When I'm with You (Because You Are Mine #2)(108)

“No,” Elise heard Francesca whisper heatedly.

Ian kissed the top of her head, his lips lingering as he inhaled her scent. He wore a death mask as he gently extricated her from his arms and strode out of the room.

Francesca just stood there for a moment, stunned.

“I’ll go after him,” Lucien said, standing. “I know what it’s like to find out—”

“It’s his worst nightmare made a hundred times worse,” Francesca said bleakly as if to herself. She roused and glanced back at Lucien. “I’ll go,” she said, hurrying from the room.

In her absence, Elise just looked up at Lucien, dread making her shrink within herself. He stared at the closed door where Ian and Francesca had just exited. Why hadn’t he told her the full truth? What must he be thinking?

Elise herself couldn’t put into words what she was feeling: Misery for Ian, Francesca, and Lucien for such a harsh, soul-tearing truth. Shame that she had been the one to reveal it out of her ignorance and her damnable impulsivity. Lucien had always wanted family. He hadn’t just been spying on Ian for the purposes of discovering the whereabouts and circumstances of Helen Noble.

He’d wanted to get to know a blood brother. To love him, despite the foulest of circumstances. And they had grown close . . . so comfortable with each other.

Elise had changed all that now. Ian was confused. Furious. She’d perhaps robbed Lucien of the only blood family he would ever know.

“Lucien,” she whispered, wild to apologize . . . to ask him why he hadn’t told her everything, but fearing his answer. Why should he tell her anything important, when she’d betrayed the truth the way she had? But the door suddenly opened and Francesca stepped into the room, her face as white as a sheet.

“He’s gone,” she said blankly.

Again, that frightening shiver of inevitability rippled through Elise. Somehow, those two words seemed to signify more than a short absence on Ian Nobel’s part.

“I’ve never seen him so upset—” Francesca broke off as a convulsion of emotion went through her.

“This is my fault. I’ll find him,” Lucien said when Francesca faded off. “I’ll call when I do.”

Elise just sat there, watching as Lucien walked away from her, all the while thinking that if anything, tonight had been her fault, not his. After the way she’d inadvertently exposed Lucien, perhaps he was walking away from her for the last time.

After the panel door closed with a snap, her dazed glance landed on Francesca. She rose swiftly and went to her. The other woman looked completely shell-shocked, and let Elise lead her to the sofa without protest. Francesca blinked when Elise handed her a snifter of brandy a moment later.

“What’s going to happen now?” Francesca wondered hollowly.

“Lucien will find him. It’s going to be all right,” Elise said with a certainty she was far from feeling.

* * *

Earlier, Elise had felt like an interloper during an intensely private moment, but as she sat there with Francesca waiting to hear from either Ian or Lucien, she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was like waiting at a death bed. For half an hour, they sat in near silence in the office, both of their cell phones on the coffee table in front of them. Francesca cursed under her breath at one point and tried to contact Ian.

“He’s not answering,” she said a moment later, hanging up the phone.

After a while, a tap came at the door and Mrs. Hanson poked her head in.

“Elise? I’m about to start the pudding.”

“Mrs. Hanson, I’m sorry,” Francesca said, standing. “I should have found you. There’s been a change of plans, I’m afraid. Lucien and Ian had to go out.”

“Would you like me to serve you and Elise in the dining room, then?”

“No . . . I couldn’t eat . . . I’m too . . .”

Elise stood when she saw Francesca so flustered. “Perhaps I could come with you and bring a little something for Francesca to eat now. I’m sure she could use the food, but she’s waiting for a call.”

“Of course—the beef is done enough. I’ll slice some off for you,” Mrs. Hanson assured her, looking politely puzzled and concerned for Francesca. Knowing Francesca was in no state to answer questions, Elise escorted Mrs. Hanson back to the kitchen and helped her make a tray.

Francesca barely swallowed two mouthfuls of the aromatic beef before she pushed her tray back and picked up her phone, checking for messages.

“Do you know Ian’s mother well?” Elise asked when Francesca gave up and set down her phone. Francesca shook her head.

“I’ve only visited her a few times. Other than the first time I met her, she’s usually fairly sedated.”

“I can’t imagine how hard it would be for Ian to see her that way.”

Francesca nodded. “Sometimes I want to tell him not to go, although I know that’s awful to think. I’d never say that about his mother. Still . . . it seems to take away a bit of his soul every time, to see the mere shell of someone he loves.” There was a pause. “What Ian said there at the end . . . that’s true,” Francesca said in a bereft tone. “Helen does shrink away from him sometimes, when she’s least in contact with reality. Perhaps Ian was right. Maybe she is reminded of . . . that man.”