“Then come into my world for a little while and you won’t have to be afraid.”
“What…” She looked around. “What are you doing in Father Stearns’s bedroom? Hell, in his house?”
“He was called away. One of his parishioners is dying. The family needs him. He might not return for a day or more.”
“So what? You’re here to water the plants?”
He laughed, a deep, warm, rich laugh. A fearless laugh.
“I like to get away from the city sometimes. From the phone that won’t stop ringing. The endless decisions I have to make. The senator’s son wants to bottom tonight but his favorite dominatrix is with the famous lead singer. My tailor is out of the country, and I need a new suit for the slave auction. And I’ve been so busy I haven’t had time to properly violate my lovely Juliette in days.”
“Juliette?”
“My secretary.” He sighed luxuriously with a put-upon air.
“Poor you.”
He nodded.
“My life is difficile. I come here for some silence.”
“You just like breaking into the houses of priests?”
“I was invited. I am family, after all.”
Suzanne’s eyes went wide with shock.
“Harrison…” The pieces started to fall into place. “You?” She nearly shouted the question. “You’re the French brother-in-law?”
“Oui. That box that fascinated you.” He nodded at the carved rosewood box. “You wish to open it?”
“I do. But it’s locked. Can you open it?”
Exhaling heavily, Kingsley reached out and took the box from her hands. He pulled a small set of keys from a pocket in his vest, stuck one in the lock and turned.
“You women…all of you are Pandora. You cannot leave well enough alone, can you? Here.” Kingsley gave her the now unlocked box back. “There’s the answer to your mystery.”
With shaking fingers she opened the lid. Inside on a bed of bloodred velvet lay two golden bands, one large, one small.
She pulled the smaller one out.
“Wedding rings?” she asked.
He nodded.
“That was my sister’s, my Marie-Laure. The other one was his.”
Suzanne touched the larger band but didn’t take it from its bed of velvet.
“I still can’t believe he was married before he was a priest. He must have been so young.”
Crossing his arms, Kingsley leaned against the bedpost and gazed out the dormer window.
“Neither can I sometimes. We were just children playing foolish children’s games. We were at school together, le prêtre and I. Marie-Laure and I were separated after our parents died—I was only fourteen and sent to stay with my American grandparents. She came to visit…I was then seventeen, he was eighteen. She barely twenty-one. I couldn’t stand to lose her again, but she did not have dual citizenship as I did. He married her to keep her here. He married her for me.”
“He didn’t love her?”
“He tried. For her sake. When she realized that he would never feel for her what she felt for him…”
“I know she died. I’m sorry.”
“She didn’t die,” he said, meeting her eyes again. “She killed herself.”
Suzanne nearly dropped the box.
But she held on to it despite her shaking hands.
“I’m…I’m so sorry, Mr.—”
“You may call me Kingsley. Or sir. Or monsieur. But please do not call me Mr. Edge.” He rolled his eyes and laughed again. The reaction seemed so incongruous to their topic that she laughed too out of sheer confusion.
“Okay, Kingsley. I’m sorry about your sister. My brother, he—”
“I know.” Kingsley said the words softly, kindly, and with a look of the profoundest sympathy in his eyes.
“Right. Of course you know.... So you and Father Stearns…you’re related.”
“By a long-gone marriage only. But we’ve remained friends all these years. I daresay I know him better than anyone.”
“Better than Nora Sutherlin?”
Kingsley raised his eyebrow and took the box from her hand. Carefully he arranged the two wedding bands back on the velvet before closing and locking the lid once more.
“He said she knows him better than anyone.”
Something in Kingsley’s eyes went cold and deadly at her words, and Suzanne immediately regretted them.
“What he says and what is the truth are not always the same thing. He may seem omniscient but where she is concerned…well, have you ever heard the phrase willful ignorance?”
“They’re lovers, aren’t they?” Suzanne asked, hoping to shock him into answering.
Kingsley only laughed.
“Ah…Pandora never learns. Does it matter if they are? Really?”
“Of course it matters,” Suzanne said, rage welling up inside her. “He’s her priest. Has been her priest since she was fifteen. If he’s been sleeping with her, or was when she was a kid? Hell yes, it matters. Only a monster would do that. A sexual predator. A—”
Kingsley raised his hand and shook his head.
“You have no idea who he is, Suzanne. If you judge him by his actions, you will never know him.”
She narrowed her eyes at him.
“That makes no sense. There’s no way to judge any man except by his actions.”
“What…” She looked around. “What are you doing in Father Stearns’s bedroom? Hell, in his house?”
“He was called away. One of his parishioners is dying. The family needs him. He might not return for a day or more.”
“So what? You’re here to water the plants?”
He laughed, a deep, warm, rich laugh. A fearless laugh.
“I like to get away from the city sometimes. From the phone that won’t stop ringing. The endless decisions I have to make. The senator’s son wants to bottom tonight but his favorite dominatrix is with the famous lead singer. My tailor is out of the country, and I need a new suit for the slave auction. And I’ve been so busy I haven’t had time to properly violate my lovely Juliette in days.”
“Juliette?”
“My secretary.” He sighed luxuriously with a put-upon air.
“Poor you.”
He nodded.
“My life is difficile. I come here for some silence.”
“You just like breaking into the houses of priests?”
“I was invited. I am family, after all.”
Suzanne’s eyes went wide with shock.
“Harrison…” The pieces started to fall into place. “You?” She nearly shouted the question. “You’re the French brother-in-law?”
“Oui. That box that fascinated you.” He nodded at the carved rosewood box. “You wish to open it?”
“I do. But it’s locked. Can you open it?”
Exhaling heavily, Kingsley reached out and took the box from her hands. He pulled a small set of keys from a pocket in his vest, stuck one in the lock and turned.
“You women…all of you are Pandora. You cannot leave well enough alone, can you? Here.” Kingsley gave her the now unlocked box back. “There’s the answer to your mystery.”
With shaking fingers she opened the lid. Inside on a bed of bloodred velvet lay two golden bands, one large, one small.
She pulled the smaller one out.
“Wedding rings?” she asked.
He nodded.
“That was my sister’s, my Marie-Laure. The other one was his.”
Suzanne touched the larger band but didn’t take it from its bed of velvet.
“I still can’t believe he was married before he was a priest. He must have been so young.”
Crossing his arms, Kingsley leaned against the bedpost and gazed out the dormer window.
“Neither can I sometimes. We were just children playing foolish children’s games. We were at school together, le prêtre and I. Marie-Laure and I were separated after our parents died—I was only fourteen and sent to stay with my American grandparents. She came to visit…I was then seventeen, he was eighteen. She barely twenty-one. I couldn’t stand to lose her again, but she did not have dual citizenship as I did. He married her to keep her here. He married her for me.”
“He didn’t love her?”
“He tried. For her sake. When she realized that he would never feel for her what she felt for him…”
“I know she died. I’m sorry.”
“She didn’t die,” he said, meeting her eyes again. “She killed herself.”
Suzanne nearly dropped the box.
But she held on to it despite her shaking hands.
“I’m…I’m so sorry, Mr.—”
“You may call me Kingsley. Or sir. Or monsieur. But please do not call me Mr. Edge.” He rolled his eyes and laughed again. The reaction seemed so incongruous to their topic that she laughed too out of sheer confusion.
“Okay, Kingsley. I’m sorry about your sister. My brother, he—”
“I know.” Kingsley said the words softly, kindly, and with a look of the profoundest sympathy in his eyes.
“Right. Of course you know.... So you and Father Stearns…you’re related.”
“By a long-gone marriage only. But we’ve remained friends all these years. I daresay I know him better than anyone.”
“Better than Nora Sutherlin?”
Kingsley raised his eyebrow and took the box from her hand. Carefully he arranged the two wedding bands back on the velvet before closing and locking the lid once more.
“He said she knows him better than anyone.”
Something in Kingsley’s eyes went cold and deadly at her words, and Suzanne immediately regretted them.
“What he says and what is the truth are not always the same thing. He may seem omniscient but where she is concerned…well, have you ever heard the phrase willful ignorance?”
“They’re lovers, aren’t they?” Suzanne asked, hoping to shock him into answering.
Kingsley only laughed.
“Ah…Pandora never learns. Does it matter if they are? Really?”
“Of course it matters,” Suzanne said, rage welling up inside her. “He’s her priest. Has been her priest since she was fifteen. If he’s been sleeping with her, or was when she was a kid? Hell yes, it matters. Only a monster would do that. A sexual predator. A—”
Kingsley raised his hand and shook his head.
“You have no idea who he is, Suzanne. If you judge him by his actions, you will never know him.”
She narrowed her eyes at him.
“That makes no sense. There’s no way to judge any man except by his actions.”
