Elise nodded hesitantly. “He’s out in the hall right now. No one could stop him. He barely allowed me to come in first.”
A powerful feeling of dread and sharp anticipation surged through her.
“Send him in,” she said, her level tone surprising her. Apparently, she was too numb with shock for emotional displays.
Elise bit her lip. “Are you certain?”
Francesca nodded and stood, steadying herself.
“I have to face him sometime. It might as well be now.”
Elise’s doubtful expression remained, but she turned to open the door.
* * *
He entered and closed the door behind him with a hushed click, his gaze steady on her the whole time. Her chin went up and her spine stiffened when he walked toward her. He came to an abrupt halt, reading her body language. His face seemed leaner than when she’d last seen him. That and his glittering gaze gave him a fierce look, like he had some kind of invisible fire burning nonstop inside him, fueling him . . . perhaps destroying him as well. His short, dark hair always created a striking contrast to his skin, but he seemed even paler than usual, as if he’d been cloistered from the sun.
“Where have you been?” she asked without preamble, unable to stop herself from expressing the question that had burned inside her for half a year.
He didn’t reply for a moment. As always, she felt pinned by his stare. They stood ten feet apart or so. Francesca couldn’t decide if the distance felt too close or like a yawning, mile-wide chasm.
“France,” he said in his characteristic hoarse voice. She tried to gird herself against the familiar sound of it.
“Why?”
Her one word query seemed to hang between them, its various meanings hovering like a toxic cloud. For the first time, she saw uncertainty flicker across his stoic features, but it was quickly gone.
“There are some things I have to take care of . . . look into.”
She waited, the tension rising between them, but he said nothing else. “That’s it?” she asked with a bark of incredulous laughter. “That’s all you’re going to say by way of explanation for disappearing without a trace for half a year?”
His mouth tightened. “Would it really matter what I said?”
“No,” she said without pause. “It wouldn’t.”
His expression hardly altered, but knowing him as she did, she sensed his flash of anger at her words. Or was it frustration?
“So you really don’t want an explanation,” he clarified.
“I’m saying there isn’t one that would suffice, so maybe you shouldn’t bother.”
His nostrils flared slightly. “I see you’re not wearing the ring anymore,” he said after a moment, his gaze lowering to her left hand, which hung at her side.
“Are you surprised?”
He looked into her eyes again. Suddenly, she wished he was gone, or that she was anywhere else. In that moment, she’d glimpsed his pain, and it had acted like a spark to her own. It flamed to life, hot and scoring, seeming to rob her of breath. She barely kept her composure.
“No. Not really,” he said quietly.
She inhaled with effort. Well, there it was. He’d known he was ending their relationship by doing what he’d done, and yet he’d done it anyway. She nodded once and looked away.
“Well, that’s it, I guess,” she said with a note of finality. She started when another knock came at her door. “Come in,” she called, glad for the distraction. She was barely holding herself together, and the last thing she wanted was for Ian to witness her discomposure.
Gerard stepped into the room. His concerned gaze moved from Francesca to Ian and back to Francesca again.
“Ian. This is quite a surprise.” The two men shook hands and gave one another a half hug of greeting. “We’re all extremely relieved to see you.”
“Gerard,” Ian greeted solemnly.
Gerard’s gaze slid over to Francesca. “Are you all right?” Gerard asked, and it was clear he was asking her, not his cousin.
She nodded. “Yes. I’m ready to go back down.”
Gerard seemed uncertain when neither she nor Ian moved. He must have sensed the palpable tension swirling in the air.
“We have a lot to discuss,” Gerard told Ian. “We’ve all been worried sick.”
Ian’s eyes gleamed as he glanced between his cousin and Francesca, but he didn’t reply.
“I’ll wait for you in the hallway, Francesca,” Gerard said.
“Thank you,” she said.
That strangling silence settled again when Gerard walked into the hall, leaving the door open.
“Excuse me,” Francesca muttered, knowing there was nothing left to say. She was foolish to wait for anything. He remained unmoving when she walked past him.
“Francesca.”
She paused before she reached the door, her back remaining to him. Her breath burned in her lungs.
“You may not wear the ring, but you’re here in my grandparents’ home. You’re wearing the dress I sent.”
She turned in amazement. “What makes you think I knew who sent it?” she demanded, her cheeks flushing with anger. Or was it embarrassment?
“You knew. Or at least you thought you knew before you second-guessed yourself. You know I never liked to leave you unprepared for any event where you might question yourself.”
She gave a shuddering gasp. He hadn’t said it cockily. He’d just stated it as an established fact. Damn him. He’d always read her like a book. What he’d said was true, of course. She’d recognized his taste in the dress. Her thoughts had immediately leapt to him when she’d read the message. Some part of her had realized the perfection of the gift suggested an intimate knowledge of her body . . . her person. But it was more than that. It struck her heavily for the first time that her actions for the past few weeks were far from being that of a person who had given up on her lover. She was staying with his grandparents in his childhood home and she had spent a great deal of time and effort on following through on what she believed would be his wishes for Noble Enterprises. Hadn’t she hungrily eaten up the sights of his youth during her tour of Belford Hall, imagined him as a child, that distrustful, withdrawn boy slowly coming out of his shell, pictured him as a man filling even the most grand of the rooms with his bold presence?