Page 20

Chapter

Twenty

T he following morning Angelica lounged in a warm bath, a little tender after her escapades with Benedict at the Darnley ball, and yet she could not regret what had happened.

She could not regret giving her heart to a man she adored and trusted.

All her worries that he would choose the church after everything that had occurred between them floated away with the bubbles of her bath.

He would not have been so intimate with her had he been looking to leave her to continue his Catholic learnings.

He would not have placed her at risk of ruin had his intentions not been honorable.

No, she was certain that he would marry her. A man of his character would never act otherwise.

She finished her morning ablutions before heading downstairs. Her family was nowhere to be found, and she ate alone in the breakfast room, before calling for her maid to prepare to go out.

She would visit Benedict again. After their time yesterday, maybe he had already informed his mentor at the church that he’d chosen another path. Excitement thrummed through her veins at the thought of their impending betrothal.

Several minutes later her maid appeared with her shawl, gloves and bonnet. “I’m ready, Lady Angelica."

"Thank you," she said, moving to put on her gloves and hat before slipping the shawl over her shoulders. The footman opened the door, and she moved down the steps and onto the street, heading in the direction of Lord Whitmore’s home across the square.

"I shall be calling on Lord Benedict this morning.

You may wait for me at the back of the church, thank you. "

Her maid cast her a concerned glance that Angelica ignored. "Are you certain, Lady Angelica? Lady St. George said that I’m to ensure your safety and reputation is unharmed at all times.”

Angelica smiled at her maid, knowing very well her sister had no doubt cautioned her to ensure she was never at risk of ruining her reputation. But Benedict was different. He would be her husband, she was certain of it. There was no danger with him.

"I’m visiting his lordship at the Whitmore’s private chapel and will not be long.

I merely wish to check on Lord Benedict and see how his leg is feeling after last night's ball.

" And after what they had done. The memory of him, claiming her with a fierceness a desperation that left her head spinning made her stumble and she reached out to her maid to stop herself from falling.

"Very well, my lady,” her maid acquiesced, letting her go once she’d regained her balance. “I shall wait at the back of the church.”

“Thank you.” Angelica took a calming breath, trying to still the nerves that tumbled in her stomach at seeing Benedict again. Was she being scandalous seeking him out at the church again? Possibly, but she also could not help herself. She needed to see him, to touch him—if not kiss him again.

She was terribly attached to the gentleman, and did not know what she would do should he continue believing the church was for him. It was not. She was for him—for if she had not been, he would never have kissed her in the first place, nevertheless what else they had done.

After several minutes of brisk walking, they arrived before the large Georgian town house across the park. She started down the side path of the home and entered the church without thought as to what she may find. The sight that beheld her left her stupefied.

Lord Benedict stood before a small congregation of people. All of whom listened patiently to his sermon. His words…

“Choices—heavy, aching choices—meet us all.

We may find ourselves torn between duty and desire, between the vows we made and the voice that whispers, 'What if?

' Yet even in doubt, we are not alone. God does not ask for perfection—only faithfulness in the midst of confusion. Let us remember: the heart may wander, but grace never does.”

Angelica slumped down beside her maid for several minutes. She caught Benedict’s eyes, his widening with recognition, before his face turned ashen and he continued his speech.

She swallowed the lump of fear in her throat that his reaction to her presence meant regret. He was merely tired after a late evening at the Darnley ball, nothing more, and she ought not read into his pallor any more than that.

But then, what was he doing still holding a mass? Surely after what they had done last evening he would have told the Catholic faith he could no longer continue as he was before?

That his choice was to marry her and possibly join the Church of England.

The service went on for several more minutes before coming to an end. Angelica remained seated, watched as those who came to the service shook hands with Benedict and another priest who seemed to have watched in silence near the alter, before leaving the church.

The other priest spoke quickly to Benedict before he too left the church, leaving them finally alone. Angelica stood and started for the front of the church, Benedict too striding to meet her halfway. "Lord Benedict," she said. “I did not expect to find you so occupied this morning.”

A muscle worked in his jaw and he cast her maid a quick glance before meeting her eyes. "You should not be here, Angelica," he warned, his voice low and with purpose. “You must think of your reputation.”

Angelica frowned, unsure why her presence here would offend him.

"I wanted to see you. I thought that you would feel the same.

" She paused. “My being here and listening to your sermon is no more scandalous than anyone else who just left.” She hoped her tone wasn’t as biting as she believed it to be, but what was wrong with him? Why was he so hot and cold toward her?

"I do feel the same." He sighed, rubbing a hand across his jaw. "The sight of you makes me want to strip that pretty little green gown from your person, lay you bare on the altar and make you scream a second time. That is why you ought not be here,” he whispered.

His words went a little way in alleviating her fear that she’d been mistaken regarding what was happening between them. "I cannot stop thinking of our time alone either.”

"I feared,” he continued, “that the congregation would see how much I wanted you too. Perhaps it was fortunate that the service was almost over by the time you arrived, for you are one delicious sweet that I want to gorge myself on."

"Truly?" She fought not to grin like a cat who had found the cream, but she could not help it. "I'm so pleased to hear you say so."

Benedict glanced around the church and reached for her hand. "Come, follow me to my office. It is at the back of the church."

Excitement thrummed through her, wicked and warm.

She followed as demurely as possible, but inside she was a ball of desire, of expectation and hunger.

Her mind fought to remember the naughty sketches, wondering which ones they could do next.

What ones he’d like to do if she could envision and voice them.

Down a short passage they came to a door which Benedict opened and pulled her through. The room was plain, with white walls and tall windows, a desk and two chairs. The ceiling, however, had a pretty painting of clouds and cherubs dancing in the heavens.

Benedict closed the door and leaned against it as she took in the room, the hint of sandalwood in the air reminding her of him.

A wickedness overcame her now that they were alone and she leaned against the desk, facing him. Without shame, she lifted herself to sit upon the dark mahogany and started to raise her gown, revealing her silk stockings and half boots.

Benedict did not move, but a muscle worked in his jaw, revealing the tension in his body. His hands fisted as his sides, reminding her of a predator before it pounced.

"I slept so wonderfully last night and had the most relaxing bath this morning. The feel of the water on my skin reminded me of your touch, and I had to come see you."

"You're wicked, Lady Angelica," he murmured, pushing away from the door, ripping at his falls with each step that brought him closer.

She watched, fascinated and relieved he wanted her again. He clasped behind her knees and pulled her to the edge of the desk, his manhood erect and engorged in his hand.

"I'm going to fuck you on my desk. Don't make a sound."

She nodded, fought to swallow the whimper that threatened to voice itself.

The way he spoke, dominant and commanding, did odd things to her, and she knew in that moment she would do anything at all that he asked.

He pushed her gown out of the way, hoisted her legs about his hips and guided himself into her, taking her completely.

Delicious sensation swamped her, and she lay back onto the desk, watching him above her, strong and muscular, rigid within her, making them one.

His fingers dug into her hips, and he thrust.

Hard.

Angelica moaned, bit her lip in an attempt to stop the sensations that overwhelmed her, but the struggle was hard.

He filled her, inflamed her every nerve with each thrust. The sight of him in his robes, pushed out of the way as he claimed her on his desk, was wicked, but something she also could not help but revel in.

"Yes, Benedict," she gasped, as he rolled his thumb over her sex, teasing her as he took her.

The sensation was too much, and for a moment Angelica could not catch her breath.

"I'm going to make you come," he promised, his voice dark and determined. "But don't scream, darling. Do you understand? You cannot make a sound."

She nodded, covering her mouth with her hand as he pumped relentlessly into her.

She clasped on to the edge of the desk, unsure she was ready for such overwhelming sensations.

Their coming together was quick, frantic, and she fought to ground herself as sweet, telltale sensations started to spark within her body.

“Benedict,” she gasped, not wanting this moment to end, but also craving what he could give her.

The precipice they climbed surfaced, and helpless to fight how he made her feel, she tumbled over the cliff. Tremor after delicious tremor rolled through her and she clamped her mouth closed in an attempt not to call out his name—not to scream yes .

“Angelica…” Benedict made a low, guttural moan through his release, and she reveled in the sound of his pleasure.

She opened her eyes and watched him and knew she could not live without this man. She was his, and he was hers—and nothing, not even God himself, would take that away from her.