Page 25

Chapter

Twenty-Five

L ater that morning, Angelica snuck out of the St. George Berkeley Square town house and started across the park without her maid, determined to see Benedict before the ball this evening.

Even if she only saw him for a moment, that would suffice until they could meet again.

Until she could dance and sneak away at the ball and kiss him to her heart’s content.

The Whitmore town house came into view and, walking along the flagstone sidewalk, she opened the side gate to the marquess’s yard and started for the church.

A smile lifted on her lips, her heart fluttering like a trapped bird, excitement thrumming through her veins at the prospect of seeing him again.

Her betrothed.

Her darling husband-to-be.

The man she loved.

She opened the church door and the chill of the room kissed her skin, sending goosebumps to rise on her arms. She pulled her shawl closer about her and moved toward the back of the church where she knew Benedict’s office lay.

Mumbled voices sounded and her footsteps slowed as she came closer to Benedict’s office door, which was left slightly ajar. She stopped and listened, knew that she should make her presence known, but curiosity, thick and unwelcome, overrode her sense of propriety.

Was he discussing his future with his Catholic mentor? Was it going well, or was the church angry at him for falling in love with her and choosing a woman over his faith?

“Now, boy, listen to sense. We have all been tempted by the fairer sex. They are and can be Sirens who call to our most basic human needs, but you cannot stray from your path. I have seen you here, I have watched your sermons, and you love the church as much as it loves you.”

“I still respect the church, Father, but I cannot continue my learnings. It would not be right,” Benedict argued.

Angelica frowned, a lump of concern balling in her stomach. The church did sound angry—and persuasive—and well on the way to trying to change his mind.

“You have studied for so long. Do not throw it away merely because you feel obligated. I know the young Lady Angelica is, in fact, a beautiful, wealthy debutante—many will vie for her hand—but you should not throw yourself at her mercy too. You were healed under their care, and you have thanked them for it. You need not give them any more than that. She will be perfectly content with another, and if you give your decision some time to percolate, I’m certain you too will come to see that I’m right and you should pause. ”

Angelica's breath caught, her pulse hammering in her ears.

The silence that stretched made her blood run cold. What was Benedict doing? Was he truly thinking she was some kind of vixen out to lure him away from his faith? She attended church just like everyone else. That did not mean she was any less of a Christian than this Father believed himself to be.

She moved closer to the door, just enough to see through the gap near the hinges. Benedict sat at the desk, a deep frown between his brows as he listened to his mentor.

“You must take some time—weeks, maybe months—to discern if this is the correct path for you. If she is willing to wait and does so, then perhaps her heart is true. But I do not think that is the case. She too has been swept up into the grandeur of your meeting and believes herself to be in love with you, but she is not. A woman’s heart is fickle, and should you give her the opportunity to prove my point, make her wait for you, you will find that I’m correct.

” The priest paused. “As much as it pains me to say such things to an honest and good man such as yourself, I do not wish to hurt you more than perhaps this parting will. But you owe it to yourself to be sure, and this will ensure it is so.”

Angelica watched Benedict, waited for him to disprove the Father’s words, to tell him that he was wrong. That he loved her. That he did not need to wait for weeks or possibly months to know that for certain.

But he said nothing. Not a single word in her defense.

She bit her lip and fought not to let her vision of him blur as he nodded.

Nodded.

Angelica turned on her heel and ran. She did not wish to hear his rebuttal, his awful, traitorous words—that he would make her wait, test her love in such a cruel way.

She moved through the church as quietly as she could, and only when she was outside, briskly walking through the park, did she allow the tears to fall, the first rush of breath to gust from her body like a sob torn from her chest.

She could not wait weeks—God forbid, months. They had been intimate. What if she was with child? Her hand clasped her stomach and she fought not to cast up her accounts.

How could Benedict treat her so? Not defend her at his first test of honor. How could he allow a man of God to so freely disrespect the woman he was supposed to love?

She had believed herself cherished. But clearly, she had only been convenient.

She shook her head as she made it back to her house, rushing through the door and starting up to her room. No true man would ever allow such underhanded views of the woman they loved. Unless that love wasn’t genuine. Wasn’t heartfelt.

She wasn’t a test. She was a woman in love. And he had failed her.

Well, she would not allow him to treat her with so little respect. If he believed her to be so fickle, a Siren luring him to his demise, and wished to test her love with time, so be it.

That did not mean she had to play by Benedict’s rules—and nor would she.

She was the Duke of Ravensmere’s daughter. She didn’t have to do anything any man said.

Not even the man who had once made her believe she could be enough.

Ever.