Because We Belong (Because You Are Mine #3)(42)
“Were there any other unusual occurrences either before or after that man tried to take you in Chicago?” Ian asked in an offhand manner as he began to arrange logs and kindling.
“No one tried to take me,” she insisted. She noticed Gerard’s puzzled expression. For some reason, a sharp somatic memory of the assailant’s brutal grip rose to her awareness. She rubbed her upper arms as if to erase the unpleasant recollection. Was there any possibility that Ian was right in his suspicion? “And in answer to your question, no. Nothing unusual at all has happened other than that.”
“Gerard? Anything odd that you noticed while you were in Chicago?”
“Other than the fact that the waiters there whisked away my plate the second I took my last bite, everything was boringly normal,” Gerard said dryly.
Ian just continued to build the fire in silence. She shook her head in disgust, knowing him well enough to recognize he wasn’t going to argue, but that he hadn’t changed his mind in the slightest. She left Gerard and looked around the little house, familiarizing herself with the location of the bathroom, which was in the hallway between the living room and bedroom. The small, tidy bedroom included a made double bed, upholstered chair, a desk and bureau. She’d be very comfortable working here, she decided. She found some tea bags in a kitchen cabinet and filled the kettle on the stove.
When she returned to the living room with a mug of tea in her hand, Ian had successfully started a fire. It felt warm enough for her to remove her coat.
“There’s hot water for tea, if you’d like it,” she said politely as she hung up her coat. Personally, she was hoping both men would vacate as quickly as possible. She’d never be able to focus with Ian there in the small confines of the cottage, sending her simmering, churning emotions up to a full boil.
“That sounds good,” Gerard said, starting for the kitchen.
“I’m going to walk around and inspect the grounds a bit, maybe look in at the stables,” Ian said pointedly to Gerard, who came to a halt. “Why don’t you come with me? There are some things we need to discuss.”
Francesca went still in the process of lifting her mug to her lips, her gaze bouncing from Ian to Gerard to Ian again. Surely Ian wasn’t planning on confronting Gerard. Surely he wasn’t considering talking to Gerard about her. The thought angered her—what right did he have to tell Gerard what to do when it came to her? At the same time, she’d be lying to herself if she said she didn’t experience a little relief. She’d already determined she wasn’t interested in Gerard’s advances. With Ian here, Gerard’s attraction to her just seemed to muddy the waters even more when all she needed was clarity.
“Francesca doesn’t like people around when she works,” Ian said quietly when Gerard opened his mouth—Francesca would have guessed to protest. “It makes it difficult for her to concentrate.”
She took a sip of her tea to hide the pain that went through her at Ian saying out loud something she’d told him once in an intimate moment. It seemed too strange, the paradox of the closeness she felt with him combined with a glaring distance, given his actions. It suddenly felt unbearable. Strangling. She wanted nothing more than to be alone.
“It’s true,” she told Gerard apologetically. “I freeze up when people are around.”
“We’ll walk then,” Gerard said, shrugging. “I have plenty of questions for you as well, Ian.”
“Grandfather bid on an old boxer-engine World War Two motorcycle at Higsby’s last month. Care to have a look at it?” she heard Ian say to Gerard as they headed toward the door.
“Is it in running condition?” Gerard asked, and Francesca was glad to hear the note of interest in his voice. Ian was trying, at least. He must feel guilty for his earlier heavy-handedness with his cousin. She’d always heard from Ian that Gerard and he were close. If they weren’t getting along, it was most likely due to some misplaced jealousy on Ian’s part.
“Needs some work.” Ian opened the front door and cool air rushed into the room. “I’ll be able to keep an eye on the cottage from the grounds, but lock this after we leave,” he called back to Francesca.
Francesca rolled her eyes.
“Francesca?” he prompted in that hoarse, compelling voice of his. She met his stare reluctantly. “Double lock it. Please.”
“Fine,” she muttered, willing to say anything to get him out of there. It felt like she hadn’t taken a full breath of air into her lungs since she’d entered the sitting room that morning. She finally did so after she’d slammed the door shut behind the two men and twisted the locks.
She couldn’t take this for much longer. If Ian didn’t leave Belford sometime very soon, she would have to be the one to go. It was a simple matter of survival.
But could she really do it? Could she really walk away from him after so many months of worrying, so many unbearable nights of feeling his absence like a gaping hole in her spirit?
If he could do it, you can.
Somehow, that incendiary thought didn’t help any.
* * *
Ian and Gerard returned after their inspection of the grounds, but thankfully her focus on the sketch gave her some measure of defense.
Or so she’d thought.
Someone tapped lightly on the door, but then immediately used the key to enter. Ian. He knew she’d be lost in her own little world. She glanced around distractedly from where she sat on a chair in front of the cottage picture window and saw him walking toward the fireplace, looking rugged and very appealing with a load of logs in his arms and his short hair windblown. He met her gaze, but didn’t speak as he put the logs in the firebox and kindled the fire. She resumed moving her hand over the sketchbook propped in her lap, distantly aware that Gerard stood for a moment at the threshold looking at her before walking out again, closing the door gently behind him.