When I'm with You (Because You Are Mine #2)(105)

“My mother is experiencing acute liver failure,” he said, the stark, hollow quality of his voice indicative of shock. “Julia told me she likely only has days to live.”

“Oh my God,” Francesca whispered, reaching for him. Ian stepped back, though. Francesca’s hand fell in the air before his chest. He looked like a man who had just had his soul stripped from him . . . a man who thought he didn’t deserve the solace of his lover’s touch. “It’s my fault. I agreed to that godforsaken medication.”

“Ian, don’t say that. You had no choice. She was refusing to eat,” Francesca implored.

Ian’s gaze flickered over to Lucien and Elise. Elise felt like an interloper on an intensely private moment of grief.

“I’m sorry, Lucien. You must think this is all odd. I led you to believe my mother was dead—”

“That’s the last thing you should be concerned about right now,” Lucien said. “Besides, I suspected she was alive.”

Ian’s gaze narrowed. For some reason, Elise’s pulse began to throb at her throat. The atmosphere of the room suddenly felt charged by the unexpected turn of events.

“Why would you suspect that?” Ian asked slowly.

Lucien looked entirely calm, but Elise sensed his rising tension. Her thoughts were coming a mile a minute as she stared at his stoic profile. What must he be thinking? The one link to his mother was about to be silenced forever . . .

“Lucien?” Ian prodded.

“Just tell him,” Elise said. “It might be your only chance.”

Elise’s eyes widened in horror when Lucien looked over at her, a startled expression in his eyes. Had those pressured words really come out of her mouth?

“Just tell me what?” Ian said, taking a step toward them.

A muscle jumped in Lucien’s cheek.

“Lucien? Tell me what?” Ian prompted, louder this time.

Lucien inhaled slowly. “I have good reason to believe that your mother knows the identity of my biological mother.”

For a terrible moment, the silence rung in her ears. Francesca looked startled, but Ian and Lucien seemed eerily calm.

“Why in the world would you think that?” Ian asked.

Lucien gave the other man a searching look before he spoke. “I learned it from my biological father,” he said evenly. “A man named Trevor Gaines. I hired a private investigator years ago to discover the identity of my biological mother, and the trail led him to where Trevor Gaines resided—Fresnes Prison.”

Elise’s heart felt as if it stopped beating for several seconds as she stared at Lucien’s profile, aghast. This isn’t what she’d expected him to say.

Ian’s reaction was possibly stranger than Elise’s. His cobalt-blue eyes looked like glowing slits between narrowed lids. He reminded her a little of a sleepwalker as he took a step toward Lucien. All the color had left his face, but his expression was strangely focused and rapt upon Lucien, almost as if he existed in a particularly lucid dream . . . or a nightmare that was unfolding fully for the first time.

“What has Trevor Gaines got to do with my mother?” he asked, a sandpapery quality to his voice.

“We can discuss it at another time,” Lucien said after a moment. “You don’t look well. You’re in shock, and I’m sure you want to make arrangements to go to London.”

“How do you know my mother is in London?”

Francesca stepped forward and put a hand on Ian’s arm. “Ian, Lucien’s right. This isn’t the time—”

“How do you know?” Ian repeated harshly, his gaze still locked with Lucien’s. There was a strange paradox to him of wild desperation covered by a steely armor of complete control. Only his blazing eyes and pallor betrayed his internal battle. Lucien seemed entirely calm as the target of that focused torment—almost as if he thought he deserved it. For a moment, he just stared at Ian, not saying anything, seeming to gauge his options given the unexpected turn of events.

“I know all about Helen,” Lucien said finally. “As I said, I hired a private investigator years ago to discover the identity and whereabouts of my mother. Helen Noble was identified as being a key to the answers I was seeking. I’ve known where she was since last year—”

“You were spying on me,” Ian said.

Elise glanced from Lucien to Ian and back to Lucien again. A shivery feeling went through her, as if someone had poured ice water over her, starting at the top of her head. She’d noticed it before, but idly—their height and build, their self-containment, the similar nuances of their profiles.

“Ian, please,” Francesca urged. “This hardly seems like the time or place. You’re in shock over your mother.”

“You were spying on me, weren’t you?” Ian demanded.

“Yes. I admit it.”

“I ought to call the police right now,” Ian hissed. “Why? Why were you doing it?”

“For two purposes only. Whether or not my reasons seem mercenary and selfish, you’ll have to be the judge. One, I needed to discover the whereabouts of the woman who might provide me with unanswered questions. I didn’t think you would easily open up to me about your mother if I just asked. Two, I wanted to get to know you better personally.”

“Why would you want to get to know me better?” Ian asked angrily, looking offended.