Because We Belong (Because You Are Mine 3)

James gave Francesca an amused glance. He was clearly used to Anne’s occasional inspirations of genius and had long ago given up trying to stop her while she was on a roll.

“You said you had just finished a painting and didn’t have a commission yet for the New Year. You’ll do Belford Hall for your next commission,” she said, as if it were obvious. “James and I have been considering hiring someone to do a painting ever since our fiftieth anniversary, but we’ve never gotten around to it. It must have been fate that we waited until now. No other painter James and I know combines the creative depths and knowledge of architecture that you do, Francesca. It’s the perfect idea!”

James’s amused expression faded to a thoughtful one. “You know, she’s right, Francesca. It’s a very good idea. You’d be ideal to do the painting of Belford.”

“We want the painting to show the splendor of Belford Hall in the springtime . . . the woods, the gardens. Not a grand painting, like you did for Ian for Noble Towers; an intimate one for our favorite room, where we’ll gaze at it night after night,” she said, glancing fondly at James. “You could begin with your preliminary sketches of the structure while you visit, and return when things are in full bloom,” Anne said, seemingly making plans as she spoke.

“Well . . . maybe. I’ll have to think about it,” Francesca said, bewildered and set off balance by the turn of topic. She had to admit, a getaway might be just what she needed. She’d never been to Belford, although on several occasions she’d stayed with Ian at his grandparents’ home in London while they visited Helen Noble at the hospital. “We did study Belford Hall while I was in school. It’d be amazing to see it, let alone paint it.”

Anne took one of her hands. “I’m so looking forward to showing you my home.”

Francesca grinned at her absolute certainty, finding it heartwarming to suddenly come face-to-face with an Anne she’d only glimpsed so far: the razor-sharp, unstoppable, warm, charming woman who managed to get the wealthiest—and sometimes stingiest—people in the world to open their checkbooks for her charitable causes.

“And you will come, too, Lucien,” the countess insisted. “Not only because of the Noble Enterprises deal, but because James and I sincerely want to get to know Ian’s brother better. You’re part of our family.”

“Thank you,” Lucien said, seeming genuinely moved by Anne’s request. “But this is Elise’s and my first Christmas together. I doubt she’d approve,” he added wryly, speaking for Elise, who was in the kitchen with Mrs. Hanson while the ad hoc board met. Elise was a chef, and liked observing and learning from the experienced housekeeper.

“Well she’ll come, too. I’d consider us lucky to have that delightful, vibrant girl with us. I’ve met her before today, you know,” Anne said as an aside to Lucien and Francesca, a teasing sparkle in her eyes. “Louis Martin’s daughter is always a breath of fresh air to any stuffy function. Life of the party, guaranteed.”

“If a breath of fresh air means a cyclone of gossip, you’ve hit the nail on the head as far as my wife,” Lucien murmured, his lips twitching to break free in a smile.

Francesca caught Gerard’s amused glance and laughed aloud for the first time in what felt like ages.

* * *

They all went over to Noble Enterprises that afternoon to meet with various Noble executives and members of the mergers and acquisitions team. They paused only for a brief, very enjoyable dinner together at Catch 35, where Gerard entertained them with family stories. Apparently, Gerard’s father Cedric had been good friends with James since their early days at Cambridge, and it’d been James who introduced his friend to James’s considerably younger sister, Simone. Gerard played raconteur, regaling them with stories about James and his father as young men. He painted a picture of Cedric Sinoit as sort of a cheerful clown, always contriving hilarious, inevitably failed attempts to outdo James. Francesca laughed with them all yet again, the shadows of her grief pushed aside for a few bright, vibrant moments.

The complexities of the acquisition continued to be trying for Francesca, who had to struggle to understand concepts that were second nature to people like Lucien and Gerard. They went back to work until late, putting together the skeleton of a plan that could be carried out methodically even if the board wasn’t on-site in Chicago.

By the time she entered Ian’s suite again it was past midnight and she was good and exhausted. After she’d forced herself into Ian’s dressing room to hurriedly extract a nightgown and change of underwear from a drawer, she realized it was best to be worn out. If she was fatigued, there was less of a chance she would feel too deeply.

By the time she padded barefoot to bed after a shower and her bedtime ritual, she was dead on her feet. Despite her appreciation of her weariness, the sight of Ian’s bed and the process of peeling back the luxurious bedding seem to send a jolt of unwelcome adrenaline through her.

She retrieved a book from her purse, determined to escape her ruminations about the business deal, not to mention her evocative memories that sprang up being in Ian’s bed.

She reread the same paragraph four times, unable to absorb what the words meant. The sheets felt cool and sensual against her shower-heated skin. She vividly recalled how divine they felt when Ian had carried her from their private room on several different occasions after a round of challenging, intense lovemaking. She glanced at the closed paneled door at the left side of the room. Gerard had stayed in this suite. Had he tried to enter that locked refuge? she wondered uncomfortably. Did he suspect what was on the other side?