“Elise and I just met. She’s a friend of Mario’s,” Lucien said. It seemed imperative at that moment of crisis that the lie he told was simple and easy for Elise to understand. They needed to be on the same page for this unexpected—undesirable—encounter.
“You’re very kind to step in and help Lucien in a pinch,” Ian said.
Elise’s gaze flew to Lucien, gauging his reaction to what Ian had said. Unwilling to say much else that might cause further inquiry on Ian’s part, not to mention unsolicited revelations on Elise’s, Lucien remained silent. He scowled when he saw her face grow radiant with triumph. She’d gotten just what she wanted, and she knew he knew it.
I’m going to punish you for this.
He wondered if she’d read his mind, because her triumphant expression faded.
“I was wondering if I could talk to you about something in private?” Ian asked Lucien, giving him just the excuse he needed to get Ian away from Elise.
“Of course. In my office?” Lucien suggested, extending his hand toward the door.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Martin,” Ian said before turning.
“The pleasure was mine.”
Lucien waited until Ian had cleared the kitchen before he spoke in a low, confidential tone to Elise. “You have given me no other choice. Consider your challenge accepted, ma fifille.”
Before he turned to follow Ian, he had the thin satisfaction of seeing her eyes widen in panic.
* * *
Lucien waved at the bar in his office. “May I get you a drink?”
Ian shook his head and sank into one of the deep leather chairs in front of Lucien’s desk with a swift, graceful movement for a man so large. He glanced distractedly at the polo mallet Lucien had never gotten around to replacing last night.
“Been practicing at your club?”
“A bit. The field is still soaked from all this rain. It’s probably better to just get it off your chest,” Lucien added mildly as he settled into the chair behind his large mahogany desk. He knew perfectly well that Ian had no interest in horses or polo.
Ian gave him a quick glance. “It’s that obvious, is it?”
Lucien smiled. Yes, it was that obvious. He’d first met Ian several years ago in his restaurant in Paris, and they’d become quick friends. Lucien had moved to Chicago a little over a year ago, upon Ian’s request, in order to open and oversee the restaurant in Ian’s brand-new tower headquarters. When Lucien had decided his position was more secure in Chicago, he’d given in to his entrepreneurial nature and bought the restaurant from Ian last Christmas. Their friendship had entered a new level of closeness. Ian Noble was never an easy man to read, but Lucien suspected he’d learned his mannerisms and moods as well as most anyone on the planet, save a few.
“Let’s put it this way: damn you for canceling our fencing match today. I’d bury you, as distracted as you are,” Lucien said.
Ian gave a mirthless smile. “You’re undoubtedly correct.”
“What is it? Is it business?”
“No,” Ian said almost before he’d finished asking.
Lucien leaned back in his chair. “Ah. Francesca, then,” he said with finality. Of course. Only his lover could have the power to make Ian this distracted. The passionate flash in Ian’s eyes confirmed his guess. Lucien waited patiently, knowing that Ian would eventually get to the point if given the opportunity. Ian had become one of the most powerful, wealthy men in the world because of his singular focus. If he’d come here to speak to Lucien about something, he’d get to it. Eventually.
He began to wonder about that, however, when Ian continued to sit in morose silence.
“I’ve been considering asking Francesca to marry me. In fact, I’m more than considering it. I plan to choose her ring tomorrow,” Ian said abruptly, his crisp, British-accented voice somehow not matching his almost tangible tension.
Lucien blinked. “That’s wonderful.”
“You’re surprised, aren’t you,” Ian stated, studying him from beneath a brooding brow.
“No. I know how much you two love each other. It’s a wonderful thing to witness, seeing you and Francesca together.” He didn’t flinch under Ian’s laser-like stare.
“You’re telling the truth, but still . . . you doubt that I could make a commitment like that. Deep down, you thought you and I were alike in that way.”
Lucien grinned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Ian gave him a droll glance and stood, pacing in front of the desk and reminding Lucien very much of a trapped tiger. “We both like women, but neither of us has ever been the settling type. What about that woman—Zoe Charon? You were serious about her last year. But when her manager offered her a promotion in Minneapolis you let her go without a second glance.”
“That’s not true. I glanced.”
Ian gave him a skeptical look, but Lucien didn’t blanch. He had hesitated about letting Zoe Charon walk away last winter. He’d liked her a lot. But in the end, there was always an unavoidable rift between him and intimacy. Now more than ever.
“What has my past experience with women got to do with the fact that you’re considering asking Francesca to marry you?” Lucien wondered.
“Nothing, of course,” Ian said. He unbuttoned his suit jacket, fell again into one of the chairs, and crossed long legs. “It’s just that . . . I have never once in my life considered myself to be the marrying type. I’d assumed the same thing about you. Perhaps I was wrong?”