Losing Angeline: London Calling Book Two (7 page)

Angeline marched in a purposeful route past some of her favorite city squares. Chatham, with its peaceful quiet and pretty plantings amidst squared-off paths. Monterey, with its soaring marble and granite monument to one of Savannah’s fallen sons. And Calhoun, with its triple-tiered fountain spraying drops of water across a couple as they laughed and posed for photos.

She didn’t stop or slow down. Her mind raced over the past weeks, trying to pinpoint the moment that had spurred her awkward moods and irritability. It began around the time of their anniversary, she realized, maybe a little before. Although it would be easy to blame it on John and the conversation they’d had about extending their family, she couldn’t.
 

No, this had nothing to do with John. It didn’t have anything to do with Devon or Angeline’s reluctance to enlarge a family she already saw as perfect and whole. It had begun inside her, she realized. A cloying dread that had her looking over her shoulder for an unknown, unseen threat.
 

Her pace quickened.
 

It was fear.
 

Fear had sneaked and snaked its way into her until she couldn’t sleep because of the old nightmares that haunted her. Reluctant to wake John, or make him aware, she’d risen ever earlier as the days passed. Insomnia and fatigue took their toll, quickening her temper until it sparked hot at the slightest touch.

Her legs slowed as she approached Whitefield Square. She needed to think, figure out what triggered this desperate, defeating terror in her.

She climbed the two steps necessary to enter the whitewashed gazebo at the center of the park. Taking a seat on one of the built-in benches, she braced her hands beside her and breathed deeply. The unrelenting rain had finally eased, clearing the way for blue skies studded with huge billowing cumulus clouds. She heard a flag whipping in the brisk wind while a neighboring house’s wind chimes sang in jangled harmony.
 

Her heart steadied and slowed. In a fit of clarity, she knew she’d done what she’d sworn she never would.

She had allowed her past to poison the present.

The sun’s warmth melted her tension away, leaving her to lean back and relax against the gazebo. She heard the giggles of nearby children followed by laughing shrieks as they engaged in an impromptu game of tag.
 

Fear made her reject John’s proposal for more children. A ceaseless and nagging fear that she would fail as a mother to Devon. That having more children meant dividing their love, not expanding it. Her breath hitched with the epiphany that
there was enough
. They had enough love for an army of children if they so chose. Enough money and resources to care for their family, no matter whether they had one more child or three.

Most importantly,
she
was enough.

Angeline abruptly decided to skip the riverfront; it wasn’t necessary. She would hurry back home, run if she had to, to make things right with John and Devon. She sprang to her feet, only now seeing the spare figure of a man who’d been sitting just beyond her peripheral vision.

“Hello, my Angel. Not going anywhere, are you?”

Angeline swayed, blackness tunneling her vision until only a pinpoint of light remained. Groping behind her to find the bench, she sank down while sucking shallow breaths into her lungs, brutally willing away the urge for unconsciousness. It took several long moments where she could only stare at the brick floor of the gazebo as she took in deep, greedy gulps of air. Her body shook with the force of her denial and a refusal to look up and truly acknowledge the horror before her.

Worn but recently polished shoes stepped into her line of vision. A pale finger reached as if to tip her chin up.

She recoiled violently, scooting in a frantic bid to put more distance between her and all that she hated.

“Angela, don’t be rude. It hurts me.” The laconic tone belied Edward’s clenched fists, hanging stiff at his sides. He settled on the next bench, despite Angeline’s obvious revulsion.

“Don’t call me that.” Her voice was a weak rasp. She cleared her throat, lifting deadened eyes to face her worst nightmares and shame. She raked him with her gaze, silently wishing the force of her abhorrence would kill him dead on the spot.

It didn’t. The vile creature sitting before her continued to breathe.

“What? Do you mean
Angela
? You’ll always be that to me. My Angel. What else would I call you?” He paused for less than a heartbeat, sneering. “
Angeline?
”

“Yes,” she hissed. “It is my name now. That other girl, the one you exploited and ruined, is gone. Angela died a long time ago.”

“And you think you’ve become something better now? I’ve been watching you, studying you. You’ve changed your speech, your mannerisms, your appearance,” he cried. “But you were
perfect
before! You were my pure and shining Angel. You killed her!” A tiny spray of spittle landed on his pants.

Angeline smiled, enjoying his weakness and vulgarity. Her voice dropped to a deadly purr. “There was nothing in me that you didn’t soil or stain with your foul hands and filthy camera.” He was a malignancy, an abomination of a man. Strength and power coursed through her, steeling her spine. “And if you call me Angel once more, I swear I’ll murder you with my bare hands.”

Her satisfaction at seeing him pale was short-lived. He folded his arms, beady mud-brown eyes darting before settling back on her.

“So I soiled you? Stained you, did I?” His lips raised in a sneer. “Me? Not that brutish hulk you married?” Edward’s face flushed red as he slammed a palm on the bench with a minute flinch.
 

“You dare act as if any man could be lesser than you?” She leaned forward slightly to stare him fully in the face. “You are odious.
Repugnant
. And you’re not fit to speak of John Sinclair.”

Edward stood, shaking with rage. “Oh I’ll do more than that. I’ll speak
to
him. We’ll have a nice long chat about Angela Durant, a poor girl that grew up in the foster systems of Detroit, Michigan.”
 

“No,” she whispered.

“Oh yes, my dear. I’ll tell him all about a young woman who beguiled me. Someone who let me touch her, caress her. Who said she loved me.” His small eyes glittered in triumph, eagerly taking in Angeline’s slackened pose. “After all, I have the photos to prove it.”

Angeline gagged, nausea heaving her empty stomach. She clenched her hands until her nails dug deep moons into her palms. “What do you want, Edward? What’s the point to all this?”

For a second, he seemed taken aback. “You, of course. I want
you
, Angela.”
 

A small spurt of satisfaction brightened her despair. At least he wasn’t calling her Angel anymore. “Edward, I’ve moved on. I’m a wife and—” She cut herself off. A deep foreboding assailed her, cautioning her against the mention of Devon. “I’m happy. I don’t want to hurt you.” She wanted to murder him, strangle him until the air withered in his lungs and his heart seized on its final beat. “But I moved on. A long time ago. There’s nothing left for us.”

He stamped a foot in fury, like a child thwarted. “No!” His voice was shrill and uncontrolled. “No, Angela, you mustn’t say that!” His face was mottled a deep red. Even his scalp, where the hair was thinning, was pink with temper. “Listen,” he needled, “I’ve surprised you. I’ve had much longer to think about this, to remember how special we were. I can give you more time. I know you’ll see.”

She kept her face blank, despite the vomit churning her stomach.
 

“And Angela? I won’t mess up. I know I drove you away the last time, but I’m better now. It’ll be perfect, just you wait.”

He walked off, blithely unconcerned that he’d ripped her to shreds and left her bleeding out in the gazebo.

Her life, her beautiful recreated life, was destroyed.

CHAPTER FIVE

C
LOSING
THE
DOOR
quietly behind him, John entered the bedroom suite he and Angeline shared. A glass-shaded lamp dimly lit the corner where his wife sat, legs tucked beneath her, in an overstuffed linen upholstered armchair.
 

“I thought you might be asleep.”

Angeline jolted a little, as if she’d been unaware of his entrance. She unfolded her legs, bringing her feet to the floor. “No, I couldn’t.”

“Ang, everyone’s emotions ran high this afternoon.” He walked towards her, stopping several feet away when he saw her tightly knit hands lying in her lap. She’d scrubbed her face clean of any make-up, and her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen.

She bit her lip. “How’s Devon?”

“She’s fine. She was fine within fifteen minutes after you left. You just broke her feelings a little, that’s all.”

“I think I broke yours too.”

“I was surprised,” he admitted. “You’re always so patient and careful with her. You revealed a hellfire temper back there, and it shook me. I’ve never seen anything like that from you. Let alone with Devvie.”

Angeline’s mouth tilted in a scant, sad smile.
 

“Ang?”

She tilted her head. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry I came down on you so hard. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t kind.”

She dipped her chin before pulling in a deep breath. She opened wet tawny eyes to meet his. “John, don’t be nice to me. I don’t think I can take it.”

He quickly joined her, taking a seat on the ottoman facing the chair. He took her clenched hands in his. “Stop. She’s fine. Frankly, you seem the worse for wear.” Taking in her pale face and haunted eyes, he was struck by guilt. Chafing her cold hands in his, he continued. “I overreacted. And I’m truly, deeply sorry.”

Her chin wobbled before a sob broke free. Alarmed, John stood, scooped her into his arms, and settled back on the ottoman. He kissed the top of her head, holding her close despite some resistance on her behalf.
 

“Let it out, Ang.”
 

His words broke the dam on the control she was exerting. She collapsed against his chest, crying her heart out.
 

He held her, gently rubbing her back as she soaked his shirt with her tears. A long time passed and John realized Angeline had been holding too much inside for too long. He murmured, comforting her as best he could when he felt helplessly inadequate.

Finally, her tears slowed and she leaned back to meet his concerned gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t say that.” He thumbed the last of her tears from beneath her eyes. “You’ve been holding that in too long, I’d say. Why don’t you talk to me? Nothing you say could ever change how much I love you.”

Her eyes dropped and he felt her tense up again. Her silence was making his insides knot with worry. They’d always been able to discuss anything. Share everything.

“Please?” he pleaded with her.

She squeezed his hand. “I can’t tonight, John. Not tonight.” At his slight stiffening, she pleaded in return. “Make love with me instead. I need you so badly.”

He brought her hand to his lips. Standing her up, he rose to turn down the bed before stretching out a hand in silent invitation. “I could never deny you, Lean. I need you too—always.”

As she joined him beside their bed, he gently undressed her. His hands, though large and masculine, whispered over her flesh with a graceful delicacy. She raised her arms obediently as he bunched the soft jersey of her shirt to bring it up and over her head. She was braless and her breasts begged for his attention, the nipples standing proudly erect as he surveyed her. But rather than indulging, his hands drifted to her waistband, lightly brushing her abdomen as he untied the strings to her loose-fitting linen pants.
 

He helped her step out of them as they fell to the floor. She brought her body flush against his, running her hands over his chest before toying with the buttons of his shirt. He brought her to a stop, pressing his lips lightly against her forehead and inhaling the fresh floral of her perfume.

Kneeling, he dragged her panties over her hips and down her legs. He leaned in and kissed her stomach, rimming her belly button in a quick caress. His lips curved against her dewy skin as her abdominals quivered, revealing the answering desire in her that he sought. He rose, helping her into their bed.

Her eyes were deep, drugging pools of temptation as she watched him undress. When he was fully naked before her, she licked her lips in unselfconscious passion. Already hard, his erection answered by straining further upward, rigidly insistent.
 

John took a deep, bracing breath. He wanted to take this slowly, make it last as long as he could. Then he planned on doing it all over again, again and again, until the haunted shadows left her beautiful amber eyes.

But Angeline had different ideas. As he slid onto the soft cotton sheets, she was everywhere. Pressing him back against the pillows, her lips raced over his torso, teasing their way down low before rising back to his chest and neck. She grazed her teeth along his jaw before nipping his earlobe. He strained toward her, reaching, but she clamped her hands over both of his wrists, stilling him. He allowed it, knowing he could turn the tables at any time and take back control.