Because You Are Mine (Because You Are Mine #1)(79)
Author: Beth Kery

He would be furious at her, if, by some miracle, she ever actually located him. Yet she couldn’t stand the idea of him suffering alone in any way, and she had become utterly convinced that these “emergency” visits to London related to the spiritual demons that plagued him.

Besides, if what was in London was destined to destroy whatever they might have together in the future, wasn’t it best just to find out now instead of delaying the inevitable?

Ian had called her during the flight from O’Hare to Heathrow, she noticed as she deplaned. This had been what she’d hoped for, considering she really had no plan of action once she arrived in London. However, when she tried to return his call, she got his voice mail.

Discouraged, she lingered in the airport, exchanging currency, picking up her luggage, hoping for some kind of miracle revelation as to the location of Ian’s apartment or his whereabouts. When nothing came to her, and she still hadn’t successfully made contact with Ian, she got into a taxi and told the driver the only place she’d ever connected to Ian and his London trips.

“The Genomics Research and Treatment Institute,” she told the driver, referring to the hospital and research facility for schizophrenia that she’d read about on Ian’s tablet. She recalled how Dr. Epstein had mentioned “the Institute.” Could she be referring to the Genomics Research and Treatment Institute? What other clues did she have to his possible location?

Forty minutes later, the cabdriver pulled up to the ultramodern glass-enclosed entrance to the facility, which was housed on beautifully landscaped grounds within a wooded park. In the far distance, she glimpsed several pairs of people walking in a lush green meadow, one of the pair always wearing white. Were they nurses or attendants with patients?

Uncertainty hit her like a blow now that she sat there in the back of the cab. What in the world was she doing? What madness had made her jump on a plane and come to a hospital in a remote part of London, where she knew no one and had no reason to be present?

The driver was giving her a questioning look.

“Would you mind waiting for me?” she asked him nervously as she handed him payment.

“I can wait ten minutes, tops,” he said brusquely.

“Thank you,” she said. If this trip ended up being a dead end, she’d know soon enough.

She blinked when she entered the lobby a moment later. It wasn’t precisely like the Noble Enterprises lobby in Chicago, but there were similarities—the elegant, warm woods, pink-beige marble, and neutral-toned furnishings.

“May I help you?” a young woman sitting behind a circular desk asked her when she approached.

For a few seconds, Francesca just stood there speechless. Then something hit her brain, and she said the thought before she’d fully processed it.

“Yes. I’d like to see Dr. Epstein, please.”

Her heart seized in her chest for a split second that stretched surreally long as she stared at the woman’s blank expression.

“Certainly. Who shall I tell Dr. Epstein is visiting?”

She exhaled in a burst of relief and immediately experienced a subsequent wave of anxiety. “Francesca Arno. I’m a friend of Ian Noble’s.”

The woman’s eyes widened at that.

“Right away, Ms. Arno,” she said, picking up the phone.

She waited on pins and needles as the receptionist spoke to several people, the last Dr. Epstein herself. What could the doctor be thinking, being told that a complete stranger who said she was a friend of Ian Noble had shown up at the Institute asking for her? Unfortunately, Francesca couldn’t glean much from the one-sided conversation she overheard. The receptionist set down the phone.

“Dr. Epstein says she’ll come to the lobby to get you herself. May I offer you any refreshment while you wait?”

“No, thank you,” Francesca said. She didn’t think anything would stay in her stomach, it was frothing so much. She pointed at a comfortable seating area just behind her. “I’ll just sit and wait.”

The receptionist nodded once cordially and returned to her paperwork. It was five minutes before Dr. Epstein appeared in the lobby—five long, torturous minutes. Francesca shot up from her chair like she was on springs when she recognized the doctor, now wearing a white lab coat over a sophisticated dark green dress. An elegant woman walked next to her, her clothing casual but obviously of the highest quality and taste. Francesca got a fleeting impression that although Dr. Epstein’s companion was older—in her seventies, perhaps—she was brimming with vibrant health.

“Francesca Arno?” Dr. Epstein queried as she approached. She extended her hand, and Francesca took it.

“Yes, I’m sorry to pounce on you unexpectedly like this, but—”

“Any friend of Ian’s is welcome.” The doctor’s tone was warm, but was that curiosity or puzzlement she saw shadow her features as she studied Francesca? “I understand you haven’t yet met Ian’s grandmother? Francesca Arno, the Countess of Stratham, Anne Noble.”

Francesca glanced in shock at the attractive elderly woman. For a horrified moment, she wondered if she was supposed to bow or something to a countess? Surely there was some etiquette that she didn’t know, and her gauche Americanness would be showcased right from the start?

Thank goodness the countess noticed her discomfort before she began to stutter like a fool.

“Please, call me Anne,” Ian’s grandmother said warmly, extending her hand. Francesca looked into eyes that immediately called Ian to mind—cobalt blue, sharp, and incisive.

“I guess I did come to the right place,” Francesca muttered as she shook Anne’s soft hand.

“You weren’t sure?” Anne asked.

“No, not entirely. I was . . . looking for Ian.”

“Of course you were,” Anne said matter-of-factly, ratcheting up Francesca’s anxiety and confusion. “He mentioned your name to me, although I didn’t realize you’d be coming to London. Ian is out for a walk on the grounds at present, so I came to greet you in his stead.”

“So Ian is here?” Francesca asked, her voice ringing with shock.

Anne and Dr. Epstein exchanged a glance.

“You didn’t know he was?” Anne asked.

Francesca experienced a sinking sensation as she shook her head to the negative.

“But you must have known about my daughter being here, at the very least?”

“Your . . . daughter?” Francesca asked, her head spinning. The glass-enclosed entrance suddenly seemed too bright, casting a surreal brilliance onto everything. Hadn’t Mrs. Hanson said that Ian’s grandparents had only one child?