“When will you go to London?” James asked, sitting forward in his chair.

“As soon as I can pack.”

“Well,” James said briskly, “if you leave as soon as possible, perhaps you’ll be able to take care of business and return to us for the New Year.”

“No,” Ian said evenly.

The single syllable rung like a struck drum in the quiet room. He hated the flash of alarm that crossed his grandfather’s features.

“What do you mean?” James laughed uncomfortably. “You’ll be several days? A week?”

“I’ll do the press conference later this evening. It won’t take long. But I won’t be returning to Belford Hall in the foreseeable future. I need to return to what I was doing, Grandfather. I must. Everything here—everything that’s happened—doesn’t change that.”

He waited tensely. He hadn’t told his Grandfather specifically what he’d been doing during his absence, merely saying he’d needed time to himself to regroup and examine his life after the death of his mother. He knew perfectly well that Anne and James knew it was more than that, although they weren’t sure precisely what his motives were. Like Francesca, he knew his grandparents wouldn’t approve, however, so he’d saved them the pain of worrying.

“But . . . Francesca,” James said weakly. “Are you taking her with you?”

Expose Francesca to the dark, dirty, shameful house of a pervert? “No. I’d never want her to see where I’m going. Never.”

“Ian—”

“You’ll keep her here, won’t you? Make sure she’s safe?”

“I can’t keep her here, Ian! She can make up her own mind where she wants to be,” James said incredulously.

“I’ll speak with her first. I’ll ask her to stay, as a favor to me. She has to work on the painting anyway. Isn’t the canvas being delivered today?” Ian asked smoothly.

James sighed. He knew Ian’s tactics to avoid difficult topics all too well. “Yes, it’s being delivered as we speak,” he admitted, despite his scowl. “Anne is having them set it up in the reception room, since there’s plenty of room there for Francesca to work, and we don’t use it much. Francesca was insisting upon the canvas being delivered to the cottage—she can’t get a view when she’s inside her subject. I knew you wouldn’t want her out there alone until everything is settled, though, so I contradicted her.”

“Thank you,” Ian said pointedly. “Because you and Grandmother care about her so much, I’m confident leaving her with you.”

“I hardly think—”

“I’ll speak with her. She’ll agree to it,” Ian interrupted. “The only thing I ask is that you encourage her to stay and continue to make her feel at home here.”

James looked solemn. “Well you don’t need to ask that as a special favor. As far as I’m concerned, Belford Hall is that girl’s home.”

“You’ll contact me? At the first hint that anything is amiss?”

James gave him a hard, arch look.

“I’m going to be available,” Ian assured. He knew his grandfather was thinking of those months when Ian had cut himself off from the world. “It’s not like before. I’ll be in contact.”

James’s face was rigid with worry, but he exhaled with relief at this. “Well, that’s something, I suppose. And Francesca? Will you remain in contact with her?”

Ian glanced away from James’s worried gaze. “No,” he said. “Where I plan to go, what I plan to do . . . I can’t allow Francesca into that world.”

Into that part of me.

“There’s something else. I’ve hired a man, a retired American Army officer who used to act as a security guard for a top official in Afghanistan to watch over Francesca and things at Belford Hall. His name is Arthur Short. Lin found him for me. He arrives this afternoon. Do I have your permission to allow him to stay here at Belford?”

“Of course,” James replied. “But I gathered from what I overheard last night in the hallway that Francesca was against your hiring security personnel for her.”

Ian schooled his face into impassivity. “She’s not keen on the idea, no. That’s why I thought it’d be best if you invited Short here as a guest. Perhaps you can say that he’s a member of your New York staff, here to discuss business? It will make things easier.”

James gave an exasperated snort. “Francesca will be furious if she finds out.”

“I know,” Ian said, rising from his chair. “But I’d rather have her furious and safe than clueless and at risk. Do me a favor, though, and don’t tell anyone else but Grandmother who Short really is? It’ll make things easier for Short to maneuver. May I tell him you’ll be expecting him?”

James agreed, albeit grudgingly. “Thank you,” Ian said sincerely a moment later as he bid his grandfather good-bye, giving the elderly but still-vibrant man a hug. He wished he hadn’t seen the stark concern tightening James’s features before he left the room.

* * *

Ian packed and then asked a maid to request Francesca meet him in his quarters. He regretted packing first, as he had nothing to do afterward but wait for her knock on the door. With a sharp pang of remorse, he realized that every other time he’d awaited her knock, it’d been with a sharp sense of anticipation of what was to come. Now, he experienced dread that seemed to grow heavier by the moment.

He’d been using her vibrant, luminous spirit to stanch his wound, breathing her sweetness to chase away his shadows. It was just like he’d always feared. He would drain her, taint her . . . all because he was too weak to stay away from her. Over and over again while he’d been in France in Gaines’s dark, rotting mansion, he’d told himself that he did all of this for Francesca. It was for her that he strived to understand his origins, to separate himself once and for all from the twisted character of his biological father.

Now that he’d learned he was, without a doubt, the progeny of rape, the need to comprehend his biological father’s motives and cleave himself from his origins had only sharpened. He needed to compile what information he could and make some logical sense of Gaines before he could do that, however. It had been a dream to stay here at Belford in the warmth of family, to bask in Francesca’s presence. But it was a dream he needed to awaken from if he ever wanted to find his rightful place in it.

Her light rap struck him like a death knell.

He opened the door. A strange, unpleasant tingling sensation coursed over his skin when he saw her standing in the hallway. She wore a pair of jeans and a light blue cotton button-down blouse that emphasized her narrow waist and full breasts. Her rose-gold hair spilled down around her shoulders and arms, but she’d pulled it back in the front, letting him plainly see the poignant expression of fear and resolve on her lovely face.

She knew.

His suspicion was confirmed when she stepped into the room and he closed the door. She said nothing when she saw his suitcase and briefcase sitting at the foot of the bed. For a moment, neither of them spoke while she stared at his packed bags. She finally looked at him. What he saw in her dark brown eyes cut at him from the inside out.

“This morning before he left, Lucien told me what he’d told you about his mother and yours,” she said.

“So that’s why you’re not surprised that I’m going,” he said.

“I suppose. That, and also James came into the reception room a while ago.”

“Grandfather told you I was leaving Belford?” Ian asked, surprised. He thought his grandfather would give him a chance to speak to Francesca first and break the news himself.

“No. He didn’t have to,” she said quietly. “He said that Markov had called, and that all indications were that Stern and Brodsik were working alone. With them both gone, so is the threat. You didn’t have a reason to be here anymore.” Her chin went up. He was glad to see the flash of defiance and anger in her eyes. He’d much rather see that than her sadness. “You did tell me it was the only reason you returned to Belford, after all. Because you were concerned about my safety.”

“I came because I love you,” he said roughly. “I’d understand if you have trouble believing that, given the—”

“I believe it,” she interrupted starkly. He saw her throat convulse as she swallowed. She studied the carpet for a moment, breathing through her nose, and he knew she was trying to steady herself. The desire to take her into his arms and soothe her was like a lance in his side, but he forced himself to ignore the instinct. The pain. It would just make things worse for her when he went. Worse for both of them.

And he must go. He must.

“After I spoke to Lucien,” she said in a congested voice, “I did a little research online.”

“About what?” Ian asked, wary. She hadn’t started researching Trevor Gaines, had she?

“About children of rape.”

Her simple reply made him blink.

“What about them?” he asked uncomfortably.

She crossed her arms beneath her breasts and looked away. “I know that to have substantial evidence that Helen was, in fact, raped must have been overwhelming for you.”

“You and I both know I always suspected it, especially after learning about Gaines.”

“Yes. But suspecting and knowing are two different things, aren’t they?” she asked hollowly. He didn’t reply. He was too busy experiencing the truth of her words. Confirmation that his mother had been raped had rattled him to the core—the description of how Fatima had discovered her, so vulnerable and hurt. “I don’t know why I haven’t tried to understand better,” Francesca was saying. “Or I do understand, and just don’t like to admit it.”

“What are you talking about?” Ian asked her, bewildered.