Ian took the computer when Lucien handed it to him. Francesca’s hand flew up to cover her mouth.
“Jesus,” Francesca muttered, sounding like she was about to be sick as she stared at the photograph along with Ian. Elise knew precisely what she meant by her horrified exclamation. The newspaper caption beneath the scanned photograph said it was of Trevor Gaines when he was in his thirties, looking extremely handsome and charming with a small, mysterious smile on his lips—the exact opposite of what one might imagine a rapist and conniver to look like.
Ian Noble was the spitting image of Trevor Gaines.
“That’s why she always got scared of me when she was psychotic,” Ian said with an eerie calmness that sent shivers down Elise’s back. He looked at Francesca’s shocked, puzzled face. “My mother. That’s why she sometimes acted afraid of me—all my life, she’d wince and cower at times at the very sight of me. I never understood why, but I sensed something. Something bad. That’s why my presence could trigger a relapse for her . . . still to this day. Because I looked so much like him. Because I had the face of the man who took advantage of her. I had the face of her rapist.” He looked at Lucien. Lucien looked back, every bit as grim.
Every bit as sad.
Francesca’s mouth hung open. Elise could almost hear the inner workings of the other woman’s mind, sense her searching for words of comfort . . . and finding none. She understood because she herself had gone numb with helplessness.
Ian set the computer on the couch and stood.
“Ian,” Francesca said sharply. He paused and looked back at her. She stared at him . . . mute . . . shattered. He held out his arms and Francesca flew into them, hugging him. He crushed her to him, his eyes clamped tight, every line of his body conveying unspeakable pain.
“You are the best of me,” he muttered. “The very best. But there’s so much more ugliness. The balance is uneven.”
“No,” Elise heard Francesca whisper heatedly.
Ian kissed the top of her head, his lips lingering as he inhaled her scent. He wore a death mask as he gently extricated her from his arms and strode out of the room.
Francesca just stood there for a moment, stunned.
“I’ll go after him,” Lucien said, standing. “I know what it’s like to find out—”
“It’s his worst nightmare made a hundred times worse,” Francesca said bleakly as if to herself. She roused and glanced back at Lucien. “I’ll go,” she said, hurrying from the room.
In her absence, Elise just looked up at Lucien, dread making her shrink within herself. He stared at the closed door where Ian and Francesca had just exited. Why hadn’t he told her the full truth? What must he be thinking?
Elise herself couldn’t put into words what she was feeling: Misery for Ian, Francesca, and Lucien for such a harsh, soul-tearing truth. Shame that she had been the one to reveal it out of her ignorance and her damnable impulsivity. Lucien had always wanted family. He hadn’t just been spying on Ian for the purposes of discovering the whereabouts and circumstances of Helen Noble.
He’d wanted to get to know a blood brother. To love him, despite the foulest of circumstances. And they had grown close . . . so comfortable with each other.
Elise had changed all that now. Ian was confused. Furious. She’d perhaps robbed Lucien of the only blood family he would ever know.
“Lucien,” she whispered, wild to apologize . . . to ask him why he hadn’t told her everything, but fearing his answer. Why should he tell her anything important, when she’d betrayed the truth the way she had? But the door suddenly opened and Francesca stepped into the room, her face as white as a sheet.
“He’s gone,” she said blankly.
Again, that frightening shiver of inevitability rippled through Elise. Somehow, those two words seemed to signify more than a short absence on Ian Nobel’s part.
“I’ve never seen him so upset—” Francesca broke off as a convulsion of emotion went through her.
“This is my fault. I’ll find him,” Lucien said when Francesca faded off. “I’ll call when I do.”
Elise just sat there, watching as Lucien walked away from her, all the while thinking that if anything, tonight had been her fault, not his. After the way she’d inadvertently exposed Lucien, perhaps he was walking away from her for the last time.
After the panel door closed with a snap, her dazed glance landed on Francesca. She rose swiftly and went to her. The other woman looked completely shell-shocked, and let Elise lead her to the sofa without protest. Francesca blinked when Elise handed her a snifter of brandy a moment later.
“What’s going to happen now?” Francesca wondered hollowly.
“Lucien will find him. It’s going to be all right,” Elise said with a certainty she was far from feeling.
* * *
Earlier, Elise had felt like an interloper during an intensely private moment, but as she sat there with Francesca waiting to hear from either Ian or Lucien, she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was like waiting at a death bed. For half an hour, they sat in near silence in the office, both of their cell phones on the coffee table in front of them. Francesca cursed under her breath at one point and tried to contact Ian.
“He’s not answering,” she said a moment later, hanging up the phone.
After a while, a tap came at the door and Mrs. Hanson poked her head in.
“Elise? I’m about to start the pudding.”
“Mrs. Hanson, I’m sorry,” Francesca said, standing. “I should have found you. There’s been a change of plans, I’m afraid. Lucien and Ian had to go out.”