Because We Belong (Because You Are Mine #3)(50)
Author: Beth Kery

“Best?” Francesca asked, stunned.

“Well not best, perhaps, but . . . significant. He could never make sense of his past. He always tried, but it’s as if Helen’s disorganization, her insanity, made it so hard for him to focus. The questions he used to ask us when he came here as a child: What makes a person go mad? Would he become like his mother? If his father wasn’t schizophrenic, was there a chance he wouldn’t be? Who was his father? Why hadn’t he taken care of Helen?” Anne grimaced in memory. “The concept of an adult looking out for him was so foreign to him, he never even asked once why his father hadn’t taken care of him.”

Francesca closed her eyes to shield her pain.

“He always guessed his father had taken advantage of Helen’s vulnerability,” Francesca said after a moment. “He worried she’d been raped. I don’t understand how finding out all his suspicions were valid—even worse than what he’d suspected—could have been remotely a good thing for him.”

“Because you know how important clarity is to him,” Anne said. “Ian has to be one of the most focused, methodical people I’ve ever known. He prizes seeing clearly above all else, partly I believe, because he was forced at a young age to deal with his mother’s disorganization and irrational behavior. Do you realize how hard it would be, to understand who you are when your only guide is a woman ruled by madness? He coped by making their world as orderly, as controlled, as predictable as he possibly could. But still, so many questions remained for him. His early life—his very identity—still felt blurred to him.”

“So finding out about Trevor Gaines was good for him because it made sense. It helped—”

“Focus the blur, yes,” Anne said.

Francesca stared at Elise in the distance as she moved over to a big chestnut stallion’s stall and began murmuring to the animal in French.

“You’re saying that he would rather see the truth clearly, no matter how painful or ugly that truth is,” Francesca said slowly. The anger she’d been feeling seemed to solidify in her chest cavity, making her heart feel like a winter-cold stone.

“Yes, that’s what I’m saying,” Anne said.

“It won’t help him,” Francesca said starkly. “There’s no meaning to be found in a man like Trevor Gaines.”

Anne sighed and turned to join her in watching Elise. “It’s not the truth about Trevor Gaines he’s trying to understand, not entirely anyway,” Anne said bleakly. “He’s trying desperately to understand himself.”

* * *

After that conversation, Francesca was agitated, feeling like she wanted to jump out of her own skin. She made an excuse for wanting to examine some of the elaborate stonework on Belford Hall’s façade, walking ahead of Anne and Elise. Although Anne looked a little concerned, she made light of her request for Elise’s sake. By the time she’d used the passkey and security code Anne had supplied her with upon her arrival and activated the lock on the front door, entering Belford minutes later, she’d gained no peace. In fact, her edginess only grew when she saw Ian standing in the Great Hall talking quietly to Gerard. She had the distinct impression he’d been waiting for her return. He’d showered since she’d last seen him, his well-cut, crisp attire of black pants, white dress shirt, and light gray jacket in attractive contrast to the fact that he hadn’t shaved this morning and sported a slight scruff on his jaw. The shadows on his face only served to make his eyes look more blue—and fierce—when he pinned her with his stare.

He said something to Gerard under his breath and walked over to greet her. The last thing she wanted to do was talk to Ian at that point, however. After last night and her talk with Anne, she was confused about how she felt. Her nerves felt stretched and raw.

She started to hurry past him as he approached, her eyes glued to the escape of the staircase.

“Francesca, wait.”

She paused and glanced back at him warily.

“May I have a word?” he asked, nodding toward the sitting room.

“Not now,” she blurted out. Distantly, outside the realm of Ian’s stare, which seemed to make up her entire world for a breathless few seconds, she heard the door open and Anne and Elise enter.

His nostrils flared slightly and she sensed his barely contained, frothing emotions. He stepped toward her.

“It’ll only take a moment.”

“No,” she said, feeling shaken . . . unsure. She didn’t feel angry when she looked at him anymore, and she didn’t know what to make of that. Her anger had been her strength. She turned to go, but Ian grasped her arm, halting her. In a split second, her volatility burst free. She jerked her arm, breaking his grasp.

“Let go of me,” she exclaimed desperately. She turned and walked away.

“Francesca,” Ian grated out, his frustration palpable. It alarmed her to hear that much emotion in the voice of someone who was typically so in control.

It pained her.

She kept walking toward the closest door, barely holding in an avalanche of emotion herself, blindly seeking an escape. She reached for a door randomly, but it opened before she touched it. Clarisse stepped out, her smile upon seeing Francesca sagging when she noticed her expression. Francesca said nothing, just plunged into the dining room and slammed the door abruptly behind her.

* * *

Ian started to charge after her, but paused at Anne’s quiet warning.

“No, Ian. Let her be for now.”

He made a rough sound of pure frustration and came to an abrupt halt at the sound of the dining room door slamming shut behind Francesca. Clarisse looked at him and jumped, giving a tiny squeak of alarm. From the periphery of his awareness, he noticed how pale the maid looked as she stared at him with huge eyes. What did she see, looking at him in that moment? He’d frightened Clarisse.

Gerard approached. Ian clenched his teeth. He really needed to get a handle on this fury he’d been experiencing toward Gerard. It was fueled by jealousy.

Wasn’t it?

“Remind me never to get on Francesa’s bad side,” Gerard said in an attempt at levity.

“Shut up, Gerard,” Ian ground out aggressively. He saw his cousin’s eyes flash with anger, but he was too irritated to apologize. He strode across the Great Hall and opened the door to the sitting room. The abrupt manner in which he shut it undoubtedly conveyed that he wanted to be left alone.

* * *