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)
So, while I was at it, she could pay for that too.
I wanted to take in her home and the riches that she was going to lose, but as the butler led me through a no doubt roundabout way to get to wherever Mary Quinn was, to show off her wealth, my mind flipped to Rose.
Where was my little angel? Was I going to see her today? Would she say anything about what happened?
How did she explain her clothing to her mother when she got home yesterday? Had she found some way to sneak in and out of her home so Mary Quinn never saw her less-than-appropriate attire?
There were so many questions I wanted to ask my little angel, and I couldn’t wait to see how she answered. If she answered. Would she be as shy and timid as yesterday? Or would the shock of her attack have worn off, and she had regained her bite? Would her cheeks glow with a fresh blush as she remembered how I touched her and how I made her body tremble in ecstasy?
Finally, we got to the conservatory which, as I thought, was just down one hall from the door. We could have taken a much more direct route. It was all part of her little mind games, to let people gawk at her little trinkets and collection of tacky art to show her wealth.
It was predictable and boring. I was a little disappointed.
Mary Quinn was seated on a ridiculously large, regal-looking chair in the center of the room. Ever the focal point, she sat like a queen.
There were couches and other chairs, but they all sat much lower. This narcissistic bitch had set up the room the way a man with a small dick would set up his office. With him sitting at least four to five inches above everyone else to make it seem like he was in a position of power.
She may look like a queen on the throne, but her asinine and obvious tactics spoke more of a woman who was losing her influence and knew it.
“Ma’am, Father Thomas Manwarring has arrived,” the butler said in a fake British accent, and I had to stop from rolling my eyes, because of course he did.
Mary Quinn lifted her teacup to her mouth, taking a slow sip to give herself a moment to take me in before properly greeting me. I tried not to roll my eyes, instead keeping my features perfectly still. That was how this game was played. I was not about to show my hand early.
“Thomas, dear,” she said, her mouth dripping with nothing but sugar. No, not sugar—God knew that had too many calories. Probably Splenda. Or monk fruit? Whatever the chosen artificial sweetener of the month for these rich society women was.
“It’s Father Manwarring,” I said calmly as I took a step inside the bright room.
Another maid, much younger and far prettier, came out of nowhere to pour my cup of tea. I wondered if this poor child would be the next victim of Mary Quinn’s “youth treatment.”
“Oh, but we go back so far. Our families have been close for so long that we’re even related by marriage now. Surely I can still call you Thomas.”
“It’s Father Manwarring,” I repeated, with a smile. “Speaking of our families, have you met my father’s new bride?”
“I have. It’s such a tragedy what happened to her family, and so suddenly. It makes one wonder why they appointed a guardian for their grown daughter, and then for that guardian to suddenly marry her when she’s so young and in a fragile state. And with such a large inheritance.”
“Well, who’s to say.” I shrugged. “The heart wants what the heart wants, and apparently my father’s heart wanted that young, beautiful, still-fertile woman.”
My barb couldn’t have hit more dead center if I aimed it with a bow. Her fake smile that was always plastered on her face fell just a little for a moment, no small feat considering the amount of Botox that was regularly pumped into her face.
“Yes, well. Won’t you have a seat?” she asked, motioning to the lowest of the couches.
“Thank you, you are too kind,” I said, taking a seat, not really minding the lower cushion since I was already so much taller than her.
Sitting on the unforgiving couch was uncomfortable but was made all the sweeter when her smile faltered again, seeing that even with her higher chair, we were still eye to eye.
Why did people who pulled these stupid power moves never actually consider the person they were pulling them against? She may not have seen me in nearly a decade, but I was still my father’s son. Did she think that my height would top out at a measly 5’10”?
“So I hear you’re back in New York for a long visit, or is this a permanent position?”