My father was uncertain whether I should keep this post when Miss de Lacey inherited. My sire agonized over the decision as if it were his own to make. The living is, after all, excellent. We were both elated when I won it.
In the end, my father instructed me to keep theliving. He contended that no reasonable man could blame me for not forfeiting such a good post.Even the damned need clergymen,my father grumbled.If anyone questions you, you kept the living to protect your parishioners from the influence of such a paragon of vice.
At the time, I found this rationale convincing.
I certainly did not want to give up the income. Not when I hope to marry as soon as possible. In three years if I am lucky. My father made it clear that I need more than a decent competence to take a wife. I am under strict orders to marry well. I have to find a woman who can bring me not just love and companionship but resources. A dowry worth mentioning. And even I can see that an imprudent marriage would be foolhardy. A good marriage could make my career, especially if the family of the lady in question has influence in the church.
My father says I will have enough money in three years.
Only three more years of torment.
It is not a short time, but it could be worse.
I could be like Daniel. Destined, he told me, to be engaged to his beloved for at least seven more years before they can wed.
But I had not anticipatedthiscomplication.
“You were my father’s choice,” Miss de Lacey says, “so I assumed you would be a dullard and a sycophant. I did not realize that you would be so incompetent as well.”
At first, her words have no effect on me. I am still lost in her face. How would it feel to kiss such full lips? Are they as silken to the touch as they appear? And why would God show me such beauty, if I am only to ignore it?
Then I hear her words.
My face burns.
I stand up abruptly, rattling the tea tray once more. At least this time I do not apologize.
She gives a harsh, mirthless laugh as the spoons and china clatter.
“Good day, madame. I am sorry for wasting your time,” I stammer, turning towards the door.
“Good day, Mr. Saintsbury. Let this be our final parting. I see no reason we should meet again. I am sure you will visit on the parishioners of Trescott all they deserve. You certainly seem capable of it.”
By the time I reach the door, two things are clear to me.
First, Annabelle de Lacey loathes me.
And second, I desire her so much it hurts.
Chapter 2
Alfred
Outside, I gulp the fresh afternoon air. I unbutton my collar, wiping away the sweat ringed there, my hands still shaking.
I can’t believe how I humiliated myself. Or the intensity of my passion.
I grasp at my throat with one hand and dig my fingernails into my palm with the other. I stagger in the direction of the vicarage.
Annabelle de Lacey is beautiful—and damned. Ravishing and condemned. And cruel. Very cruel.
And yet I am not repelled by this knowledge.
No, I only burn more.
I was spared the indignity of a cockstand in her presence, but that mercy has ended. My mind churns. My body aches. I cannot calm myself. Only one thing will cure me of this state. The one thing that I try very hard to avoid.
I let myself into the vicarage, not stopping for longer than necessary at the door. Thankfully, none of the servants are about. I go straight to my rooms.
