Losing Angeline: London Calling Book Two by Kat Faitour Page A

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.