“Surely his bigger crime was trying to kill us,” Francesca pointed out.
“I have a feeling we were just the tip of the iceberg,” Ian said, frowning. “I was always vaguely aware of the fact that he held back some resentment for my showing up and stealing his spotlight with Grandmother and Grandfather—both in the emotional and financial sense. I was also aware, though, that he contained his envy. I assumed it was because he knew that logically it was misplaced. He spent time with me, showed me affection, helped to bring me out of my shell. I thought it was his way of dealing with the altered circumstances my arrival brought. I appreciated him all the more for it. I never felt the same feelings of jealousy toward him, so I never guessed the depth of his hatred—or why he was trying to control his fury.”
Francesca nodded, stroking his forearm. “You were also so blasé at the idea of Gerard carrying on the title. He obviously didn’t have the same equanimity about your receiving James’s inheritance.”
“Obviously,” Ian said dryly. “I was a grubby little orphan. Why would I feel resentment about not receiving a title? I didn’t even understand what a title was.” His expression darkened. “It’ll die now, with Grandfather.”
She started. “What will?”
“The title of Earl of Stratham.”
“Poor James,” Francesca whispered.
He squeezed her hand. Her gaze flickered to his face and was caught by his gleaming blue eyes.
“Will you marry me, Francesca?”
For a few seconds, she just stared, his deep, rough voice uttering the unexpected question echoing in her head.
“Before you answer, I should tell you that I mean right now. Here, in the hospital,” he continued. “We’ll be able to get all the blood tests done here, and I’ve already spoken to the chaplain while you were sleeping.”
“Why now?” she asked, shock ringing in her voice, and she thought he understood she didn’t just mean why was he asking her to marry him while he lay there in the hospital, wounded, but what had changed his mind about being with her . . . about him feeling worthy of marriage.
He shrugged, wincing slightly, forgetting his injury. “I guess I don’t have any better answer except to say that after that night at Aurore, I feel different. I might have lost you.”
Her throat tightened. “And I might have lost you.”
“Life is fragile. But it’s more than that,” he said, his eyes shining as he looked at her face. “For the first time, I feel that I can beat this. I still want to understand my beginnings better. I still want to understand as much as I can, period. But there’s light in all the darkness Trevor Gaines wrought. There’s Lucien and Kam and who knows how many others, all of us struggling to make a life for ourselves, a good life.”
She nodded, emotion filling her chest. “And there’s you.”
He kissed her hand slowly. Deliberately. “The last thing I wanted was for you to come to Aurore. But once you were there, I realized it was exactly what I needed. I thought the darkness could take you as well as me,” he said, his voice gruff with emotion. “I should have known nothing could dim your brilliance.”
“Ian,” she whispered, through a throat that felt like she’d swallowed gravel. Her heart squeezed tight when she saw the trace of anxiety flicker in his eyes and she realized he waited. “The answer is the same as it was before and will always be. Yes.”
Epilogue
SIX MONTHS LATER
Ian, Francesca, Anne, and James stood in a half arc, watching expectantly as two of the Belford staff hung the painting above the fireplace.
“Straight?” one of the young men asked.
“Perfect,” Anne said, her smile radiant. The two men lowered from their prospective ladders and gathered up their equipment.
“Thank you,” James said, and the two painting-hangers turned to vacate the sitting room.
For a moment, the four of them just looked silently at the painting of Belford. Francesca glanced sideways at James’s and Anne’s beaming faces and a wave of happiness went through her. She was particularly proud of the finished product, but she was so thankful James and Anne loved it. Ian noticed how she looked at his grandparents and took her hand in his. She brought his hand in front of her, running her free hand over his knuckles with her fingers. When she brushed his platinum wedding band, a tiny smile flickered across his mouth at her silent gesture.
Her eyes burned with tears. She’d grown extremely emotional lately.
“It’s perfect,” Ian said, his eyes warm, as if he’d understood the strong feeling of love and joy that had swept through her at that moment.
“Absolutely,” James concurred.
“It’s so much better than I’d ever hoped for,” Anne sighed. “You were so right to paint it as if coming out of the blossoming woods. Belford looks like . . .”
“The warm, beautiful home that it is,” Francesca murmured.
“Your home,” Anne said, her glance bouncing between Ian and her. Francesca and Ian’s gazes met again briefly. Now that they were married, they’d agreed to spend their future summers at Belford Hall. This year, however, Francesca had spent the entire spring at Belford, painting the beautiful old home every day without fail. She’d fallen completely in love with the place, seeing it bedecked in all its spring glory. She hated being apart from Ian, even if they did see each other for long weekends and spoke on the phone or videoconferenced several times a day. They’d decided the arrangement was best, however. Francesca wanted to get the painting done and return to Chicago with Ian for good. Ian didn’t want them to be parted at all period, but given that her reasoning for them being apart temporarily was for his grandparents, and only for the duration of six weeks, he’d reluctantly agreed to the plan. He came every Thursday and left on Sunday nights. She was glad they’d done it. James appeared to be the most affected of all of them by Gerard’s betrayal and death six months ago. He seemed frailer as of late. Francesca knew the time with Anne and James at Belford this spring was precious, something to be treasured.