The Prince
Page 65
“Tell me.”
“I saw Christian. He’s a priest now. Did you know that?”
“Of course,” Søren said. “I attended his ordination. Is he in the hermitage now?”
“Oui. We talked at length.”
“About?”
Søren sat across from Kingsley, who couldn’t resist stretching out his legs and resting them on the seat next to Søren’s thigh.
“Your wife.”
Søren narrowed his eyes at him and Kingsley grinned.
“Your sister?”
“The very same. Christian thinks it’s possible someone knew about you and me while we were at Saint Ignatius, and assumed that Marie-Laure committed suicide because of it.”
“You believe she did commit suicide.”
“I always have. You married her, but you didn’t know her. She was incapable of love—only obsession. She nearly ripped my arm off the day they separated us. She was obsessed with you, and when she saw us together…” Kingsley stopped and said no more.
“She ran off in tears and fell to her death. Perhaps it was suicide but that was her choice. You bring too much guilt upon yourself.”
“Do you want to know this theory or do you want to save my soul?”
“Both. But your soul will take a little more time. Tell me the theory.”
“Christian thinks that this someone was in love with Marie-Laure and is now threatening us in revenge.”
“Revenge…” Søren sighed heavily as he leaned his regal head back in the seat. “Such melodrama this all is. The photograph, the burning bed...I have a lover, Kingsley, and half the Underground knows it. I fell in love with her when she was fifteen years old. And on that day I determined I would have her. On that day I started training her for my bed. This is not a secret. I am one phone call to the bishop away from being excommunicated. If someone wants to ruin my career as a priest, they hardly need to go to such lengths.”
“You have a lover, yes, and all the Underground knows she and I would destroy anyone who tried to destroy you. And yes, you fell in love with her when she was fifteen, but you didn’t take her until she was twenty, a feat of Herculean proportions, considering how she spent those years attempting to seduce you. Even if your congregation caught you with your hand around her throat and eight inches inside her on the altar of the very church where they worship, they love you too much to tell a soul about you. You might very well be the safest man on earth.”
“So what is this, then?”
“It may be more than ruination they are after, mon père. This, pardon my French, is a mindfuck. Which, as everyone in the underground knows, is your specialty. Someone is doing unto you what you do unto others.”
“And you believe it’s someone we went to school with?”
“It would have to be. Who else would know about us? About that photograph of us Christian took?”
“Eleanor has a copy.”
“Do you think Eleanor is behind all this?”
“Of course not.”
“Then who?”
Søren exhaled through his nose, shook his head in obvious frustration and turned his head to stare out the window. Although he knew he was in as much danger as Søren from whatever the thief had in mind for them, Kingsley couldn’t help but take perverse pleasure in Søren’s impotence in this situation. No matter what happened in their world, Søren always had it under control. In any situation that arose, he always had the knowledge, the answers and the fortitude to deal with it. When a sadist at The 8th Circle got out of hand, Søren put him in his place. When a young submissive stopped being able to tell the reality of the outside world from the fantasy of the scene, Søren talked sense into her. No matter what drama befell their world, Søren handled it. He handled the drama, he handled the Underground and he even handled Nora Sutherlin, the one woman Kingsley or any other man on earth couldn’t handle.
But Søren seemingly couldn’t handle this.
“Kingsley…” he began, and met his eyes. “Who do you think it is?”
Kingsley could only shrug. “Je ne sais pas. I can’t imagine. But I think Christian has a point. We were so wrapped up in each other at the time, we barely noticed that we were the only two at school who weren’t in love with my sister.”
“She was a beautiful girl.”
“And the only girl within fifty miles of the place. They never allowed women on naval ships or pirate ships for just that reason. A lone woman among men means disaster.”
“Disaster would be an understatement.” Søren raised a hand to his forehead and rested his elbow on the window ledge. “It was a catastrophe. All of it.”
Kingsley bristled at the implication.
“All of it? I think that’s something of an exaggeration. What you and I had before it was ruined…”
“What you and I had was something God wanted nothing to do with.”
Søren’s words came at Kingsley like bullets.
“I refuse to believe you mean that.” Kingsley leveled a stare at him.
“Those, Kingsley, were your words after our second night together. That is what you said as we stood on the cliff over the hermitage. You were the one who said, and I quote, ‘Surely God wants nothing to do with us, anyway.’ You, not I.”
Kingsley heard the edge of old anger in Søren’s voice, the tinge of bitterness, the hurt. The hurt?
“I saw Christian. He’s a priest now. Did you know that?”
“Of course,” Søren said. “I attended his ordination. Is he in the hermitage now?”
“Oui. We talked at length.”
“About?”
Søren sat across from Kingsley, who couldn’t resist stretching out his legs and resting them on the seat next to Søren’s thigh.
“Your wife.”
Søren narrowed his eyes at him and Kingsley grinned.
“Your sister?”
“The very same. Christian thinks it’s possible someone knew about you and me while we were at Saint Ignatius, and assumed that Marie-Laure committed suicide because of it.”
“You believe she did commit suicide.”
“I always have. You married her, but you didn’t know her. She was incapable of love—only obsession. She nearly ripped my arm off the day they separated us. She was obsessed with you, and when she saw us together…” Kingsley stopped and said no more.
“She ran off in tears and fell to her death. Perhaps it was suicide but that was her choice. You bring too much guilt upon yourself.”
“Do you want to know this theory or do you want to save my soul?”
“Both. But your soul will take a little more time. Tell me the theory.”
“Christian thinks that this someone was in love with Marie-Laure and is now threatening us in revenge.”
“Revenge…” Søren sighed heavily as he leaned his regal head back in the seat. “Such melodrama this all is. The photograph, the burning bed...I have a lover, Kingsley, and half the Underground knows it. I fell in love with her when she was fifteen years old. And on that day I determined I would have her. On that day I started training her for my bed. This is not a secret. I am one phone call to the bishop away from being excommunicated. If someone wants to ruin my career as a priest, they hardly need to go to such lengths.”
“You have a lover, yes, and all the Underground knows she and I would destroy anyone who tried to destroy you. And yes, you fell in love with her when she was fifteen, but you didn’t take her until she was twenty, a feat of Herculean proportions, considering how she spent those years attempting to seduce you. Even if your congregation caught you with your hand around her throat and eight inches inside her on the altar of the very church where they worship, they love you too much to tell a soul about you. You might very well be the safest man on earth.”
“So what is this, then?”
“It may be more than ruination they are after, mon père. This, pardon my French, is a mindfuck. Which, as everyone in the underground knows, is your specialty. Someone is doing unto you what you do unto others.”
“And you believe it’s someone we went to school with?”
“It would have to be. Who else would know about us? About that photograph of us Christian took?”
“Eleanor has a copy.”
“Do you think Eleanor is behind all this?”
“Of course not.”
“Then who?”
Søren exhaled through his nose, shook his head in obvious frustration and turned his head to stare out the window. Although he knew he was in as much danger as Søren from whatever the thief had in mind for them, Kingsley couldn’t help but take perverse pleasure in Søren’s impotence in this situation. No matter what happened in their world, Søren always had it under control. In any situation that arose, he always had the knowledge, the answers and the fortitude to deal with it. When a sadist at The 8th Circle got out of hand, Søren put him in his place. When a young submissive stopped being able to tell the reality of the outside world from the fantasy of the scene, Søren talked sense into her. No matter what drama befell their world, Søren handled it. He handled the drama, he handled the Underground and he even handled Nora Sutherlin, the one woman Kingsley or any other man on earth couldn’t handle.
But Søren seemingly couldn’t handle this.
“Kingsley…” he began, and met his eyes. “Who do you think it is?”
Kingsley could only shrug. “Je ne sais pas. I can’t imagine. But I think Christian has a point. We were so wrapped up in each other at the time, we barely noticed that we were the only two at school who weren’t in love with my sister.”
“She was a beautiful girl.”
“And the only girl within fifty miles of the place. They never allowed women on naval ships or pirate ships for just that reason. A lone woman among men means disaster.”
“Disaster would be an understatement.” Søren raised a hand to his forehead and rested his elbow on the window ledge. “It was a catastrophe. All of it.”
Kingsley bristled at the implication.
“All of it? I think that’s something of an exaggeration. What you and I had before it was ruined…”
“What you and I had was something God wanted nothing to do with.”
Søren’s words came at Kingsley like bullets.
“I refuse to believe you mean that.” Kingsley leveled a stare at him.
“Those, Kingsley, were your words after our second night together. That is what you said as we stood on the cliff over the hermitage. You were the one who said, and I quote, ‘Surely God wants nothing to do with us, anyway.’ You, not I.”
Kingsley heard the edge of old anger in Søren’s voice, the tinge of bitterness, the hurt. The hurt?
