Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
“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.