by Kery, Beth
“You’re sure?” Anne asked quietly.
“Because we won’t, if you don’t want it. After what Gerard did, I’d understand completely,” James said. Sadness swept through Francesca at hearing the weight in James’s voice. He’d been hurt the most by Gerard’s blatant treachery.
“I’m not the judge of whether or not Gerard should die alone,” Ian said. “Go. Sit with him. He’s family.”
“My sister’s son—” James broke off. Someone made a choking sound. Francesca walked around the curtain and saw James with his face in his hand, obviously undone. Her heart seized in anguish at the sight. Anne gave her a helpless glance. Francesca couldn’t think of what to say. Anne took her husband’s hand and led him from the room.
Francesca walked next to Ian’s bed. He looked at her bleakly from where he lay propped up in the hospital bed in order to take pressure off the surgical site. She touched his hairline and dropped a kiss on his temple, inhaling his scent greedily for reassurance. She was relieved to see his coloring was better than it’d been last night, when he was still groggy from the anesthesia.
“Gerard isn’t expected to last much longer,” he said. “My grandparents were asking permission to sit with him until the end.”
She closed her eyes. It’d been what she expected to hear, but she hated to think of James and Anne’s suffering. They’d already dealt with so much in their lives. The betrayal of Gerard, whom they considered as almost a son, seemed too cruel to consider.
“Are you feeling all right?” Ian asked her, his gaze moving over her face.
She smoothed her hair and nodded. “Yes. I was out cold for a few hours. How about you? How does the shoulder feel?”
“Okay. They’re giving me something for the pain,” he said, taking her hand. “Sit down,” he directed. She came down at the edge of the bed, her hip brushing against his. She studied every detail of his features hungrily . . . worriedly. His lips tilted in amusement.
“You don’t have to look at me like I’m a tragic poster child, Francesca. I’ll be fine,” Ian told her pointedly.
“I know. I know you’ll be fine physically,” she assured both him and herself. “I’m just worried about the effect of what Gerard did.”
“On my fragile psyche, you mean?” he asked, his small grin widening slightly.
She gave him a repressive look. “You have to admit, you’ve been through an awful lot lately. Is it a surprise I’m worried about your finding out someone you loved—a part of your family—betrayed you?”
She brushed her fingertips across his mouth when it hardened, lowering her caress to his whiskered jaw. “I suppose not,” he murmured. “But you shouldn’t worry. It’s different than my mother and the discovery of Trevor Gaines.”
“How?”
He shook his head. “It’s hard to explain. It doesn’t feel as . . . personal. It was a shock, and I’m stunned that he hated me so much and I never realized. Gerard’s desire for revenge seems sadder than anything,” he muttered under his breath. “I’d feel bad for him if he hadn’t pissed me off to no end for what he did to you, recording you that way.”
“Surely his bigger crime was trying to kill us,” Francesca pointed out.
“I have a feeling we were just the tip of the iceberg,” Ian said, frowning. “I was always vaguely aware of the fact that he held back some resentment for my showing up and stealing his spotlight with Grandmother and Grandfather—both in the emotional and financial sense. I was also aware, though, that he contained his envy. I assumed it was because he knew that logically it was misplaced. He spent time with me, showed me affection, helped to bring me out of my shell. I thought it was his way of dealing with the altered circumstances my arrival brought. I appreciated him all the more for it. I never felt the same feelings of jealousy toward him, so I never guessed the depth of his hatred—or why he was trying to control his fury.”
Francesca nodded, stroking his forearm. “You were also so blasé at the idea of Gerard carrying on the title. He obviously didn’t have the same equanimity about your receiving James’s inheritance.”
“Obviously,” Ian said dryly. “I was a grubby little orphan. Why would I feel resentment about not receiving a title? I didn’t even understand what a title was.” His expression darkened. “It’ll die now, with Grandfather.”
She started. “What will?”
“The title of Earl of Stratham.”
“Poor James,” Francesca whispered.
He squeezed her hand. Her gaze flickered to his face and was caught by his gleaming blue eyes.
“Will you marry me, Francesca?”
For a few seconds, she just stared, his deep, rough voice uttering the unexpected question echoing in her head.
“Before you answer, I should tell you that I mean right now. Here, in the hospital,” he continued. “We’ll be able to get all the blood tests done here, and I’ve already spoken to the chaplain while you were sleeping.”
“Why now?” she asked, shock ringing in her voice, and she thought he understood she didn’t just mean why was he asking her to marry him while he lay there in the hospital, wounded, but what had changed his mind about being with her . . . about him feeling worthy of marriage.
He shrugged, wincing slightly, forgetting his injury. “I guess I don’t have any better answer except to say that after that night at Aurore, I feel different. I might have lost you.”
Her throat tightened. “And I might have lost you.”
“Life is fragile. But it’s more than that,” he said, his eyes shining as he looked at her face. “For the first time, I feel that I can beat this. I still want to understand my beginnings better. I still want to understand as much as I can, period. But there’s light in all the darkness Trevor Gaines wrought. There’s Lucien and Kam and who knows how many others, all of us struggling to make a life for ourselves, a good life.”
She nodded, emotion filling her chest. “And there’s you.”
He kissed her hand slowly. Deliberately. “The last thing I wanted was for you to come to Aurore. But once you were there, I realized it was exactly what I needed. I thought the darkness could take you as well as me,” he said, his voice gruff with emotion. “I should have known nothing could dim your brilliance.”
“Ian,” she whispered, through a throat that felt like she’d swallowed gravel. Her heart squeezed tight when she saw the trace of anxiety flicker in his eyes and she realized he waited. “The answer is the same as it was before and will always be. Yes.”
Epilogue
SIX MONTHS LATER
Ian, Francesca, Anne, and James stood in a half arc, watching expectantly as two of the Belford staff hung the painting above the fireplace.
“Straight?” one of the young men asked.
“Perfect,” Anne said, her smile radiant. The two men lowered from their prospective ladders and gathered up their equipment.
“Thank you,” James said, and the two painting-hangers turned to vacate the sitting room.
For a moment, the four of them just looked silently at the painting of Belford. Francesca glanced sideways at James’s and Anne’s beaming faces and a wave of happiness went through her. She was particularly proud of the finished product, but she was so thankful James and Anne loved it. Ian noticed how she looked at his grandparents and took her hand in his. She brought his hand in front of her, running her free hand over his knuckles with her fingers. When she brushed his platinum wedding band, a tiny smile flickered across his mouth at her silent gesture.
Her eyes burned with tears. She’d grown extremely emotional lately.
“It’s perfect,” Ian said, his eyes warm, as if he’d understood the strong feeling of love and joy that had swept through her at that moment.
“Absolutely,” James concurred.
“It’s so much better than I’d ever hoped for,” Anne sighed. “You were so r
ight to paint it as if coming out of the blossoming woods. Belford looks like . . .”
“The warm, beautiful home that it is,” Francesca murmured.
“Your home,” Anne said, her glance bouncing between Ian and her. Francesca and Ian’s gazes met again briefly. Now that they were married, they’d agreed to spend their future summers at Belford Hall. This year, however, Francesca had spent the entire spring at Belford, painting the beautiful old home every day without fail. She’d fallen completely in love with the place, seeing it bedecked in all its spring glory. She hated being apart from Ian, even if they did see each other for long weekends and spoke on the phone or videoconferenced several times a day. They’d decided the arrangement was best, however. Francesca wanted to get the painting done and return to Chicago with Ian for good. Ian didn’t want them to be parted at all period, but given that her reasoning for them being apart temporarily was for his grandparents, and only for the duration of six weeks, he’d reluctantly agreed to the plan. He came every Thursday and left on Sunday nights. She was glad they’d done it. James appeared to be the most affected of all of them by Gerard’s betrayal and death six months ago. He seemed frailer as of late. Francesca knew the time with Anne and James at Belford this spring was precious, something to be treasured.
Ian had just arrived this evening for the hanging of the finished painting. He’d been gone for an extra day this time, having spent some time at Aurore with Lucien visiting Kam before he’d arrived at Belford. She’d missed him like sin. Their parting last week had been especially painful, given the unique circumstances. She couldn’t seem to get her fill of looking at him, and he hadn’t stopped touching some part of her since the first moment he arrived.
“Let’s have a drink to toast the painting that piece of wall has been waiting for forever!” James said, his jovial manner elevating Francesca’s good mood even further. He almost seemed like his old self tonight.
The French doors in the sitting room had been thrown open to a mild spring night. It was very pleasant, sitting and chatting with Anne and James with her side pressed tightly against Ian, his arm around her, sipping a lemonade while the sweet smell of honeysuckle wafted in from the garden on the light breeze.
“I can’t believe how bright that young man is,” James said pointedly to Ian after Ian had described some of his visit with Kam at Aurore.
“Absolutely,” Anne concurred. “As brilliant as Lucien and you, in his own right. Does Kam still live in that underground . . . place?” Anne asked delicately, obviously unsure what to call Kam’s subterranean workshop/residence. Anne and James had met Kam while Ian had been in the hospital in France after Gerard had shot him. Kam had looked distinctly uncomfortable when the elderly couple showered him with their gratitude for saving Ian and Francesca’s life. Later, when Ian and Francesca had been married with Anne, James, Lucien, and Elise gathered around them, Kam had mumbled that there wasn’t enough room for him, and insisted upon watching the simple ceremony from the doorway. Francesca had grown quite a fond spot for the terse, brilliant man, and she knew Ian felt the same way.
“No. He’s moved into Aurore. Francesca and I have given it to him.”
James blinked. “That’s generous.”
“Not really,” Ian said mildly. “Trevor Gaines left it to him originally.”
“It’s so odd that Gaines showed any favor to one of the children he sired, isn’t it? When he had no interest in any of the others?” Anne asked, frowning in disapproval as she considered Gaines.
Ian shrugged. “His interest in Kam appears to have been totally practical, although it might have grown into a fondness. Kam disagrees with me on that, but if you ask me, his actions toward Kam are one of the few indications he was a human being versus a monster. Kam lived on the property from the day he was born—his mother was a laundress and maid. When Gaines understood how brilliant Kam was, he hired him on as a kind of helper in his workshop. He eventually formed some sort of attachment to him, although Kam is very pragmatic, and scorns the idea of it being anything remotely similar to fatherly love. Kam was a bright kid, though, in more ways than one. He knew how to get what he wanted out of Gaines. He got Gaines to agree to send him to school in exchange for working for him. And Gaines did, surprisingly enough, even sending him both to college and then to medical school. Kam never finished his cardiology residency, though, and returned to Aurore when his mother became ill.”
“What a fascinating story Kam has,” Anne said, shaking her head in amazement. “I’ve never met anyone like him, and I’ve met my fair share of singular men,” she added with a droll glance at Ian and James.
“Given his medical background and experience with Gaines, it’s no wonder he’s come up with all the brilliant technology he has,” Francesca said. “Did Ian tell you he’s sold his biotech patents for millions of dollars to a pharmaceutical company? They’re going to make these revolutionary medical watches with his invention. The watches do everything from sending off a warning for an impending heart attack to tell a woman when the prime time is to get pregnant, and dozens of other valuable things besides. It’s a biofeedback mechanism, so the wearer will constantly be educated as to their responses to the external world.”
“Kam took what Trevor Gaines had started with his perverse obsessions and twisted greed and turned it into something that can really make a positive difference,” Ian said, referring to not only Gaines’s mechanical genius, but the fact that he had been obsessed with the “clockwork” type cycles of a woman’s body in order to impregnate his victims. Kam had told Ian and Francesca that Gaines was interested in finding ways to measure and predict human biology, and had started to experiment casually. But it was Kam who had seen the far-reaching potential and furthered the work in a meaningful, groundbreaking way.
Ian glanced sideways at Francesca when she placed her hand on his thigh. A deep, profound sense of gratitude went through her at the growing peace in his voice when he spoke of his biological father. He was still appalled by who Gaines was as a man, but he understood him better objectively. Ian had been right all along, Francesca now admitted freely. Something about gathering information on Gaines, understanding his past and his surroundings and his work habits and his obsession—it had helped Ian get the distance he needed from his biological father. After speaking with Kam in detail about his shared past with Gaines, in addition to discovering some journals that had belonged both to Gaines’s mother and Trevor himself, Ian had begun to suspect that Gaines had been abused as a young man by his new stepfather, Alfred Aurore. Gaines had despised Aurore, but the true target of his hatred was his mother, who had put him in harm’s way and then done nothing to protect him. This, despite the fact that Gaines insinuated in his journals she knew the truth of what her new husband was doing to her son. That had, perhaps, been at the core of Gaines’s hatred of women and his desire to force himself both into their bodies and their very existences, with a child. No woman’s life could fail to be altered by a child, even if Trevor’s mother had endeavored to deny that truth with her own son.
Ian freely admitted he’d probably never see the full, complex picture of Gaines, but even the more substantial outline of the man’s motivations and life seemed to calm him.
She thought the bulk of Gaines’s poisonous legacy had been miraculously extracted that night when she’d arrived at Aurore, and Ian had risked death for her. Some things were bigger even than a sociopathic parent, and that night had taught Ian what was really at the core of him. Ian had agreed to further his healing, meeting with a support group occasionally made up of other children of rape, trying to understand his shame and come to terms with it.
A small smile flickered across Ian’s mouth as he studied Francesca presently, as if he had sensed her thankfulness as she looked up at him.
“I would never have thought anything good could come from the legacy of a man like Trevor Gaines, but it seems I learn about new things every d
ay. Thanks to you,” he continued more quietly, speaking to Francesca. “I can see and appreciate that now.”
“If it weren’t for your searching, you would have never been able to find the treasures that you have,” she replied softly.
She became so lost in his eyes, it took her a moment to absorb Anne’s brisk voice.
“Well, it’s off to bed for me,” Anne said brightly, giving James a significant look. James immediately set down his brandy glass.
“Oh no. I . . . We didn’t mean to run you off,” Francesca said contritely, realizing she’d been staring at Ian, entranced, making the couple feel awkward, no doubt. She felt an almost magical connection with her husband in those moments, a bond forged by the trials they’d faced in order to be together and the rich promise of the future. She couldn’t wait to spend time with him alone, but there were still several important things they needed to talk to Anne and James about at the moment.
“Ian wants to speak with you both about what the police in London and Detective Markov told him about Gerard,” Francesca reminded them.
She regretted bringing up such a heavy topic when she saw Anne’s and James’s expressions grow solemn, but at the same time, it was important news. Ian had already told her everything on the phone before he’d arrived, and they’d processed it together. She was glad he was the one who was going to first break the news to Anne and James, not the police. It was the elderly couple who had been most devastated by learning of Gerard’s true nature and his subsequent death in the hospital the day after he’d been shot, after all.
In the hospital, Ian and she had agreed not to tell Anne and James about the fact that Gerard had hinted he’d had a hand in his mother and father’s death. They had no solid proof, and the suspicions would just pain James even more than the clear-cut knowledge of his nephew’s true nature. He’d adored his sister, and Gerard’s father had been a lifetime friend.