Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

ROSE

H ow could something so beautiful be so intimidating, I wondered as I stared up at the black spires of the St. Thaddeus chapel. The way the sharp towers seemed to twist up and pierce the sky was terrifying, and still so breathtaking in their savagery.

I didn’t understand how a building that called people to worship could be so foreboding.

Then an image of Thomas standing above me, his cock in his hand as he guided it to my lips, flashed in my mind. He was just as intimidating and just as beautiful. I shook those thoughts out of my head and refocused on the reason that I had come to the chapel today.

Since I had found out that the stranger was a priest, I couldn’t get him out of my head. Then to find out that he was a Manwarring on top of that, making him practically my brother-in-law or at least uncomfortably close to it, was just too much.

This had to stop.

It was bad enough to be a woman in my class having premarital sex, although it happened. Usually, as long as it didn’t involve someone in the same social circle, the chances of it getting out were slim. It was a risk most young women took, and a few regretted.

Having an affair was one thing, but if anyone found out from a reputable source that I was involved in one, I’d be ruined. People would see me as damaged goods. It didn’t matter what kind of sex it was, or if people didn’t know how a partner touched me, or what they made me do to them. The second my reputation was in question, my future prospects were gone. Not that I wanted to marry whoever my mother deemed appropriate anyway, but to be unworthy was something else altogether.

And if the stuck-up society matrons who ruled over my world found out that the man I let touch me was a priest, then clearly I would be a sinner who would go to hell. Some ladies who thrived on scandal might not completely shun me. They might keep me around for the amusement and the shock value of my tale, but my social standing would be nonexistent.

Still, that wasn’t the worst of it. If people also found out that the priest I had let defile me was my sort of my brother-in-law, I’d be done. I’d be a social pariah. There would be no telling what would happen to me. I would probably be shipped off to some convent, or Mother would find some mental health spa that still believed in diagnosing hysteria. I wouldn’t put it past her to try to have me lobotomized.

Since I would have “brought it on myself,” no one would damn her for it. They would support her by saying that she did the best that she could with such a spiteful, horrible, immoral daughter.

I hated the confines that living in this class placed on me. I hated being in this gilded cage my entire life and having people tell me how privileged and entitled I was, but never understanding the price that I had to pay for it. But I knew outside of my cage the world was far colder and far crueler.

So no matter how much I ached for his touch, no matter how often I thought of him and how much I wanted to be his good girl, his angel, it just couldn’t happen.

I contemplated the church, reminding myself of the reasons why this couldn’t happen. I tried to work up the courage to actually walk in the door and face my demon head-on.

Was he my demon, or was I his? Had I somehow made a man of God stray? Had I welcomed or even courted this? He called me his angel, but was I his ruin? Was he mine?

He wouldn’t care about my reasoning, or about my social standing. All he had to do to avoid fall-out was get out of New York, assuming any of this touched him at all. Men were not treated the same way women were, and once he put on that collar, he became practically untouchable.

I, however, was very touchable by the rumors and the scandal.

Since there was no way he’d care, I had come up with other reasons for not becoming involved any further with him. Lesser reasons in my mind, but ones that maybe he could understand. When needing to get a point across, it was best to put it in terms beneficial to the person on the other side of the table. You didn’t tell them why you wanted it a certain way, you told them why they wanted it that way. Years of mind-numbing business classes had at least taught me that much.

With the courage of convictions that I did not feel but drew upon anyway, I walked up to the church, ignoring the way the copper gargoyles stared down at me as if they could sense my sins. They somehow just knew that I was there for unholy reasons, and that I was no longer worthy to walk through those doors.

Taking a deep breath and tightening my stomach, bracing myself for the hand of God himself to smite me, I pushed open the dark red wooden doors and walked into the brownstone church.

Nothing happened, no lightning bolt struck me dead, the gargoyle did not come to life to eat me. I knew I was being ridiculous. The actual monster was me. The real threat was inside the church already.

“Can I help you, young lady?” A priest with snow white hair and deep lines around his mouth and eyes greeted me as he walked down between the pews.

“Uh, yes, Father,” I said, giving the same polite, serene smile I gave to everyone. “I’m looking for Father Manwarring. My mother asked me to come speak with him about the Christmas bazaar.”

It was an easy enough lie, although lying to a priest like that made my stomach clench with guilt and my heart feel tight.

“Ah, yes. He is around here somewhere. I am sure we can find him,” the older priest said as he led me further into the church.

I couldn’t help but look up at the stained glass windows then follow the paths of multicolored light to the floor, where the intricate patterns danced as sunlight filtered through the leaded panes.

“Ms. Astrid,” a familiar and terrifying voice called. My back straightened and for a moment, just a moment, I considered turning and running out of the church like my life depended on it.

No , I told myself. I came here for a reason. This needed to happen today.

“Father Thomas,” the priest who led me further into the lion’s den said. “I found this young girl just inside the door, looking for you. Something about the Christmas bazaar?”

“Yes, Father Matthew. I was expecting her. Forgive me for not informing you. Thank you for showing her back here.”

“Of course. If there’s nothing else, do you mind if I leave? The nuns a few streets over are having a bingo night, and I said I would help.”

“You have a lovely night. I will hold down the fort,” Father Manwarring said, reaching out and putting his hand at the small of my back, guiding me away from the only other person I could see in the building.

He said nothing. Just led me deeper into the church, and I couldn’t do anything other than follow. I had wanted to have this conversation somewhere private enough that we couldn’t be overheard, but public enough he wouldn’t be able to do anything.

The heavy wooden door closed, its bang echoing through the empty church. Signaling that we were alone.

He turned on me, and his hand immediately wrapped in my hair at the base of my skull, just enough to tip my head back so I was looking into his eyes. It wasn’t fair. Even in the filtered light, their copper and amber flecks were still absolutely mesmerizing. “What is the real reason you’re here?”

“I want to tell you that what happened before can’t happen again.” I was so nervous that my voice shook, my words coming out in a rush of air.

“What?” he said, raising a single eyebrow at me.

I took a deep, steadying breath. His hand tugging the hair at the base of my scalp actually helped center me. I had gone past the point of no return. I had to do this. There was simply no other option. Holding his gaze with my own, I repeated myself, slowly this time, being sure to enunciate my words, adding strength to them I still had to fake.

“What happened before, between us, was wrong. You are a priest, and my brother-in-law, and I have a boyfriend.”

He released my hair and started circling me, rubbing his bottom lip with his thumb. I stared at the floor, at the beautiful tiles under my shoes, and tried not to think about anything else.

Technically, I wasn’t lying about the boyfriend. Raul was never a boyfriend, not in any real sense.

Even before I met Father Manwarring, I knew what I felt for Raul was just a crush. And a boringly stereotypical, “acting out” one at that. At first, I tricked myself into thinking it might be love. Still, the more I thought about it, the more time we spent together, and even when I lay with him for the first time, giving him my virtue, I knew the entire relationship was not going anywhere, especially if I were to finally get into grad school.

We had never officially broken up, though, so I guessed that meant we were still technically together? We had sent a few text messages in the summer. He was talking about eloping and starting our lives together, but the more I thought about it, the less I wanted to do it.

Still, Father Manwarring did not need to know that.

He was quiet for a long moment, his thumb still rubbing his bottom lip. I fidgeted, shifting from foot to foot as he circled me. I was already so scared of lying to him like this, but the more he circled me, the more I wanted to run.

“You have a boyfriend?” he asked, something sinister in his voice.

“I do,” I said, tightening my stomach so my voice didn’t shake as I took a step back.

He took a step toward me, and I got the feeling that he was playing with me, and whatever happened, I couldn’t let him catch me.

“Didn’t I tell you I own your pleasure?”