They didn't go to church.
His mother went to church. He slept and drank and cavorted around with disreputable women.
Did they even allow men like him into a church? He would find out all too soon.
Chapter Three
Evelyn awoke from a dreamy sleep. Many of the dreams were filled with one gentleman in particular. The sunlight poured in from the curtains, casting a glow across her face. It was in these moments of solitude that she missed Louisiana. Even though it was one of the newer American states, it still had such a rich culture. It was alive with promise and joy.
It was one of the reasons that despite growing up on a farm, she was fluent in French and knew how to cook French cuisine better than the best chefs in New York. At the moment, all she wanted was some tea and to sit on a porch drowning in sunlight.
But no, her father had agreed they would attend church with the McArthurs. She highly doubted that a man like Royce would be allowed in such a holy place. Wasn't God known to strike down men like him with a single lightning bolt?
Throwing back the covers of her bed, she began the task of preparing herself for the day. It was going to be a long one if she had to sit next to the devil in church.
****
Royce carefully stepped over the threshold into the church. He wasn't even embarrassed that he closed his eyes, waiting for God's wrath. Nor was he surprised when several women in the congregation waited in anticipation for the same thing. After a few seconds of patiently waiting for his inevitable death, he took another step and promptly bumped into another lady.
He was opening his mouth for a perfect excuse, honestly he was. And then he realized it was Miss De Jarlias. She looked positively sinful in that dress of blue and white. He needed to control his arousal. He was, after all, on holy ground, and he could only deduce he was on borrowed time as it was.
"Ah, Miss De Jarlias!" He bowed quickly, and then took her elbow. "You know, I'm pleased we could meet again at such a great … event." Poor word choice. Dear God, please don't strike me down. The girl would surely go with me at this range. Think of the girl!
"I must say, I'm surprised, Mr. McArthur." Evelyn met his gaze with a cool one of her own and crossed her tiny little arms.
"Surprised?" He cleared his throat. "What do you find surprising this beautiful Sunday morning?"
"You. Being allowed in church. You. Not getting struck by lightning. And again you. Still standing on God's holy ground after staring at my chest more than twice since we've bumped into one another."
"Maybe God's giving me a second chance." Royce managed not to appear as annoyed as he felt that Evelyn had noticed his lingering eyes. "Or it is possible God is very forgiving?"
Evelyn snorted. "Or He's waiting to strike you when you least expect it."
Royce glanced over his shoulder just in case she was right. He was definitely treading on thin ice, being on holy ground after the life he had been leading. The only thing that could make matters worse would be if the preacher stood up on the pulpit and shouted, "You sinner! Repent or burn!" He shuddered and silently led Evelyn to his family's pew on the left.
Her eyes looked heavenward as he took his seat next to hers. "Praying already?"
"For protection."
"From who?"
"The devil."
"Ah, well, I doubt God would let him through the doors," Royce joked.
Evelyn looked him up and down before answering. "Too late."
One hour later, Royce was seriously considering the whole repentance business as the minister continued to preach about having to stand before God when one dies. He wasn't sure how he would account for all of the wrong he had done in his life.
What was to be his excuse? Sorry, God, but my mistress was a redhead. You know how I like those! Somehow it didn't seem God would find that amusing, nor would He let certain sins slide depending on the personal preference of said sinner.
Shaking himself out of his depressing thought, he took it upon himself to concentrate on Evelyn's legs, an altogether terrible idea, considering he was in church. His assessment of the merits of the idea was shortly confirmed when the lady in front of him, whom he later found out was the minister's wife, chose that exact moment to turn around and examine the crowd.
Scowling, she swatted him with her fan and shook her head, reprimanding him like a small child. Unfortunately, his response was exactly what one would expect from a small child as well. The blood rushed to his face, and he jerked his head back to the minister and the sermon. His gaze never wavered until the last Amen was said.
Because he spent the second half of the service terrified that the lady would turn around, he had forgotten to close his eyes during the prayer, thinking if he just stared hard enough, she wouldn't turn around and judge him again. It never occurred to him that ministers' wives didn't open their eyes in prayer like rakes did.
As the service concluded he jumped out of his seat, ready for food, wine, and female company. Preferably in that same order.
"So how about some lunch?" He turned to where Evelyn had been seated. But she was gone. Panicking, he glowered down the row, and then turned around suddenly, nearly knocking over his own mother.
"Dear, what are you doing?" his mother demanded, waving a hand in front of his face. "Are you ill?"
"No, just hungry. Say, have you seen Miss De Jarlias?"
"She and her father are around here somewhere. They're staying for a light lunch with the pastor and his wife."
Royce meant to shudder on the inside; instead he couldn't help it as his body convulsed at the thought of spending more time with the holy man and the woman who'd hit him with her fan. "No, thanks," he mumbled, stepping away from his mother. He would have to find another way to spend time with Evelyn. After all, if she was to be launched this year, she couldn't spend all her time with people holier than he was. Not that it would be a difficult feat, since it included over ninety percent of the population in his city.
What he needed was gifts. And lots of them. It was sometime during the service he realized he wanted her. Not necessarily because he needed her. No, that wasn't any part of it. Nor was he in love with her like some crazy cad. She just seemed the logical fit, and she was interesting to boot! Any woman who cried over food and was brave enough to send him to Hades was a woman he could live with forever. Now all he needed to do was convince her.
"I don't like that smile," his mother observed, urging him down the long aisle leading to the outside doors.
"What smile?" He could feel it growing wider.