Because We Belong (Because You Are Mine #3)(43)

The thought that she and Ian were alone in the cottage penetrated her awareness. She swallowed uneasily, her entire focus transferring from the view before her and the unfolding image on the page to the sounds of him moving behind her. What had Gerard and he talked about? Would he say anything to her now that they were alone?

She heard his boots scuffling on the marble hearth as he stood. He returned the poker to the holder, with a muted sound of metal on metal. She tried to locate him in the room by sound in the anxious silence that followed.

Her sketching hand went completely still a second later when she felt him touch her nape at her hairline, his fingertips cool . . . slightly abrasive. Shivers cascaded down her spine.

I’ll wait for you in my bedroom tonight.

Her heart seemed to jump into her throat. He hadn’t said the same words he’d uttered in the sitting room early this morning, and yet she’d heard them perfectly in her head. She sat looking out the picture window, frozen, every cell of her being focused on him standing just behind her. His fingers moved slightly, stroking her, creating a fresh wave of tingles down her spine . . . tightening her nipples.

“I’ll lock the door from the outside. Start back to Belford before it gets dark. If you don’t, I’ll come and get you.”

It could have been that he was alluding to the fact that she frequently lost track of time when she worked, and that she would be expected for dinner at Belford. It could have been that he was referring to her prickliness when it came to his presence, and he was letting her know point-blank if she stayed too long, she’d have to endure him.

Whatever the subtleties, he was making it clear that he’d claim her upon his whim.

Anger swelled in her breast at the thought, but that sensation was nothing in comparison to the other places in her body that his touch had enlivened.

Those places prickled with awareness long after he was gone.

* * *

That evening after she got out of a warm, relaxing bath, she found Clarisse in her suite hanging out a dark green dress for her to wear.

“I poured some club soda for you,” Clarisse said, nodding at a glass on a tray sitting on the coffee table. “Her ladyship told me to tell you that they met up with some friends who are staying in town over the holiday, and they’ve been asked to dine at Belford tonight—a Mr. Gravish and his wife. Her ladyship is friends with Mr. Gravish’s mother, and his wife was a school friend of Mr. Noble’s.”

“Ian you mean?” Francesca asked.

Clarisse nodded. “Yes, she knew him when Mr. Noble was still a boy, you know, in the local primary. Back when he first came to Belford Hall, I believe. One of the older maids told me he hadn’t ever been properly schooled before he came to England, and so her ladyship enrolled him in the local school for a year and gave him a private tutor in order to get him up to snuff. Mr. Noble was sharp as a blade, though, even if he was rough around the edges. It only took that year before he was ready for private, but that’s when he met Mrs. Gravish—I mean, she wasn’t Mrs. Gravish back then, of course.” Clarisse realized she’d been prattling on and gave Francesca an anxious glance. “Anyway, I’d started to stay that everyone is going to meet in the sitting room at seven before dinner,” Clarisse said. She held up a pair of brown suede pumps. “These with the dress, miss?”

“Sure,” Francesca said distractedly, thinking about what Clarisse had said about Ian as she removed the towel on her head and watched the young woman bustle around. “Did you have a good time at the ball last night, Clarisse?”

“Oh, yes. It was amazing.” She said excitedly before something seemed to occur to her and she hesitated.

“What is it?” Francesca asked as she toweled her hair.

“It’s only . . .” She bit her lower lip as she withdrew silk underwear from a drawer. “Mr. Noble returning . . . it must have upset you a lot.” She fumbled, looking at Francesca worriedly. “I mean . . . we heard that you and his lordship’s grandson were engaged to be married . . . before,” she finished lamely.

“We were. Once. But that’s over now,” Francesca said, picking up a comb from the dresser.

“But you must still have feelings for him.” Clarisse burst out.

Feelings for him. Against her will, Francesca felt his fingers brush against the tingling skin of her nape. She shivered and her sex tightened just from the memory. “I mean . . . Mr. Noble is the most handsome man I’ve ever seen,” Clarisse added lamely.

“Handsome is as handsome does,” Francesca said with a small smile. “I’m going to go and dry my hair. Oh . . . and Clarisse?”

“Yes?” Clarisse asked over her shoulders, holding a pair of sheer stockings in her hands.

“No offense or anything, but I’ll pick out my own underwear. Call it an American thing.”

Clarisse’s blue eyes went huge before she saw Francesca’s smile. Laughing, she scooped the underthings she’d set on the bureau back into the drawer and closed it.

Francesca dried her hair, and then used a curling iron to make a loose fall of waves. Leaving the bathroom, she stared at the conservative wool dress Clarisse had set out for her for dinner. She thought about Ian’s arrogant assumption that she would go to him tonight in his bedroom.

Maybe she would. Maybe she wouldn’t.

Whatever she chose, she would be miserable. It was only a matter of when she’d feel it. He was the one responsible for all these opposing feelings, all this unbearable friction grinding away inside her. Her agitation caused a usually buried but all-too-familiar rebellious streak to flare to life inside her.