clown, always contriving hilarious, inevitably failed attempts to outdo James. Francesca laughed with them all yet again, the shadows of her grief pushed aside for a few bright, vibrant moments.

  The complexities of the acquisition continued to be trying for Francesca, who had to struggle to understand concepts that were second nature to people like Lucien and Gerard. They went back to work until late, putting together the skeleton of a plan that could be carried out methodically even if the board wasn’t on-site in Chicago.