“Francesca? What is it? What’s wrong?” Elise asked, making Francesca realize how panicked she sounded.
“Nothing, I hope. It’s just . . . is Lucien with Ian?”
There was a short pause. “Yes. They’re in France,” Elise finally said.
“Elise, are they at Trevor Gaines’s house?”
“Yes,” Elise replied in a thin voice. “I’m not happy about it, but Lucien insisted he wanted to do it, especially for— Francesca, who told you where they were? Did Ian?”
“No, he told me he didn’t want me to know above all else,” Francesca said, frowning at the memory. He knew if she tried to talk him out of it, he might listen, so he’d preferred to leave her in the dark about the exact nature of what he planned. Damn him. “Gerard told me. He overheard Lucien and Ian talking. Why didn’t you tell me what they were doing?” she accused.
“I just found out yesterday, before Lucien left. He told me that Ian didn’t want you to know. I told Lucien I wasn’t going to lie to you about it. In fact, I’d almost decided to call you one way or another. You just happened to call me first.”
“It’s mad,” Francesca hissed. She blanched and grimaced when she recognized what she’d said. “Ian is already skating on the edge. How is wandering around that awful man’s house going to help his state of mind any?”
“I agree,” Elise said, sounding miserable. Francesca held the phone to her ear, listening as she dragged her suitcase out of the closet. She’d just pack some bare essentials and leave her nicer clothes and jewelry behind at Belford. She doubted she’d need eveningwear for this mission. “But they want to know if they can discover any other of Gaines’s children, or at least I know Lucien wants that, very much. Apparently, there’s a man who lives on the grounds even now who is . . . you know . . . one of Gaines’s offspring,” Elise finished uncomfortably.
A bitter taste rose at the back of Francesca’s throat. It was such an ugly scenario. She hated, despised the idea of Ian submersing himself in it. She tossed her suitcase on the bed and opened it.
“I can’t let him do it,” she said, opening a drawer and grabbing handfuls of underwear and bras and tossing them into the suitcase. “It’s absolutely the most unhealthy thing in the world for him.”
“At least Lucien is there this time,” Elise said hopefully. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, either, Francesca, but I understand the need to heal. For closure. And Ian . . .”
“What?” Francesca asked, pausing with some sweaters clutched in her hands.
“I think he wants to compile all he can learn. Try to make sense of Gaines’s motivations, how he became the way he became. Lucien said something about Ian not being satisfied with the psychological profile a prison psychiatrist wrote about Gaines.”
“And Ian thinks he can write it better?” Francesca asked incredulously. She shut her eyes, that feeling of nausea rising in her again. She remembered what Anne had said about her grandson’s search for himself. You know how important clarity is to him. He prizes seeing clearly above all else.
“I don’t think he wants to write a psychological profile, of course,” Elise said uneasily. “I just got the impression from Lucien he’s trying to fix in his mind who his biological father was, and that all available information from news articles and everything wasn’t sufficient for him. He wants to sort it all out in some kind of organized fashion so he can make sense of it.”
“Yes,” Francesca said starkly. “And in doing so, prove to himself he’s not Trevor Gaines.” She tossed the sweaters in the suitcase and went in search of some jeans.
“You don’t actually believe that Ian thinks he’s even a little like that man?” Elise asked, sounding stunned.
“I think he’s hurt and confused. And I think he’s grasping for evidence of who he is in a place that will only give him lies for answers. This search is taking him down a dark path, one that could very well kill him,” Francesca said grimly.
There was silence on the other end of the phone for a few seconds. “Francesca, do you really think things are that bad?”
“I don’t know,” she replied honestly. “Maybe.”
They talked for a few minutes more while Francesca finished packing. Elise grew more and more concerned as she listened to Francesca’s worries, but Francesca assured her that she was actually greatly relieved that Lucien was there with Ian.
“But you’re still going to Gaines’s house?”
“Yes,” she said. “As soon as I can get packed and hire a taxi to take me to the airport.”
“Maybe I should meet you there,” Elise said, sounding worried.
“No, it’ll be all right, Elise. I’ll call you if I think you need to intercede with Lucien.”
“Call me either way once you get there,” Elise begged.
“I will,” Francesca assured grimly.
* * *
Gerard was waiting for her when she entered her one-bedroom flat early that evening. Clarisse started and gave a little scream when she turned on a bedside lamp and saw him sitting calmly in a living room chair.
“Oh my God, you gave me such a fright,” the young woman squealed.
“Why are you so jumpy? Does it have to do with this?” Gerard asked. He turned his hand, the diamonds flashing in the light catching Clarisse’s attention.
“Why do you have Francesca’s necklace?” Clarisse asked, confused, staring at the diamond choker. She set down her purse and coat at the back of the couch and walked toward him.