She just nodded. “That was the man.”

His eyelids narrowed dangerously. “What man?”

“I saw him,” she said, her tongue feeling numb. “That was the same man who attacked me in Chicago.”

“Are you sure?” he demanded.

She nodded. “One hundred percent sure. It’s not a face I’m likely to forget.”

* * *

The two police detectives interviewed Ian and Francesca in the sitting room with Anne, James, Gerard, Lucien, and Elise all present.

“I’d like you to come down to the stationhouse tomorrow morning to work with someone to render a likeness of the man who has attacked you twice, Ms. Arno,” Detective Markov said to Francesca as they stood in preparation to leave, putting away their notebooks.

“No,” Ian said abruptly, standing as well. “The sketch artist can come here. I don’t want Francesca going out until we get this situation under control. But Francesca is actually an artist herself. You can sketch this man’s face, can’t you?”

“Of course,” she said.

Detective Markov looked at his partner, taken aback by Ian’s decree. But then he shrugged, seeming to see Ian’s point. “I suppose you’re right. But we don’t use a traditional sketch artist. We’ve acquired the technology to do everything on the computer. It’s easier to send off the image to other police and crime officials that way. A few of us will be coming out to Belford Hall tomorrow for security during the press conference, as you requested, your lordship,” Markov said, nodding respectfully to James, “so we’ll just send the woman who specializes in the computerized renderings then. Will that suit you?” he asked Ian.

Ian nodded. “Yes, Francesca’s not attending the press conference. I want her to stay away from the cameras. She can work with the artist during it. And you’ll be sure and contact the authorities in Chicago about this man?”

“I’ll report to you straightaway if they have any leads as to his identity.”

“They don’t at the present time,” Ian said, his mouth slanted in irritation. How could he say that with such certainty? Francesca wondered. It struck her that he’d been in constant contact with the Chicago officials. “But they didn’t bother to have Francesca work with a sketch artist or look at mug shots. They treated the case like a random attempted robbery and assault. It’d be best if you sent the sketch immediately to the Chicago police once it’s made to see if they can make any connections. I know a man in the department who can help us. I’ll pass on his contact information to you. I would have had him work with Francesca after this man attacked her in Chicago, but by the time I’d learned about things and got ahold of him, Francesca was already on her way to Belford. I thought she’d be safe here,” he said, his forehead creasing. “Still, I don’t understand why the man didn’t stick around and finish things off while he had the chance. He did the same thing in Chicago. It makes no sense.”

The detective shrugged. “I’ve learned in my line of work you shouldn’t give these criminal types more intelligence or fortitude than they’re due. When things grow a little tough, they’ll more than likely run for it.”

Ian looked far from convinced. Guilt wriggled in her belly at the sight of his rigid, anxious visage. She hadn’t seen that expression on his face since the difficult months before his mother died, when he was consumed with worry. He hadn’t wanted to take her off Belford’s grounds, but she’d persuaded him. He’d been worried about her since he arrived, and now she had firsthand proof he hadn’t just been paranoid.

Anne stood to see the detectives out. Elise patted Francesca’s hand. “Are you doing okay?’ she asked in a hushed tone.

“I’m fine. I was just more startled than anything,” Francesca assured the others, including Ian, who was studying her.

“Do you think it’s a good idea to hold the press conference tomorrow with this criminal hanging about?” Gerard asked.

“I’ve increased the security around Belford until we can find out more about this man’s location. Hopefully he’ll be apprehended soon,” James said.

“Lin has checked out everyone coming. No one other than authorized visitors will be allowed onto the grounds,” Ian said, sitting back down in his chair. “If we cancel now, it’ll only fuel the rumors that are flying about in regard to Noble Enterprises being in choppy waters.”

“I agree,” Lucien said. “The business world needs to see Ian securely back at the helm.”

James nodded, looking up when Anne returned to the sitting room.

“I’ve asked the staff to go ahead and serve dinner. We’ll go in as we are,” she said, referring to the fact that none of them were dressed for dinner. They’d all gathered upon hearing Ian and Francesca’s alarming news, and hadn’t left the room since the police had arrived to take their report.

It felt strange, but somehow comforting, to sit in the Belford formal dining room wearing her Cubs T-shirt and surrounded by so many concerned faces. It struck her later as she ate Mrs. Hanson’s delicious raspberry tart for dessert, listening to the others talk, that she was surrounded by her true family. The familiar ache started in the vicinity of her chest as she watched Ian conversing somberly with James and Lucien that there was a good chance she’d never officially be part of that family.

Not if Ian couldn’t come to terms with his demons.

Later that night, she said a quiet good night to Anne and kissed her on the cheek. Ian said her name as she was walking through the Great Hall alone toward the stairs. She turned to him.

“Were you planning on going up without saying good night?” he asked, approaching her.

“Of course not. I was going to say good night in your suite in a little while.”

The almost indistinguishable lightening of his expression told her he’d liked her answer.

“I’ll come with you if you want to get anything in your room, and then you’re coming with me. I’m not in the mood for letting you out of my sight at the moment,” he said, taking her hand and leading her toward the stairs.

“You’ll have to at some point,” she said, half-exasperated by his diligence and half-touched by it. “You don’t want me at the press conference tomorrow, and I have to meet with the sketch artist, for instance.”

“I’ve already arranged all that.”

“Of course,” Francesca said, giving him dry sideways glance. He seemed unaffected by her fond sarcasm as they ascended the stairs.

“Lucien has agreed to sit with you while I’m occupied. And after that, I’ve spoken to Lin. She’s beginning a search for someone for you.”

“Someone for me,” Francesca said warily, her feet slowing as the neared her room in the arch-ceilinged hallway. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Full-time security personnel,” Ian said briskly, urging her with his hold on her hand to commence down the hallway. She pulled back. He dropped her hand, his expression going flat.

“Ian, I am not having someone follow me around twenty-four hours a day!” she exclaimed with heated restraint.

His eyes flashed back at her. “Just until we can get this situation under control. After that, if you only agreed to live at the penthouse, my worries would vanish. Well . . . decrease a good deal anyway.”

She gave a bark of incredulous laughter. “I refuse to have you lock me up like a pet, Ian. Especially . . . given our circumstances,” she added, leaving things vague on purpose. She was done hashing out his obsession with his past and what it meant to his present and future. For today, she was.

He came to an abrupt standstill. She faced him.

“You make it sound like I’m purposefully insulting you . . . demeaning you,” he bit out.

“You are demeaning me by making all these decisions about me without even giving me the respect of talking to me about it. It’s my life. Stop trying to take control of it. I have a right to my privacy, among other things.”

“I’m very well aware it’s your life,” he replied ominously. “I’m just trying to make damn sure you go on living it in good health.”

“Here’s an idea,” she replied heatedly, straining to keep her voice quiet in the resonant hallway, but not succeeding. “Ask me how I feel about it next time instead of just planning my life for me. It’s not that hard, Ian!”

The sound of footsteps caught her attention. Her cheeks flushed when she glanced down the hallway and saw James, Gerard, and Elise rising up the stairs. They looked a little uncomfortable at accidently hearing Ian and her arguing, and kept their gazes averted before they disappeared from view down a corridor that led to their right.

She jerked the knob on her door. She plunged into the suite, leaving Ian standing in the hallway, not bothering to close the door. He’d come in anyway. She wasn’t trying to send him away, no matter how sharp she’d just sounded or how arrogant he had. Francesca wanted to be with him that evening. She’d been affected by that harrowing experience on the road as much as him. His heavy-handedness, his single-mindedness in arranging her life just peeved her. Not that she was unused to it.

Not that he was unused to struggling with her over such things.

By the time she came out of her bathroom after washing up, wearing an ivory silk gown, robe, and slippers, much of her irritation had eased. He sat on the couch in her sitting area, flipping through her sketchbook.

“I like what you did today,” he said quietly, nodding at the page. She knew he was striving for a neutral subject, and was thankful.

“Thank you,” she said. She stepped toward him and looked down at her drawing. “Those are fruit trees at the edge of the forest, aren’t they?”

He nodded. “Apple and cherry.”

“They must look stunning when they bloom in the spring,” she said.

“They do,” he replied gruffly, still looking at the page and not her.

“I wasn’t satisfied with my earlier attempts. I’d rather paint Belford as if coming out of the woods, the viewpoint of someone returning after a journey, suddenly seeing not just a house or a landmark or an architectural prize, but a home and everything that implies,” she said thoughtfully. “I’ll have to run it by Anne and James, though. It would require me to put the woods closer to Belford Hall in order for me to get the house details. It would be inaccurate factually.”

“Not really. Only recently,” Ian said, puzzling her. He closed the sketchbook, set it aside and stood. “The gardens and yard area were only expanded in the past few decades. When I first came here as a boy, the forest was much closer to the house. I think my grandmother was worried about the woods being so close with a curious boy in residence. I also happen to know neither of my grandparents particularly cared for the clearing of the grounds. What you’re describing is what generations of Nobles would have seen upon returning home from one of the forest paths.”

He met her gaze soberly, and she knew he wasn’t thinking about her painting. “We can discuss the issue about security more tomorrow, after the press conference. I don’t want to fight with you right now,” he said quietly.

“I don’t want to fight with you, either. Not tonight,” she replied honestly. He put out his hand and she took it, following him out of the room and closing the door softly behind her. They walked together to his suite through the shadowed hallway, the silence seeming to billow with rising anticipation.

* * *

They entered his suite and he locked the door. He removed his jacket and draped it on a valet stand. Then she was in his arms and he was pulling her against him. His mouth was feverish on her neck and ear, his intensity making her eyes spring wide. His body felt hot, too . . . and hard, she realized with a thrill. Yes, she’d felt the increasing electrical excitement building between them, but this . . .

He was liked a coiled spring. She’d sensed his palpable tension ever since the incident on the road earlier, but hadn’t expected his anxiety to transform so quickly to arousal once he touched her.

She whimpered in stunned lust when he fisted a bunch of loose hair at her neck and pulled, so that her throat was exposed. His lips burned a trail on her neck before he seized her mouth in a kiss. It aroused her to no end, that scorching, desperate kiss, but tears burned her eyelids as well.

“Ian, I’m all right,” she muttered raggedly a moment later against his mouth.

“No thanks to me. I shouldn’t have taken you with me, today,” he said grimly, backing away from her slightly, but keeping his groin pressed against her belly, the fullness there like a silent reminder of what was to come. She wanted it, too. Needed it. They’d both come very close to ending up in a fiery wreck earlier.