“Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?” Gerard asked.

She halted. “What do you mean?”

“Francesca came to me early this afternoon, in a panic because this very necklace had gone missing,” Gerard lied smoothly. Francesca had told him no such thing. In fact, she’d sought him out, distracted and harried, and returned the necklace to him with apologies for being unable to accept his gift. He’d followed and watched her unobserved afterward, and saw her leave Belford Hall with a suitcase, her manner furtive as she got into a cab. “She was beside herself,” he continued his story to Clarisse. “I told her not to worry—the necklace is insured, after all—and assured her that I would find it. And so I did.”

Clarisse’s mouth fell open. Her blue eyes grew wide in shock. “Wait . . . you can’t mean you think I took it?”

“I found the necklace in your bedside table. You’ve been a very bad little maid, Clarisse,” he purred.

For a few seconds, she just stared. She moved jerkily, suddenly lunging for the couch but stumbling. She caught herself on the arm of the sofa and fell into it.

“I never took that necklace!”

“I found it here,” Gerard said simply, standing and walking toward her. He looked down at her, smiling.

“If you found it here, then you put it there,” she muttered in rising disbelief.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I put a necklace that I already own in your apartment?” Her pink lips opened and shut several times as she stared at him in bewilderment. He was enjoying seeing her helpless. The trap had snapped shut with her securely in it. She would do whatever he said now. “Didn’t Francesca tell you that I gave her this necklace for Christmas?” he continued. “She told me she planned to return it, though. We both know how obsessed she is with Ian. She must have felt guilty about receiving such an expensive piece of jewelry from another man. Misplaced loyalty. Even now, she’s on a plane flying to confront the love of her life for having abandoned her once again.” He shook his head sadly. “Those two are a keg of gunpowder set to explode, if you ask me.”

Clarisse’s wide eyes grew even larger. “Please don’t do this. Don’t tell Francesca I took that necklace. I need this job.”

“I know,” Gerard said earnestly. He nodded to several framed photos of her family set on the mantel. “You have a younger brother that’s quite ill, isn’t that true? Cystic fibrosis. Such a shame.”

“How do you know about Scott?” she asked incredulously.

“I know all about you,” Gerard assured, his voice rich with compassion. “Including the fact that you’ve been arrested before for stealing.”

Every ounce of color drained from her face. “I was only sixteen when that happened. My friends dared me to steal some clothes from a shop, and I was stupid enough to do it.”

He nodded. “A very expensive shop, no less. It seems you have a liking for luxurious things you can’t afford,” he said, rolling the sparkling choker over his fingers thoughtfully. “And you failed to mention that crime in your application as a maid at Belford, didn’t you? Even though the question was asked, you lied.”

“I was sixteen years old!” she repeated, her voice shaking. Tears filled her eyes. “Please don’t tell Francesca I stole from her. I never took anything from her. I wouldn’t.”

“Shhh,” Gerard soothed, taking her hands and lifting her from the couch. He palmed her jaw and caressed her cheek with his thumb, drying a few spilled tears. “I won’t. There’s nothing to worry about. No real harm has been done.”

“You mean . . . you mean you’re not going to tell Lady Anne or the police?”

“No, of course not,” he said softly, stroking her. He was becoming aroused, feeling her young, supple body plastered against him . . . seeing how vulnerable she was. “As long as you do whatever I say.”

She blinked, wariness freezing her expression. She started to back away, but he pulled her tighter against him, trapping her with his arms.

“What do you mean?” she asked. “What do I have to do?”

“If you don’t want to be arrested for stealing a valuable piece of jewelry from a guest at Belford Hall, then anything I say.”

“Like what?’ she asked, horror creeping in to her delicate features.

“Don’t look so alarmed,” he laughed. “Hardly nothing.” He made a mock-impatient sound when she continued to stare at him in rising fear. “All right, if you want some examples. I’m leaving Belford tonight, and I’d like it very much, if the occasion should ever arise,” he said kindly, loosening his hold on her by degrees when she didn’t attempt to flee. “If you said I was here with you all night, letting me fuck you just as you have been for the past week. That won’t be too difficult, will it? And well worth it, to cover what you did.”

“I never did anything!” she said, anger and helplessness straining her voice.

“Oh, but you did. Because I said you did. Who do you think people are going to be more likely to listen to, a maid with a history of theft, or the future Earl of Stratham?”

He pressed his thumb to her trembling lower lip and rubbed it. Her nostrils flared, but this time, she didn’t try to back away. She knew she was caught, he thought. He shifted his growing erection against her belly.

“And as far as other things you might have to do for me to assure my silence, it won’t involve anything you haven’t been doing for me already. It hardly seemed like a trial for you to see to my needs previously. Why should it matter if you have to continue to do so whenever I request it? Like now, for instance. I have a small amount of time before I have to leave—a quarter of an hour or so—and I’d like to spend it pleasantly. Wouldn’t you?” he asked, now palming both sides of her delicate face. Her trembling seemed to grow more violent. She refused to take part when he began to kiss her coaxingly, but he continued, undaunted.

He smiled against her lips when he felt a slight shudder go through her, and she began to participate.

Somehow, her kisses were even sweeter now than they had been from a willing mouth.

* * *

Francesca had debated how to tell James and Anne that she was leaving and had finally left a letter, apologizing profusely for her departure and explaining that it related to Ian, assuring them at the same time there was no cause for worry. She said she would return to finish her sketch as soon as she could. She felt guilty about hiring a ride and sneaking out so secretly, but was worried that Anne and James would try and talk her out of going. Ian had told his grandparents he wanted her to stay there, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to disguise her concern for Ian if she spoke to them face-to-face. In conclusion, she promised them to be in touch very soon, and begged them again not to worry.

While she was at the airport, she researched the location of Trevor Gaines’s home. She was able to find a local article about Gaines’s arrest years back that mentioned his address. With the address in hand, she flew into a small airport in northern France and rented a car from there.

Aurore Manor was an hour and a half drive from the airport. She didn’t reach the remote mansion until the sun was beginning to set. Even though Aurore and Belford Hall were both fine, aristocratic homes, the setting couldn’t have been more different, Francesca realized as she drove down an untended, crumbling road through unkempt, wild-looking woods. Her gaze was caught by an odd vision within the shadowed trees where the sunset light penetrated. What appeared to be half of large a man—the upper portion only, the waist of his figure at ground level—moved. Then the shadow lowered and vanished completely. Francesca blinked in shock, her hand jerking on the wheel and she nearly lost control of the rental car. She shivered, unnerved by the impossible sight, strange associations to ghosts and fairy folk and mythical forest people popping into her brain.

Half a man melting into the ground? What in the world had she seen?

That impossible vision added to the oppressive quality of her surroundings—not to mention the knowledge of who had once owned the property—and only mounted her unease on arriving.

The house itself reminded her of some kind of dark, giant bird of prey hovering against the brilliant sunset, a patiently waiting vulture. She felt a little weak with relief at the vision of the two very normal-looking, luxury sedans parked in the weed-infested circular drive before the house. She was starting to feel like the only living thing in a landscape of death and ghosts. Her eyes widened when she realized a tall man wearing a dark coat stood in the arched stone portico leading to the front door, his body eerily still. He moved into the evening light when she pulled her economy rental car behind the sleek silver one.

Ian.

She watched him in rising amazement as she put the car into park. He stalked toward her, his dark, unfastened overcoat billowing out behind his tall, honed body. He wore a pair of jeans that fit his long legs and lean hips to perfection, brown work boots, a simple white T-shirt, and an unbuttoned overshirt. His jaw was darkened by whiskers. She was poignantly reminded of the lonely, noble savage she’d painted on a desolate Chicago city street years ago. His blue eyes blazed as he pinned her with his stare through the front windshield. He did not look pleased to see her.

He also looked as if he’d been expecting her. How had he known she’d arrive?

He opened her car door.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded without preamble.

She recoiled slightly at his rough question, but her chin went up defiantly. “I came looking for you, of course. How did you know I’d be here?”

“Short,” he muttered, his mouth rigid. A cold breeze howled through the open door. She shivered, but Ian seemed unaffected.

“Arthur Short? James’s employee? But how—”

He reached for her elbow. “Come inside.”

“Let me get my bag,” she said when he drew her out of the car and slammed the door shut.

“Leave it. You’re not going to need it,” he bit out.

“Ian, I’m not leaving,” she said with conviction as he bustled her to the front entrance. He didn’t reply, but his thundercloud expression was answer enough as to what he thought of her plans.

He opened the door and urged her forward. Francesca stumbled across the threshold, pulling up short when she saw Lucien enter the large, cavernous foyer where they all stood. Unlike Ian, he appeared as well-groomed and calm as always. The door slammed shut behind her, making her jump. She glanced back at Ian and then over at Lucien.

“How could James’s business associate have told you I planned to come to France?” Francesca asked.

Lucien just raised his eyebrows in a wry expression and glanced at Ian.

“Because he’s not Grandfather’s business associate. He’s the security guard I hired to watch over you,” Ian said with barely subdued, blistering heat.

“Security guard? But I told you—”

“We said we’d discuss it,” Ian interrupted. “But we never got the chance before I had to leave, so—”

“You just took it upon yourself to do whatever you wanted without bothering to consult me.”

Ian scowled darkly. “It doesn’t matter. You left so abruptly, Short barely had time to follow you. It took him by surprise. He followed you to the airport in London—”

“He followed me?” Francesca asked, spinning around to face Ian, appalled at the idea of being spied upon without her knowledge.

“For as long as he could,” Ian said bitterly.

“He tailed you into the airport and heard where you planned to go when you bought your ticket,” Lucien said from behind her. “He didn’t have his passport with him, though, so he couldn’t follow you. He wasn’t expecting to have to leave the country so quickly, given what Ian had told him,” Lucien explained when Francesca gave him a perplexed glance over her shoulder.

“Idiot,” Ian said succinctly, looking extremely annoyed. He narrowed his stare on her, watching her from beneath a lowered brow. “Who told you I was here?”

“Gerard,” she said.

His jaw stiffened. “Gerard? How did—”

“He said he overheard you two talking.”

His lip curled every so slightly in an expression of . . . what, she couldn’t quite say.

“Ian? What is it?”

“Nothing,” Ian replied through a tight mouth. “Francesca, I don’t want you here.”

She dropped her arms and straightened her spine. “I’m not leaving. Not unless you come with me.”