Seducing Their Nun [Unlikely Bedfellows 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Jenna Stewart

  She would be gone from Hollyhock Cottage that day and from Ballymeade. She had little to take with her. Nearly two weeks ago, she had arrived with underclothing and a spare habit. Leaving, she would take little more than that. Jordan knew already what to do with the proceeds of the cottage and the things that would be auctioned off in Portland. Everything else had been distributed to local churches and charities for distribution to the poor. She could leave at least feeling she—and her mother, through her—had done some good for the world. As for her soul, God would forgive her. Forgiveness was always His message and gift to the world. Through prayer and proper living, she knew that she would learn to forgive herself for her foolishness and start to live again.

  Jordan and Mark were supposed to be back to talk around nine, so when she heard someone knock on the door at eight, she was caught by surprise.

  She peeked through the front window to see Lonnie standing beside his Nash. Catherine swung open the door.

  “Sister Celeste!”

  “Hello, Sister Margaret Mary.” The nun looked with surprise at Catherine’s dress.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Sister Celeste cast her gaze down and hid her hands beneath her scapular. “I was instructed to come and see to you. Mother Superior heard from the local priest—”

  “Father Samuels.”

  “Yes. He indicated that you were in trouble.”

  “I feared he would call Mother.”

  “Is there reason?”

  Lonnie didn’t look their way, but Catherine didn’t want any word of this conversation spreading through town. “Come in, please. I’ll fix us tea. Or breakfast. Have you eaten yet?”

  “No. Some toast and tea would be welcome if it isn’t too much trouble.”

  “Not at all.” She led the nun through to the kitchen and began preparations.

  “What a pleasant little cottage,” Celeste said.

  “It is quite nice. I’ve been very comfortable here.”

  “It looks as though your work is at an end. I saw your suitcases on the porch.”

  “Oh, those aren’t mine. They’re—” Did she really want to explain about Jordan and Mark? The whole story would be known soon enough. Celeste didn’t seem interested in details, anyway.

  “My train leaves the station in less than two hours’ time, Sister. Mother has asked that I bring you back to St. Agnes with me.”

  Catherine turned to the woman whom she had so greatly admired a few weeks ago for her knowledge of the world. “Returning to St. Agnes is exactly what I have in mind.”

  * * * *

  “We’re early,” Mark said.

  “I don’t care. I can’t wait any longer to find out what she has planned.” He guided the Ford into the lane but then slammed on the brakes.

  “I don’t believe it.” Mark opened the door.

  Jordan stopped him by grabbing his arm. Below them, at the cliff’s edge, Catherine stood, looking out to sea. The ocean breeze blew her veil out behind her, and she hid her hands within the folds of her habit. Lonnie loaded suitcases into the trunk of his Nash.

  “She’s made her decision. I don’t want to make it harder on her by confronting her now.”

  “But…” Mark closed the car door and slumped in the seat.

  “I’ve hurt her enough. I can’t stand to hurt her more by pleading with her to reconsider.”

  He put the car in reverse and backed out into the road. He would come back later to collect their suitcases and see if she left them a note. If not, he would contact her through the convent to make sure of the disposition of Emma’s estate. He would never be able to face her without breaking down. Not now. Maybe not ever.

  Epilogue

  Cap-d’Ail, France

  Catherine held the envelope up again and checked the address. 67B, Rue de Mer. Not Paris, though. Jordan and Mark had settled in Cap-d’Ail, a tiny village on the Mediterranean near Monaco. She hoped they still lived there, hoped nothing too very much had changed. The letter from Jordan telling her the legal dispensation of her mother’s estate was nearly a year old. It had taken months for it to be forwarded from the convent, and she had taken another few months to gather her courage to book passage.

  She knocked on the large wooden door. It swung open.

  “Oui?”

  And in that instant, she gazed on the sweet face of her Jordan. He wore a white shirt with no collar, its sleeves rolled to the elbow, and faded black trousers.

  His eyes widened. “Mark! Get out here!”

  In seconds, she heard him. “What the fuck is it? I was right about to tighten the—” He stopped dead in his tracks. “Catherine!”

  “So it is you,” Jordan murmured. “I had to be sure I wasn’t dreaming.”

  She smiled. “You’re not dreaming.”

  “Come in,” he said, holding the door wider.

  “My God,” Mark said. “You look great.” He started then stopped and looked at the greasy rag he’d been wiping his hands with. “Oh, the hell with it,” he said and hugged her using his arms and not his hands.

  “You look very fit,” she said when he let her go. “I see you’ve done away with the cane.” His attire was much the same as Jordan’s. She’d quite obviously caught them working on something.

  “The shoreline isn’t the same here as at home, but I followed your advice and built up my strength.”

  She sent a shy look Jordan’s way. He had closed the door and stood with his arms crossed. “And are you well, Jordan?”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  So formal. Perhaps the wounds hadn’t healed.

  “Come in,” Mark said. “I’ll see about some coffee and food. Have you eaten?”

  I was too nervous wondering if I had a future. “No. I didn’t take time at the hotel.”

  “A hotel here in town?”

  “Yes. I arrived last evening.” The two men looked at each other. Mark’s look was chagrin. Jordan lips formed a thin line and his brows furrowed. He shook his head as though to tell Mark not to say anything. She followed Mark, and Jordan followed her, up a flight of stairs and into living quarters.

  “Let’s sit on the patio. You can see the sea from there.” Mark showed her out onto a stone area surrounded with a decorative iron railing. A table with chairs sat among pots full of flowering plants and herbs. Quickly, he leaned forward and brushed her lips with his. “I’m sorry you didn’t think you could come to us rather than stay at a hotel. I’ll be right back.” He shot Jordan a look that said, “There! I did it.”

  “I’ll help,” Jordan said, sounding a touch desperate.

  “Stay here, you coward.” Mark smiled at Catherine and then disappeared into the house.

  Jordan sighed but held out a chair politely. She sat and then waited for him to say something to dissipate the ice floes she felt she was swimming in.

  “It seems we’re bound to be together near water,” he finally said. She looked to match his focus and was struck by the shimmering blue of the Mediterranean.

  “Water is ever changing. Rather like our relationship.”

  “Ebb and flow, is that it?”

  “Something like that.” She snuck a look from the corner of her eye and found that he stared at her.

  “We came,” he said, just as she said, “I waited for you.”

  “You didn’t come,” she said. “I waited until after nine thirty. I couldn’t wait any longer.”

  “We were there early. We saw you in your habit, staring at the sea. I told Mark I didn’t want to make things any harder for you by begging you to come with us. You’d definitely made up your mind to stay in the convent.”

  So that’s what had happened. If only they had come to the cottage. “That was Sister Celeste.”

  “Who?”

  “She was sent by Mother Superior to bring me back to St. Agnes.” The trip back had been strange. With her habit packed on the journey, she had found herself strangely in two worlds traveling with Celeste—unable to comfortabl
y kneel with her during prayer times yet feeling odd not doing so. How quickly she had shed the duties of a lifetime.

  “You mean you didn’t…?” He seemed to take in the meaning of her street clothes fully.

  Shaking her head, she said, “No. I had decided to stay out. I did go back to Ohio, though, and waited until the bishop approved my exit.” She looked away when his eyes became moist.

  “Mark wanted to go down and talk to you, but I said no. It could have saved months of questions.”

  “You were trying to make things easier on me. I understand.”

  “Did they give you a hard time?

  She remembered being ushered into Mother Superior’s office. Mother had required no lengthy explanations as to why Catherine wanted to leave the convent. Indeed, she seemed unsurprised. “You’ll stay in the resident house for the school until your paperwork is signed by the bishop.”

  “Thank you. Mother.”

  Mother Superior stood. “Follow me,” she said.

  Down the hall, she used a key to open the door to a basement, but in a part of the convent Catherine had never seen. “This is where we store the sisters’ things from their lives before they take the veil.” She led Catherine to a storage unit. Indicating a large box covered in dust, she said, “This holds the last clothing you wore. The other boxes hold your letters.”

  Letters! Catherine stared. At least a dozen shoebox-sized boxes were stacked beside the larger box. “From my mother?”

  “Yes. At the request of your benefactor, we withheld mail to and from your mother. He felt contact with her would cause…” Mother dropped her gaze. Catherine understood just what she had intended to say. She thought Catherine might become infected with sin somehow by her mother’s influence.

  Robert Parnell—Leo—had been a monster. But he was the past and holding negative feelings toward him in her heart would only hurt her. “I believe you were only doing what you thought was right for me, Mother.”

  “I’ll ask the janitor to take everything to your room. I didn’t open any of the letters, nor were any of them discarded.”

  “Thank you, Mother. May I say good-bye to the sisters?”

  “No. You have made your decision. It’s best to let it lie.”

  That had hurt, but she adapted, as she had to everything in her new life. Through the letters, she discovered just how much her mother had loved her all those years, and that she had been as lonely as Catherine in many ways. They had been caught in a trap not of their making. Her mother’s prison was the cottage by the sea, the very place Catherine had found that real love set one free. Too bad her mother hadn’t discovered the same freedom.

  The only thing that had escaped her was the sense of peace and happiness she’d felt with Jordan and Mark.

  “No,” she said, coming back to the present with the Mediterranean breeze cooling her face. “Mother didn’t make it any more difficult than it would have been anyway.” She looked out to sea again. This was not how she had hoped things would go. She had wanted them to sweep her into their arms and proclaim that they still loved her. Instead they acted as two old friends, pleased, but not ecstatic at her arrival. Perhaps she had misjudged the wisdom of coming here. “Did you start your engine business?”

  “Yes.” For the first time, Jordan’s voice filled with passion. “We’re in this year’s race, and things are looking very promising. Our shop is downstairs. We live over our work, as you see.”

  “No racing talk,” Mark stipulated, carrying a tray of coffee cups. A dark-skinned woman followed carrying a tray of sandwiches.

  “She asked,” Jordan said. To Catherine he said, “Do you remember Mandy, from the house in Ballymeade?”

  “Of course,” Catherine exclaimed. “The amazing cook. Did you move here with Jordan?”

  “To tell the truth,” the woman said, “after I found out what Mrs. Parnell did, I couldn’t stay there. Mr. Jordan said he’d show me the world, and Lord, if he hasn’t done just that.”

  “Mandy keeps us on the straight and narrow,” Mark allowed, moving a chair to sit beside Jordan.

  “But I’m happy you’re here. These men need a woman’s touch who’s under the age of sixty.” She patted Catherine’s shoulder and disappeared in the house.

  “So, your mother’s alone.”

  Grimly, Jordan said, “In that huge house. A prison of her own making.”

  “But we’re doing well,” Mark said, changing the subject. Catherine was happy he had. “I want to know about you. What have you been doing?” he asked.

  “I’m a seamstress. If there’s one thing I learned to do well as a nun, it was sew tiny, neat stitches. When she found that I was leaving St. Agnes, Mother Superior insisted I keep the proceeds from the house. I gave in and kept a portion. So I’m also doing well.”

  “Good. The sale was quite successful.” Jordan didn’t meet her eyes when he said it.

  “Yes, I was very surprised.” She fixed him with a stare. “I was even more surprised when I heard who purchased the cottage. Mrs. Robert Parnell.”

  He gave a one-shoulder shrug. “I hope you don’t mind. She razed it.”

  Mark cleared his throat. “She had a bidding war with a mystery bidder.”

  It was Catherine’s turn for surprise. There was only one explanation. “Jordan? Did you bid against your mother?”

  “I didn’t really do it for you per se, because I didn’t think you’d ever see a dime of the money. I knew how much she wanted the place and I did it to spite her. I wish there was some way I could have punished her for what she did, Catherine.”

  “I have prayed for your mother. She must have been very, very unhappy.” Catherine shook her head and gazed at him. “And it isn’t for us to punish her, my love.”

  “You forgive me?” His words were strangled.

  “There’s nothing to forgive. As you once told me, I am not my mother. Well, you are not your father. I was overwhelmed when you told me and I behaved badly. Do you forgive me?”

  “If only you knew how much I want to pull you into my arms and kiss you, you wouldn’t ask that.”

  “The people who caused us harm are dead or far away.” She took a breath. “Is there really a chance you still have feelings for me, Jordan? And you, Mark. Do you believe you could love me again?”

  “Catherine,” Mark said. “You have to ask? The one thing missing from our lives is you. I love you. Do you think there’s any way you would consider moving your seamstress business to France? There are a couple of old Marines turned mechanics who need you.”

  “And want you,” Jordan added.

  “You haven’t found anyone else?”

  “Sweetheart, I love you” Jordan reached out his hand. “There’s only ever been you.”

  She reached across the table and placed her hand in his. Then she took Mark’s hand, and tears flowed down her cheeks. Thank you, Lord, thank you for leading me back to my destiny.

  “Tears, Catherine?” Mark asked, swiping them from her cheek with his thumb.

  “Of happiness. I love you both so much.”

  “Doesn’t the Bible say something about the sins of the father being visited upon the children?” Jordan smiled at her. “Do you know what you’re jumping into? With my parents, I’m in big trouble.”

  “That isn’t anything we have to worry about,” she said. “I believe that God’s message is to love well. We do that.”

  Jordan rubbed her palm with his thumb. “I’ve thought many times since last year that your mother was the innocent in the whole story. She was looked down on, even though she did a hell of a lot of good things in the community. My parents were well respected and turned out to be horrible.”

  “I’m grateful the good Lord seems to think we’re all responsible for ourselves. I don’t need to assume anything of my parents’ sins or have them assume responsibility for mine.” Mark quirked his brows.

  “Of which there are a multitude,” Jordan said dryly.

  “You should know.
You were there helping me commit most of them.”

  Catherine laughed, and it felt good and right, there with her men in that lovely place. “I would love to move here and live with you.” She dipped her head. When she looked up, she felt the sting of more tears. “In fact, I packed and brought with me what little I have, hoping you would still want me.”

  “I’ll get someone to bring your things from the hotel,” Mark said.

  “Please,” she replied. “I’ve lost so much time. Now I’m anxious to start our lives together.”

  An image of children dashing up and down the stairs flashed through her mind. Was that her future? She couldn’t wait to find out.

  THE END

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  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Dee S. Knight has written award-winning erotic romance for years, even branching into ménage romance. Now as Jenna Stewart, writing exclusively for Siren-Bookstrand, she is creating only ménage—stories that stretch across the centuries and which show that the only thing better than true love between a man and a woman is true love between a woman and more than one man.

  For all titles by Jenna Stewart, please visit

  www.bookstrand.com/jenna-stewart

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

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