It was no good. She burned, but her touch wasn’t adequate. It would make her come, but it wasn’t enough.

It was never enough.

Frustrated to the point of distraction, she rose from the now mussed bed and rushed to the dressing room, her cheeks hot and her nipples sensitive, the crests feeling abraded even by the soft silk of her gown. At the back of one of the drawers that Ian had designated as hers, she found what she wanted: a small, powerful vibrator. She’d hidden it amongst some of her lingerie before she’d vacated Ian’s residence.

Within a matter of seconds, she was back in bed, her thighs splayed wide, the vibrator humming as she pressed it to her clit.

Ian had used this very tool on her many times. Sometimes he used it on her while he spanked her over his knee, combining the sting of punishment with the pleasure of the vibrator to optimal effect. Oh God, she’d loved it when he bound her wrists and ordered her over his knee, how she was at his mercy as he caressed her naked body and swatted her ass until it burned. She could feel every nuance of the tension in his strong thighs and experience firsthand his arousal in that position—the leap of his cock when he landed a smack on the bottom curve of a buttock, the way he greedily squeezed her pinked ass and ground his erection against her.

And what he’d do to her when her punishment was finished and she was limp from wave after wave of orgasm . . .

He would make it clear she’d had more than her share of pleasure, and then it was time for his. He’d own her completely, fuck her until she had no choice but to explode again in the midst of his furious, white-hot possession.

It was too much to bear, this brutal, precise remembering, but she had to give in to it, just as she’d always eventually surrendered to him. She flipped the switch on the vibrator to a higher setting and felt the air licking at her wet pussy, her hips thrusting and circling greedily against the precise little instrument. She thrust a finger into her vagina and groaned wildly at the inadequacy of the penetration, wanting more, needing a thick, throbbing cock to fill her, agitate screaming nerves, force her soft flesh into total submission—

Needing Ian.

Damn him straight to hell.

She thrust another finger into the tight channel. Too long. It’d been too long since she’d been stretched and filled and possessed. She was so close . . . so close to relief. She withdrew her fingers to the tips and plunged back into the warm, clamping channel, rhythmically, imagining someone else pleasuring her.

You will come for me now, lovely.

So certain. So firm. She had no choice but to obey.

Knocking at the door shattered her fantasy.

She froze, gasping for air. Her pussy burned and throbbed with impending climax. Someone rapped firmly on the door to the suite once again. She arose from the bed rapidly, her legs feeling weak. She tossed the vibrator that glistened with her juices beneath the sheets and scurried toward the door.

“Who is it?” she asked, trying to disguise her breathless state. She pressed her hand against her pussy through the cloth of her gown and winced. She’d been on the very edge of climax. She ached for release.

“It’s Gerard. I’m sorry to bother you again. May I come in for a moment? I promise I won’t take long.”

She glanced down at her appearance in alarm.

“I’m sorry, I can’t right now, Gerard. I was getting ready for bed. I’m not dressed.”

“I can wait while you put something on,” he called through the door. “Please, Francesca. It’s important.”

She opened her mouth, but could think of no other protest. He’d shoved aside the only excuse her lust-impaired brain could supply.

“All right,” she said, flustered. “Give me a moment.”

A minute later, she opened the door and managed a weak smile.

“Come in,” she murmured, waving toward the seating area that took up half of the large main room of the suite.

“Thank you,” Gerard said, giving her an apologetic glance before he stepped over the threshold. Francesca closed the door, pausing to cinch the robe she wore tighter. She’d washed with soap and very cold water and waited for her breathing to even, but her skin still felt prickly and her cheeks warm. Was Gerard going to make interrupting her masturbation a habit?

It’s not his fault. It’s yours for being so stupid and relenting to your memories . . . to your need so easily.

She cleared her throat, banishing the thought, and followed Gerard to the seating area. She sat on a chair across from where he’d settled on the couch. He was dressed similarly as he had been last night, except tonight his pajama bottoms were black and his robe a deep blood red. He scraped his thick hair off his forehead with his fingers in an anxious gesture and studied her closely.

“Gerard? What is it? Is something wrong?”

“I’m fine. How are you doing?” he asked intently.

“Very well, thank you,” she said, laughing at his pressured, formal tone.

He smiled. “Considering the circumstances, I mean.”

“Yes. I know what you meant,” she conceded. Her polite, pointed glance told him she was ready to hear why he’d insisted upon talking to her.

“Again, forgive me for intruding. It’s just that’s it’s hard to talk to you with the others always there. Privately, I mean.” His gaze traveled over her face and ever so briefly lowered to the small patch of exposed skin at her chest above her closed robe.

Men know. Many of them anyway.

She shifted uneasily at the recollection of Ian’s words and the knowledge of what she’d been doing before Gerard arrived.

“Why do you need to speak to me alone?” she asked.

“It’s this proposed trip to Belford Hall, the painting commission—have you given Anne a certain answer about whether or not you agree to it?”

“Not entirely, no, even though she acts—”

“As if it’s a decided deal,” Gerard said with a dry smile. “Classic Anne, to operate as if her wishes were already reality. It works amazingly well for her. Usually.” She noticed a lock of waving hair had fallen appealingly onto his forehead when he’d raked his hand through it. She returned his smile with effort.

“What’s the trip have to do with why you wanted to speak with me?”

He leaned forward, his thighs parting slightly, his elbows on his knees. His sleeves fell back, revealing strong forearms sprinkled with dark hair.

“It’s just . . . well, do you really think it’s a good idea? To go to Ian’s childhood home, with the state of things between you two being what they are?”

Her smile fell. She blinked past her shock at his words. “I honestly hadn’t thought of that. I was thinking of it being a getaway . . . a change of scenery. But of course you’re right. Belford Hall was Ian’s home. It will be again, someday.”

“Francesca,” Gerard began hesitantly. His face suddenly tightened in frustration and he hissed something she couldn’t quite catch beneath his breath. “What exactly is the state of things?” he asked in a pressured rush.

“The state of things?” she repeated stupidly.

“Between you and Ian,” he clarified. She just stared. “Have you officially broken your engagement?”

“How could I possibly do that, when I haven’t spoken to him in over six months?”

His head went back in sudden understanding. “So it’s not officially off. He didn’t . . . say anything?”

“Before he disappeared?” She heard the edge to her tone and inhaled, trying to calm herself. She felt very thin-skinned for some reason, exposed and vulnerable. Gerard didn’t deserve her anger. He was just asking what Anne, James, and he had probably been burning to know all along. “No,” she replied more calmly. “One day, Ian and I were happy and looking forward to our marriage. The next, Ian’s mother was dying and everything changed.”

Gerard nodded slowly. “It wasn’t just Helen’s death, though, was it? It was this business Lucien revealed to him, about being his brother,” he said, his brow furrowed in concentration.

She just nodded, feeling uncomfortable at her lack of awareness of just how much Anne and James had told Gerard about Ian. It struck her that both of them were poking around in the dark for morsels of information.

“Lucien seems like a very smart, decent guy,” Gerard said. “I’m a little confused as to why it was so upsetting to Ian to discover he was his half brother. I feel as if I’m missing something there. Is it something to do with their father?”

Francesca’s expression remained impassive. So, Anne and James hadn’t revealed the toxic truth about Trevor Gaines to Gerard.

“There is more to the story, but it’s Ian’s story to tell. I hope you can understand my not talking about it. I’m sorry, Gerard.”

“Do you think I’m not used to being odd man out when it comes to my family?” he asked drolly, but then noticed her confusion. “Anne and James have said much the same to me in regard to Ian. I understand, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it. I don’t appreciate being left in the dark. Ian isn’t only my cousin. My house is less than fifteen miles from Belford. I spent a great deal of time with Ian, when I was a young man and he was a boy. Both of us found ourselves parentless at approximately the same time. I feel like an older brother to him,” he said, frowning. She could feel his mind working as he studied her face. “So you’re still looking out for Ian? Protecting his secrets, even in these circumstances?”

She stiffened, her compassion for him fading. “It’s a common courtesy, Gerard.”

He made a conciliatory gesture with his hand, but she could tell his mind was already fastened on a different topic. “We’re all worried about his state of mind. I’m sure you are as well. I’m concerned for Ian, of course, but I’m also very worried about James and Anne. It’s like they’re living the nightmare of Helen going missing all over again.”

“Are you implying that you think that Ian is like Helen?” Francesca asked incredulously. “Gerard, Helen had schizophrenia. It’s not the same—”

“I know that. But if he’s not . . . entirely capable,” Gerard said delicately, “we’d like to see to him, get him the care he needs. You have no clue whatsoever as to Ian’s whereabouts? No hint or vague suspicion?”

“None. You know as well as I that Ian is comfortable walking every inch of this planet. He might be anywhere,” she said starkly. I am the Cat that walks by himself, and all places are alike to me. Her heart seemed to contract at the poignant, remembered line from the Kipling poem that she had always associated with Ian, even before she had been introduced to him. Would Ian ever be able to discard that armor he wore of determined aloneness? She’d thought he could. Once. Now she doubted he could ever be free of his past.

“We never really talked in depth much when I followed him to London for a few days,” she continued quietly after a moment. “His mother’s condition occupied almost all our attention. After she died, Ian just disappeared off the map. In the beginning, I had neighbors check in at his other residences in several countries. Lin gave me the contact phone numbers. No one admitted to seeing him, though.”

A shadow passed over Gerard’s face. “Yes. We did much the same, in search for him. Upon James’s request, I went to several of his residences and hotels where he frequently stays looking for him but . . . nothing.”

She didn’t respond. Of course they’d looked for Ian. She sighed, disappointed they hadn’t learned of any crumb of information she hadn’t discovered.

“In answer to your earlier question about whether or not we’re still officially engaged, the answer is no,” she said more calmly than she felt. She met Gerard’s stare steadily. “I took off Ian’s ring when I left here months ago. I’m not engaged to him anymore. Ian didn’t need to say it out loud. His actions speak louder than words.”

His tense, worried expression gave way. He stood, surprising her by taking her hands and drawing her up to a standing position.

“I’m sorry. More sorry than you know. I didn’t mean to cause you further pain by bringing all this up.”

“It’s all right. I understand. I’ve recognized you and the others are walking on eggshells.”

“Ian was wrong for treating you the way he did. What’s more, he’s a fool for letting you go. Not only are you brilliantly talented and sweet and fresh, you’re so . . .” he paused, his mouth growing hard as he stared down at her, his gaze flickering lower over her covered breasts ever so briefly, making the already sensitized crests prickle with awareness. His hands were large and warm and encompassed her own. His body didn’t touch hers, but standing just inches apart, she became abruptly aware of his male strength. She went still when he reached up and touched a tendril of her hair.