“What I’d done to her?” Ian asked, scowling.
“Your surveillance of her. I’ve heard her say how much she prizes her privacy. I knew you wouldn’t like it,” he said, turning his attention briefly to Francesca as he hit a button on the computer and turned it, so that Francesca could see the screen, “When you discovered how Ian has been videotaping you.”
Her breast was pressed against Ian’s arm, so she felt the muscle bunch and strain as an image leapt onto the screen. It was her. She watched numbly, half not believing what she was seeing. She lay naked on Ian’s bed in the penthouse, her hand between her thighs, every muscle straining for relief. She looked wretched even in pleasure. A moment later she shook in release.
“No,” Francesca murmured, the reality of what she was watching crashing down on her. Her horror only grew worse when her recorded image turned on her side and crunched into a ball, her body shuddering as she wept. In a flash, she remembered the moment . . . how vulnerable she felt, how miserable and empty and hopeless about a present without Ian . . . the bleakness of a future without him. The idea of somebody watching her at such a moment was too much for her to bear. “Stop it,” she told Gerard desperately. She sat up slightly in the bed, her glance sliding across Ian’s profile.
He wasn’t looking at the mortifying image of her on the screen. His eyes blazed as he stared at Gerard.
“I’ll kill you for this,” Ian said.
Gerard snarled and tapped a finger. Another image leapt onto the screen, this one of her masturbating while tears wet her cheeks, one hand filled with a breast, the other between her thighs, her face tight with anguish. Another, this one not at Ian’s penthouse, but in her suite at Belford Hall.
Another . . . no, it couldn’t be.
She saw the image of her face transformed by surrender and bliss as she told Ian she loved him. Always. It was the video he’d taken of her on the night before he’d discovered he was Trevor Gaines’s child . . . on the night before he’d left her.
“No,” she ground out between clenched teeth, lunging toward the computer, her only thought to extinguish the image of herself at such a vulnerable moment. Ian sprung after her, halting her with a hand on her shoulder when Gerard started at her sudden movement. He shoved aside the computer, letting the lid drop, the illicit sounds of their recorded lovemaking continuing. Gerard stepped closer to where they now sat on the bed, the gun extended threateningly.
“I didn’t want to show you, Francesca. But you had to see. I knew you’d want to know he’s not that different from his father—that criminal, Trevor Gaines.”
“How do you know about Gaines’s past?” Francesca asked incredulously.
“He thinks he knows everything,” Ian said quietly. “But he’s wrong.”
“I’m not wrong,” Gerard bit out, his glassy eyes flashing in fury.
“I didn’t take those videos of you, Francesca. Not most of them,” Ian said, not looking at her, but at Gerard. “The one I did, but you knew that. I would never do that to you,” he said steadily through a tense jaw.
“I know that.”
The gun jerked slightly in the air at Francesca’s words.
“What?” Gerard asked, stunned. “Don’t tell me you believe him, just like that?”
“Of course I do,” Francesca whispered, examining Gerard in rising horror. “Ian would never do that to me. He’d never record me without my permission. And Ian would never want to see me that miserable.”
Ian glanced over at her rapidly. She saw the gratitude and relief in his blue eyes. Sadness and compassion flashed through her. He’d worried she’d believe Gerard.
“He was watching you masturbate, you fool. He was getting off on it, spying on you,” Gerard bellowed.
“No. You were,” Francesca spat. She couldn’t stop the shivers of revulsion and horror from rippling through her body at the idea.
Gerard’s face grew red and mottled. Her point-blank refusal to believe Ian was a pervert who was spying on her without her permission and using the footage for sexual titillation seemed to exponentially amplify his rage.
“God you’re a fool. You deserve him,” he said, his mouth twisting. He suddenly shrugged. “I was going to have to kill you anyway, so what does it matter?”
“Then why did you even show it to me?” Francesca asked bitterly.
“Because it would have been all that much sweeter for him to see you betrayed by me before he killed us both. He couldn’t let you live. He knows I’ve left you everything if I die.”
“You did?” Francesca asked numbly. Everything seemed surreal. Is this how it felt when you realized you were about to die? She thought she’d be more panicked.
Ian nodded. “With Grandfather as the follow-up. But that works just fine for Gerard, because he’s Grandfather’s heir after my grandmother, if I die. All he has to do is wait, and he’s proven he can be patient. What did you do to Lucien?” Ian switched topics seamlessly. “Is he dead?”
“No, but he will be. I hit him hard enough on the back of the head to fell a horse. When the fire starts later, he’ll never wake up in time to get out.”
Francesca made a choked sound. Why was Ian behaving so calmly? It was eerie to see, in these circumstances.
“You plan to . . . what, make it look as if I finally went over the edge, and shot Francesca and then myself before bringing this place down.” He glanced coldly at the dusty, ancient canopy. His calm manner completely bewildered her, adding a touch of the surreal to unfolding events. “Not a bad idea. I thought of burning the place down a half a dozen times. It’ll go up like a matchstick.”