Because We Belong (Because You Are Mine #3)(90)
Author: Beth Kery

It was now the second morning after the whole bizarre nightmare. Ian was recovering well following surgery. Lucien was fine, and was discharged from the hospital last evening soon after Elise had arrived. Gerard, on the other hand, had not yet regained consciousness. The doctors had been struggling to stabilize him before attempting surgery, but his condition was severe. The bullet had entered his abdomen, causing a great deal of internal organ damage and bleeding, but the trajectory had been upward, hitting one of his lungs as well.

The nurse last night had taken pity on Francesca when she saw her slumped in an upright chair near Ian’s bed. She’d refused to leave his side, despite Anne and James’s arrival and insistence she should check in to a hotel and get a few hours sleep. The nurse had encouraged Francesca to sleep in the extra bed in Ian’s room at around three-thirty in the morning. Once Ian had awakened following his surgery and conversed with her a little, she’d been better prepared to rest. She’d staggered over to the empty bed and fallen into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

“No, of course I understand,” she heard Ian saying as she pushed herself off the mattress. She was heartened to hear that his voice sounded strong and rested, if concerned. “You needn’t have asked my permission. Of course you should go.”

“You’re sure?” Anne asked quietly.

“Because we won’t, if you don’t want it. After what Gerard did, I’d understand completely,” James said. Sadness swept through Francesca at hearing the weight in James’s voice. He’d been hurt the most by Gerard’s blatant treachery.

“I’m not the judge of whether or not Gerard should die alone,” Ian said. “Go. Sit with him. He’s family.”

“My sister’s son—” James broke off. Someone made a choking sound. Francesca walked around the curtain and saw James with his face in his hand, obviously undone. Her heart seized in anguish at the sight. Anne gave her a helpless glance. Francesca couldn’t think of what to say. Anne took her husband’s hand and led him from the room.

Francesca walked next to Ian’s bed. He looked at her bleakly from where he lay propped up in the hospital bed in order to take pressure off the surgical site. She touched his hairline and dropped a kiss on his temple, inhaling his scent greedily for reassurance. She was relieved to see his coloring was better than it’d been last night, when he was still groggy from the anesthesia.

“Gerard isn’t expected to last much longer,” he said. “My grandparents were asking permission to sit with him until the end.”

She closed her eyes. It’d been what she expected to hear, but she hated to think of James and Anne’s suffering. They’d already dealt with so much in their lives. The betrayal of Gerard, whom they considered as almost a son, seemed too cruel to consider.

“Are you feeling all right?” Ian asked her, his gaze moving over her face.

She smoothed her hair and nodded. “Yes. I was out cold for a few hours. How about you? How does the shoulder feel?”

“Okay. They’re giving me something for the pain,” he said, taking her hand. “Sit down,” he directed. She came down at the edge of the bed, her hip brushing against his. She studied every detail of his features hungrily . . . worriedly. His lips tilted in amusement.

“You don’t have to look at me like I’m a tragic poster child, Francesca. I’ll be fine,” Ian told her pointedly.

“I know. I know you’ll be fine physically,” she assured both him and herself. “I’m just worried about the effect of what Gerard did.”

“On my fragile psyche, you mean?” he asked, his small grin widening slightly.

She gave him a repressive look. “You have to admit, you’ve been through an awful lot lately. Is it a surprise I’m worried about your finding out someone you loved—a part of your family—betrayed you?”

She brushed her fingertips across his mouth when it hardened, lowering her caress to his whiskered jaw. “I suppose not,” he murmured. “But you shouldn’t worry. It’s different than my mother and the discovery of Trevor Gaines.”

“How?”

He shook his head. “It’s hard to explain. It doesn’t feel as . . . personal. It was a shock, and I’m stunned that he hated me so much and I never realized. Gerard’s desire for revenge seems sadder than anything,” he muttered under his breath. “I’d feel bad for him if he hadn’t pissed me off to no end for what he did to you, recording you that way.”

“Surely his bigger crime was trying to kill us,” Francesca pointed out.

“I have a feeling we were just the tip of the iceberg,” Ian said, frowning. “I was always vaguely aware of the fact that he held back some resentment for my showing up and stealing his spotlight with Grandmother and Grandfather—both in the emotional and financial sense. I was also aware, though, that he contained his envy. I assumed it was because he knew that logically it was misplaced. He spent time with me, showed me affection, helped to bring me out of my shell. I thought it was his way of dealing with the altered circumstances my arrival brought. I appreciated him all the more for it. I never felt the same feelings of jealousy toward him, so I never guessed the depth of his hatred—or why he was trying to control his fury.”

Francesca nodded, stroking his forearm. “You were also so blasé at the idea of Gerard carrying on the title. He obviously didn’t have the same equanimity about your receiving James’s inheritance.”

“Obviously,” Ian said dryly. “I was a grubby little orphan. Why would I feel resentment about not receiving a title? I didn’t even understand what a title was.” His expression darkened. “It’ll die now, with Grandfather.”

She started. “What will?”

“The title of Earl of Stratham.”

“Poor James,” Francesca whispered.

He squeezed her hand. Her gaze flickered to his face and was caught by his gleaming blue eyes.

“Will you marry me, Francesca?”

For a few seconds, she just stared, his deep, rough voice uttering the unexpected question echoing in her head.

“Before you answer, I should tell you that I mean right now. Here, in the hospital,” he continued. “We’ll be able to get all the blood tests done here, and I’ve already spoken to the chaplain while you were sleeping.”

“Why now?” she asked, shock ringing in her voice, and she thought he understood she didn’t just mean why was he asking her to marry him while he lay there in the hospital, wounded, but what had changed his mind about being with her . . . about him feeling worthy of marriage.