Because You Are Mine (Because You Are Mine #1)(78)
Author: Beth Kery

The problem was, he never really came out and told her in so many words how he was feeling about her—about them—and she was too shy and afraid to tell him she’d fallen in love with him. Wasn’t that precisely the opposite of what he’d said their relationship would be about? Would he think her a naive fool for mistaking lust and infatuation for something much deeper?

The thought haunted her. She pushed it back repeatedly when she spent time with him, not wanting to ruin the moments she had, worried she’d waste them by ruminating about anxieties that weren’t for now, but for the future. It was a little like doing a high-wire act, always striving to keep her balance on the narrow edge of their passionate affair, constantly worried she’d find herself falling away from Ian . . . or him flying away from her.

One cool late fall evening, that jarring moment came.

Francesca worked in the studio at the penthouse, anguishing over the final detail of the painting. She pulled her hand back from the canvas, her breath sticking in her lungs as she studied the tiny black figure—a man in an open black trench coat, walking along the river, head lowered against the cold Lake Michigan wind.

Would Ian notice she’d inserted him again into one of her paintings? It made sense to her somehow, she thought as she wiped off her brush. He’d twined himself indelibly into almost every thread of her life.

Her heart swelled as she studied the painting.

Finished.

By tradition, once the word hit her brain with a note of finality, she would never put paint to that particular canvas again. Feeling ebullient with her accomplishment, she hurried out of the studio in search of Ian. It was a Sunday, and he’d opted to work in the library rather than go into the office.

She was about to round the corner of the hallway that would lead to the library when she heard a door open and low, tense voices—a man and a woman talking.

“. . . all the more reason for me to act quickly, Julia,” Ian said.

“I want to emphasize again that there are no guarantees, Ian. Just because it’s a particularly good period doesn’t mean lasting results, but we at the Institute are hopeful . . .”

The woman’s British-accented voice faded as she and Ian proceeded down the hallway toward the elevator, but not before Francesca caught a glimpse of her. It was the attractive woman Ian had breakfasted with in Paris, the one he’d called a friend of the family. Her heart sank as she once again registered the thick tension in the exchange, similar to what she’d felt in the hotel lobby. Like that other time, she retreated, scurrying back to her studio.

She didn’t know how she knew, but she just knew Ian wouldn’t want her observing him right now . . . asking him questions . . . trying to care for him.

Even though she wanted to do just that more than anything else in the world.

She spent more time than was necessary cleaning up her work space in the studio, trying to give him time to recover. Eventually, she again went in search for him, but came up empty-handed.

She found Mrs. Hanson in the kitchen scrubbing the kitchen counters.

“I was looking for Ian,” she said. “I’ve finished the painting.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful news!” Mrs. Hanson’s excited expression fell. “But I’m afraid Ian’s not here. He had to leave Chicago for a while. An emergency came up.”

Francesca felt as if an invisible force had pummeled her in the chest. “But . . . I don’t understand. He was just here. I saw him with that woman . . .”

“Dr. Epstein? You saw her arrive?” Mrs. Hanson asked, looking surprised.

Dr. Julia Epstein. So. That was her name. “I saw her leave. What was the emergency? Is Ian all right?”

“Oh dear, yes. Don’t alarm yourself over that.”

“Where did he go?” she demanded, her hurt and incredulity over the fact that Ian had left and hadn’t even bothered to come into the studio and tell her good-bye was still vibrating unpleasantly in her flesh.

Mrs. Hanson avoided her gaze and resumed her scrubbing. “I can’t say for certain—”

“Do you truly not know, or are you saying that because Ian told you to?”

The housekeeper glanced at her, startled. Francesca fiercely held her gaze. “I truly don’t know, Francesca. I’m sorry. There’s a tiny part of Ian’s life that he’s always kept to himself, even from me, who knows his every habit and idiosyncrasy.”

Francesca patted the older woman’s arm. “I understand,” she said.

And she did. If Mrs. Hanson didn’t know where Ian had gone, it could only mean one thing.

He’d gone to London—the location of that secret corner of his universe, the place that Jacob had never been invited, nor Mrs. Hanson . . . and certainly not Francesca. That Dr. Epstein, though . . . she almost certainly knew about that part of Ian’s life. She kept hearing Ian’s tense tone ringing in her head, saw his lost expression as he stood in the lobby of the hotel.

The woman was a doctor? What if Ian wasn’t well? No, it couldn’t be that. He was the ideal specimen of male health and vibrancy. If she couldn’t tell that just by looking at him, he’d presented her with proof when he’d handed her the results of his latest physical a while back in order to prove to her he was clean for sex.

“Do you know Dr. Epstein well?” Francesca mused.

“No. I’ve only met her briefly a time or two when she’s visited here at the penthouse. I got the impression she practices somewhere in London, but I’m not certain what sort of a doctor she is, come to think of it. Francesca? Is everything all right?” Mrs. Hanson asked anxiously, making her wonder what the housekeeper had seen on her face.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she squeezed Mrs. Hanson’s forearm in reassurance and let go, starting to back out of the kitchen. Just how much would a ticket from Chicago to London cost? “But I think I might have to leave town for a few days as well.”

Part VIII

Because I Am Yours

Chapter Fifteen

Davie offered to come with her to London, but Francesca flatly refused. When she’d told Davie about her plans, she’d been purposefully vague and misleading, saying that she’d learned from Mrs. Hanson that Ian was having a family crisis in London and she’d decided to go there to offer support.

In truth, she didn’t want Davie to realize she’d undertaken such a foolish plan without having a clue as to what she was going to do when she alighted from the plane at Heathrow. The only thing she knew is that whatever Ian was doing in London, it caused him anguish, and that he’d chosen to protect others in his life from that pain.