Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

ROSE

I must have opened and closed my mouth at least a dozen times before my mother hissed at me again to get in there and behave like the lady that she raised. There was no way I would not hear about this later. I knew my momentary hesitation would lead to her screaming at me for being less than perfect.

Not wanting it to get any worse, I did as she said, with a polite smile painted on my face.

It looked like she and Father Manwarring had already had tea in the conservatory’s sitting area and had moved to the table where Mother had her calendar spread out, along with random finger sandwiches I would get scolded for if I tried to sample.

I attempted to sit next to Mother, but she immediately clicked her fingers in annoyance and pointed to the seat next to Father Manwarring.

Father Manwarring. I tested the name in my head. Father Manwarring.

There was simply no way I would ever get used to that. Not only was the man who touched me, who made me feel so sinful as he led me into temptation a priest, but also Luc’s brother. And even worse, that made him a Manwarring.

I adored Charlotte and Olivia. Luc was growing on me, and I even really liked Manwarring senior’s new bride, Stella. Of course, it helped that she and I were practically the same age.

Still, I liked the Manwarrings. But that didn’t mean they weren’t… different.

Rumors flew about every single family, most of them having only a kernel of truth. The rumors about that family, though, just kept proving to be more and more true, like the whispers that in the boardroom and the polo field, they were violent warriors through and through. Those were almost whispered in awe, but then there were darker whisperings, tales of kidnapping, insider trading, and serious ties to the Irish mafia.

I had never spent too much time listening to rumors, but the way the Manwarrings held themselves was a little different. They always stood separately from everyone else, and there was always something about them just under the surface, a controlled rage that seemed just a little barbaric. Like if the situation called for it, they could rip someone to shreds without a second thought.

Even the idea that a Manwarring could be a priest seemed ridiculous. Then again, so did the idea of a priest using his fingers to make me come. So maybe there was something about this that made sense.

The more I thought about it, the more I considered the man next to me— while staring at the wall, of course— the more I saw the connection. The way his muscles contracted in the dim light the other night, there was something predatory about it. It reminded me of a large jungle cat waiting for the opportunity to pounce. The way the colors danced in his eyes seemed a little… savage when he held my pleasure at bay, keeping me on the precipice of bliss.

Maybe he was a monster in priest’s clothing. The Manwarring savagery waiting to come out and play. Why did that excite me so much?

I banished those thoughts from my head as I took the seat my mother pointed to while she studied her daybook for God only knew what.

“How are you this afternoon, Rose? Everything… blooming, I hope,” Father Manwarring said. That same sadistic smile turning up the corners of his lips. I hated how that smile provoked butterflies into taking flight in my stomach.

People have used that pun my entire life, and I have learned to ignore the cheesiness of it, but the way he said it sounded… different. Like there was another, underlying meaning. I hated how easily I blushed at it. It didn’t use to be like this, but all it took was one look from him and I could feel my face and neck heating. I just knew I was a bright red.

“Be polite,” my mother warned, still not looking up.

She wasn’t talking to him.

“Yes.” I gave a nervous laugh, avoiding his eyes by staring at the ceiling, the crown molding, the vintage tablecloth my mother claimed was picked by Jackie O, a dear friend of her mother’s—anywhere but at him. “Did you just come back to New York? I don’t remember seeing you at… any of the weddings.”

“I just arrived,” he confirmed. “I’ve spent the last seven years in Rome.”

“Oh, are the frescoes as breathtaking in person as they are in the pictures?” I asked, telling myself I was just being polite. I had always wanted to go to Italy. I had heard artistic friends gush about the magic of the light and the works of art. It always seemed so fascinating. There were even a few trips I had planned, but with the threat of kidnapping of heiresses after Olivia, and Mother losing her grip on my siblings, she wouldn’t allow it.

“I can think of many things that would take your breath away,” he said.

Again I shifted my gaze to the tablecloth, hoping the drape of my hair covered my burning cheeks.

“Right,” my mother said, staring at her diary. “I’m sure you understand that I have quite a packed schedule.”

“Of course. I hear you do extensive work teaching the youth of the city,” Father Manwarring replied. There was a tone to his voice that seemed off, but I did not know what it meant.

“Well, I do like to ensure the next generation is well-taught. It’s a shame you declined my tutelage. You could have benefited from it. Though I suppose it wouldn’t really help you in your current profession.”

What was she talking about? My mother hated children. She barely tolerated me or my siblings until we were fully potty-trained and speaking in complete sentences. Even then, the only tutelage she offered consisted of demands and harsh critiques.

“My calling,” he corrected, “has served me quite well. I have received all the education I require.”

Again, there seemed to be some kind of undercurrent in the conversation that I just wasn’t picking up on.

I looked back and forth between them. On the surface, everything appeared perfectly normal, but there was just something that was off.

“I’m sure, all those men and their calling to God. It must have been quite the experience.”

“You have no idea,” he said as he lifted his teacup to his lips and drank deeply. I was still trying to figure out what I was missing when I felt his hand on my knee.

I tried to push it away, but it returned, squeezing my knee in warning before his fingers started slowly gathering up my skirt, exposing more of my legs inch by inch. “A place like that can teach you so much about the human condition. The spirit, the body, and how to help lost little lambs, or fallen angels, find their way back to God. There is no greater pleasure in life.”

When his hand gripped my bare thigh, I tried to close my legs, even crossing my ankles under the table to stop him from going any further.

His hand squeezed my leg again.

My mother’s attention turned to the maid, ordering her to bring a fresh pot of tea, and he shot me a knowing look.

I knew what he was demanding, and I wanted to refuse him, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. My legs opened, giving him the access he wanted.

His hand slid higher up my bare thigh while he and my mother continued to have a pleasant enough conversation that clearly held a hidden meaning.

I stayed perfectly still as his fingers slid up and down the delicate skin of my inner thigh, going higher with each pass. He was teasing me, showing me how little he had to do to get my body to respond to him. I tried to focus on the conversation, but his touch was so consuming.

“Well, as I was saying, this is a very busy season for me,” my mother said.

“I understand that, a lot of appointments and obligations. But you said you wanted to be a part of the festivities and fundraisers this year… and after the incident with the ornaments…”

“Incident, what incident?” she asked, her piercing gaze turning to me with an accusation ready on her lips.

I opened my mouth to answer her, right as Father Manwarring’s knuckle caressed the gusset of my panties, stealing the words from my mouth and the thoughts from my head.

My mouth clamped shut to stop a moan from escaping.

“Oh, it wasn’t her fault. One of the new altar boys dropped the box,” he explained, as his fingers moved to the seam of my panties and played with the elastic that clung to my inner thigh.

I kept my jaw clamped shut as I stared at the table, trying to not make a single sound or expression or do anything that would tip my mother off about what was happening under this table.

“Well. I hope he was punished properly.”

“Probably not by your standards, but I’m sure God will send him to hell for breaking a few knock-off ornaments,” Father Manwarring said, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from either laughing or moaning.

If my mother gave him a look or indicated in any way that she had picked up on what he said, I did not see it. My eyes stayed focused solely on the tablecloth and trying so very hard to keep my face neutral and my hips from bucking up into his hand.

He was driving me crazy, getting so close to touching me where I needed him, and then backing off. He needed to stop or give me what I wanted. Having him toy with me was pure torture.

Part of me wanted to make an excuse to leave the table and run away as fast as I could. Nothing good could come from this, but a much larger part of me saw this as another defiance, though this one was not so micro. It wasn’t the same as running out the door and never returning, or figuring out how to live the life I wanted. But it was something. It was a defiance I could get away with. Even if it was only because Mother didn’t know about it.

I opened my legs wider and adjusted in my seat, tilting my hips up to give his hand better access. If he demanded that I open my legs for him, then I demanded satisfaction.

Fuck micro defiances. If I was going to sin, I was going to make it count.

Father Manwarring slid his fingers over my mound. Even the lightest, most delicate touch felt so good, igniting little sparks of pleasure over my skin.

He petted me, stroking two fingers down the seam of my lips and making my thighs tremble as I tightened my muscles to stop the trembling from taking over my entire body.

All the while my mother sat there, talking about God only knew what and probably lying through her teeth about how much she loved babies, the sick, poor people, and poor sick babies.

The pressure in my core built, and I didn’t understand it. He wasn’t even touching my sex directly. He wasn’t using a lot of pressure or friction, but the pressure built all the same. I knew that if I didn’t do something soon, he was going to make me come and there was no way I could hold that back. I couldn’t be silent for him before, and I couldn’t now.

“You say the donation with the empty envelope was sent on the fifteenth?” My mother’s voice helped pull me from the edge.

“Yes,” Father Manwarring said. “The cardinal assumed it was a mistake, or some type of accident, but I knew you were the type of woman who would want to know that your donation slip was received without the actual donation. I just knew that you would want to make that right.”

“Of course,” my mother said, her lips pinched, probably mad someone finally called her on her empty donation envelopes.

“You know, I understand you are very busy this holiday season. Plenty of things to do, I’m sure, far too many obligations for someone of your age. So why don’t you send Rose in your stead? The Christmas bazaar is coming up in only a few months and unfortunately the priest that left hadn’t started organizing it before he was reassigned. I am forced to play catch up. We desperately need volunteers. Perhaps Rose would be a better fit? I mean, with all that youthful energy, we could definitely put that to good use.”

My thighs clamped shut around his hand and his fingers stilled, but he left them there. I tried to push his hand away from me as subtly as I could, but he refused to budge. If I put in any more effort, Mother would know there was something wrong.

“I don’t think I’ll?—”

“That sounds perfect,” Mother said, talking over me. “This will be her top priority. She is yours as long as you need her. I expect you to put her to work and make sure that she leads others to do the same. I think it’s so important for our children to be connected to the church and learn obedience.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” he said, smiling, finally shifting his hand to my leg.

“Let me just write another check and fire the maid who must have taken it. Stealing from the church, shameful.” She stood and walked out of the room, no doubt going to fire the new maid the service sent over.

I went to follow her, but Father Manwarring’s hand tightened on my thigh and held me in place.

“It looks like you are all mine, angel. And did you hear? Your mother wants me to teach you how to be obedient.”