“No one can make Anne beam the way Ian can,” Gerard observed with a smile as he arrived at the table, two waiters on his heels, one waiter carrying a bucket, champagne, and four glasses, another a platter of hors d’oeuvres and iced caviar. Her brow furrowed. Had there been a note of bitter envy in his tone? She wasn’t entirely surprised. Only Ian could be so rude as to leave his grandparents worried and anxious for half a year, only to return and have them thrown in an ecstasy of happiness at the sight of him. Besides, it wasn’t as if what Gerard said wasn’t completely true, Francesca thought as she gave a reluctant sideways glance at Ian’s striking profile. The countess looked especially diminutive next to his tall form, both of them moving gracefully on the dance floor. She’d never seen Anne look so happy, so relieved, and she stared up at her grandson, sometimes solemn as they conversed, sometimes smiling and laughing. No, she understood Anne’s relief, empathized with it. Anne had lost her only daughter this year. She was likely feeling light-headed with relief to know her only grandson was alive and healthy.

You’re every bit as relieved. In fact, part of you is euphoric at the evidence of his well-being.

It was a strange combination, she realized. Light-headed relief and focused fury.

She plunged into conversation with the others. Lucien raised his eyebrows when she allowed Gerard to pour her a third glass of champagne, but she was immune to his concern. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling at that moment, so how could anyone else accurately interpret her mood?

Someone touched her lightly on the shoulder. She turned to find James standing there, straight and handsome in his tuxedo.

“May I have this dance?” he asked her.

“I’d love to,” Francesca said, standing.

“Holding steady?” James murmured quietly once they’d spun together on the dance floor for a moment.

“All things considered, I think I’m doing very well.” She met his kind stare and smiled. “I didn’t get to tell you congratulations, earlier. Your and Anne’s dedication to each other is wonderful to see.”

His gray eyebrows went up. “I’m sensing an underlying message there.”

She laughed, but averted her gaze. “What? Like that without a true dedication to your partner, there can be no trust? No future?”

“That’s true,” James said. “But people show their dedication in different ways. Anne’s and my commitment hasn’t always looked like it does today. I’m sure she questioned my dedication to her when I was in my twenties and thirties, traveling as much as I did, attending to business. I’m sure there was a time in Anne’s life she had trouble recognizing that as devotion on my part to our marriage, but that’s how I always saw it.”

“Now I’m sensing an underlying message,” she said wryly.

James smiled. “Did you listen to Ian? Did he tell you where he’s been?”

“No. And I mean no offense, James. I know he’s your grandson, and you’re bound to feel differently about it than his jilted fiancée. No,” she interjected when James started to protest. “That’s what I am. No reason to sugarcoat it.” She paused as the music swelled making talking difficult. “My point is,” she said as the music quieted, “I’m not sure I want to know what he found so important to do that he couldn’t pick up a phone and relieve your worry. Anne’s. Mine. It was incredibly selfish on his part.”

“I’m not trying to change your understanding of the situation, Francesca. Just—”

“Broaden it a little?” she finished for him, giving him a small smile.

“You can’t blame an old man for trying,” he said as the music came to an end.

“I blame you for nothing but loving your grandson,” she replied honestly. James leaned down to give her a kiss on the cheek as they came to a halt. As he released her hand, another one took it. She looked over her shoulder and saw Ian standing there, one arm still around Anne’s waist.

“May I?” he asked quietly.

The split second it took her to decide seemed to drag on forever. Without verbally acquiescing, she just went into his arms, her posture stiff. She hardly heard the music over her pounding heart. For several seconds, neither of them spoke as she told herself not to focus on the sensation of being in his arms, and did nothing but.

“How long do you plan to stay?” she asked without looking at him and tried not to breathe too deeply, lest she inhale his scent.

“I haven’t decided.”

She dared to look into his face. His blue eyes drew her like a magnet. “Will you be going back to wherever you were before?”

“Eventually. I still have unfinished business there.”

His hand moved ever so slightly at her waist, skimming the bare skin of her back.

“You look incredibly beautiful,” he said.

“If you still have unfinished business,” she said crisply, ignoring his compliment—or trying to, “I’m surprised you came at all.”

“An emergency called me away.”

Her pulse began to throb at her throat as she stared blankly at his chest. Had he just pulled her closer, or had she moved toward him? His body brushed only lightly against her, but it was difficult to pull her mind off the sensation, especially when the tips of her breasts were tickled by his lapel. How did he do it, awaken every nerve in her body so effortlessly?

“You consider your grandparents’ anniversary an emergency?”

“I didn’t come for the anniversary, although I’m very glad to be here for it. The emergency was you.”

Her mouth trembled as she looked up at his steadfast reply, betraying her. She looked over his shoulder, seeing Gerard twirling an ecstatic-looking Clarisse just feet away but not really absorbing anything but the feeling of being in Ian’s arms.

“Your breaking off things between us wasn’t easy, Ian, but you need hardly consider me an emergency. I’ve been doing fine.”

“I know that. And I didn’t break things off between us.”

“You disappeared for half a year without so much as a text message,” she said with dripping sarcasm.

“I thought it’d be best. A clean break. While I tried to figure things out.”

“Well it worked,” she told him with fake airiness. “The clean break,” she clarified, rising anger making it possible to meet his stare again. It was a mistake. His gaze blazed down at her face, the emotion in his eyes palpable, but also completely indecipherable, like trying to read the meaning in a raging inferno.

“I didn’t want to hurt you. It wasn’t my intention,” he said.

“Intended or not, you did.”

His mouth went hard. His nostrils flared. Why didn’t he at least apologize? He owed her that, didn’t he? He was the most infuriating man she’d ever known. His hand shifted on her waist so that his entire palm was on bare skin. His heat poured into her. He pressed, as if he wanted to detail the sensation of her backbone. For a moment, she forgot what they’d been discussing as her belly brushed his pelvis. Her core contracted, the immediate sharp ache shocking her.

“Francesca, I think you might be in danger.”

She blinked, totally disoriented by what had just occurred. It was as if her body had a mind all its own, straining toward him, aching for him against her will.

“What?” she asked, sure she’d misunderstood him.

“Someone tried to kidnap you in Chicago.”

She made an incredulous sound. “Kidnap? What are you talking about? You mean that man who tried to rob Davie and me?”

“I read the police report,” he said coldly. “That wasn’t an attempted robbery. Why everybody else seems to be ignoring the obvious is beyond me.”

“You read . . .” She faded off, scolding herself for her initial surprise. Ian had stunned her many times with his ability to get almost any information he desired, even highly confidential information. This was yet another example of his power, not to mention something that bordered on paranoia.

“Have you been spying on me?” she accused.

“No. But I’ve been keeping tabs. Just to make sure you were all right.”

“Well your concern was misguided,” she said sharply. “Both in the case of that attempted robbery incident and in general.” She stepped back as the music came to an end. He dropped his arms slowly to his sides. “I’ve been doing just fine without you, Ian.”

“You’re lying,” she heard him say quietly.

“Why would you assume that?” she asked under her breath as chatting people started to move past them as they left the dance floor.

“You’re the other half of me. I feel like something has been ripped out of my chest not being with you. I think it’s the same for you.”

Her mouth dropped open at his quiet audacity. Her eyes burned at his stark declaration of pain.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have been the one to rip it apart,” she hissed, knowing her naked heart was fully exposed in that moment, but not caring.

She turned and headed for the doors.

* * *

He sat alone in the sitting room, slouching on the velvet couch, his collar unbuttoned, his tie hanging loose around his neck. The fire was dying. It must be five in the morning. The huge house was utterly quiet around him following the clamor of the ball, making him feel like he was in the belly of a sleeping beast. He knew he wouldn’t rest, so he hadn’t even bothered going to bed.

Surely Francesca was safe here . . . in his grandparents’ home. He knew how secure his grandfather kept the house, with its ancient and priceless treasures. He was grateful she was there versus in Chicago, seeing as how she refused to stay at his penthouse, which was also extremely secure.

Then maybe you shouldn’t have been the one to rip it apart.

His eyelids closed at the memory of her saying that as she looked up at him, her expression utterly shattered. He’d done that; forced her into feeling as much pain as he experienced. What else could he do, though, but travel this alternative road, and pray that their paths met again? He couldn’t have stayed with her and pretended he didn’t doubt his place at her side.

He still couldn’t. But he couldn’t stay away, either. Not in these circumstances. Not until he at least understood the direction of the threat.

He thought of his first vision of her tonight, of a beauty that seemed to both warm him like a friendly fire and strike like lightning to the very heart of him. Desire stabbed through him, lancing and precise, a result of knowing Francesca lay within walking distance from him, soft and pliable in sleep. He winced and put his hand on his cock through his trousers, a purely instinctive gesture to stanch the ache. When that gave him no relief, he took a large swig of the brandy he held in his hand.

He’d always dreaded the idea of hurting her, guessing he probably would. Not intentionally. Never that. Just as a result of who he was.

Who he wasn’t.

But it was stupid to dwell on things he couldn’t control now. He was worried about that incident in Chicago. He couldn’t believe no one else was as alarmed. Clearly, no one else had bothered to read between the lines about what had occurred on that busy Chicago street. A sick feeling swept through him. What if he’d somehow made her a target by leaving her so much power in his company? He should have realized that it might make her vulnerable. He’d had his fair share of potential threats over the years, both toward his company and his person. Usually, it was just a matter of crackpots shooting off their mouth. But there had been a few cases in which if it hadn’t been for his special attention to security, he might have run into some real trouble. He’d never told Francesca about those incidents, not wanting her to worry, so it was no real surprise to him that she was doubtful about a potential threat.

His concern about that attack made him want to immediately take back control of Noble Enterprises. But would that action diminish the threat to Francesca? Or possibly just mask it?

His research into Trevor Gaines’s sordid past would just have to be put on hold for the time being. Francesca didn’t want him near her, but he’d have to contrive a way to manage it until his fear was calmed.

Again, her image rose to taunt him, the remembered sensation of holding her slender body while they danced, of touching the silk of her skin, a torture he eagerly sought. She looked more beautiful to him than she ever had, but he didn’t kid himself that she hadn’t also shown the signs of suffering. Her muscles had felt rigid with tension beneath his hand while they danced. Her face looked drawn and there were pale purple shadows beneath her eyes. She hadn’t been sleeping. He wasn’t surprised, but seeing her pain firsthand was yet another festering wound.