The Persuasion of Molly O'Flaherty (10 page)

Martjin van der Sant was a short man, with thin white hair cropped close around his ears and a precisely trimmed mustache. Even his clothing looked as if it had been folded and pressed with a ruler in hand. He did not smile, nor did he talk very often, but when he did, it was with a clipped Dutch accent that left no room for argument. My encounter with Hugh and his contract had left me shaken, but I swallowed everything down and mustered my most professional, competent demeanor as the other board members and I met van der Sant’s party down at the docks.

A man as wealthy and powerful as van der Sant could have easily sent representatives to investigate our assets. The fact that he traveled all the way here to see them for himself told me a lot, told me that he was a man to be both respected and feared. I was proud of the way I ran my company and I knew he wouldn’t find anything on the company’s end that would dissuade him from partnering with us, but I was more than a little nervous that word of my personal life might reach his ears. I glanced over at Cunningham as we walked along the docks. He was talking seriously with one of the other businessmen van der Sant had brought along, and there was nothing in his demeanor to suggest he was planting rumors about me.

He wouldn’t
, I decided. He wanted this business deal as much as I did—maybe more than I did. Even he wouldn’t jeopardize the chance at more money simply to spite me. Besides, he had taken care to mention my engagement to Mr. van der Sant when we’d introduced ourselves earlier, probably to portray me as a normal, moral young woman.

The dock and warehouse visits went very well, and I was beginning to feel more settled about Hugh and the contract when we escorted Mr. van der Sant back to my townhouse for a late luncheon. “I hope you don’t mind if my daughter joins us,” Mr. van der Sant said. “This is her first visit to London and she is very excited.”

“Of course,” I said, sending word to one of my people to arrange for her to be picked up at their hotel.

But when she walked through the doorway an hour later, my stomach sickened. She was not, as I presumed from van der Sant’s age, a married woman in her thirties or forties, but a girl. A girl of about thirteen or fourteen, with flaxen blonde hair and gray eyes and a sweet, innocent face. “Everyone,” Mr. van der Sant said, “this is Birgit, my daughter.”

Birgit made a shallow curtsey, and I knew without looking that Cunningham’s eyes were pinned on the girl. I knew he was watching her, observing her sweetly uncertain mannerisms as her father introduced her to the other people present, knew that he was already wondering whether she was still intact.

I prefer my women fresher…younger.

He wouldn’t
, I thought for the second time that day, but I was not so certain this time, because Cunningham’s eyes still hadn’t left the girl and his expression was hungry, like a fox watching a rabbit bounce by. No, even he wouldn’t be that foolish. That reckless. Cunningham loved money, and van der Sant was a fount of money. He wouldn’t throw that chance away simply to pursue this girl, no matter how virginally pretty and youthful she was.

I saw the way his lips lingered on the back of her hand as he kissed it, and then he did something that nearly made me bolt across the room and shove him away. He handed Birgit the flower from his buttonhole. A daffodil. Her father seemed completely oblivious to her pinking cheeks and fast-fluttering eyelashes, to Mr. Cunningham’s entirely-too-assiduous attentions.

And so after dinner, I asked Mr. van der Sant if it would be okay if Birgit and I retired to the parlor while the men enjoyed some brandy and smoking and business-talk. I could tell that my decorous femininity pleased him, but that’s not why I was doing this. As soon as Birgit and I went into the parlor, I closed the door and locked it and turned to face her.

She was so sweet-looking. I had looked like that, I knew…I still had men remark on how young and girlish I seemed. Maybe that’s why Cunningham still bothered me.

I sighed. “Sit, please, Miss van der Sant.”

She sat, looking a bit confused. I sat as well, on the sofa next to her so I could speak softly, hating that I was about to insinuate something so ugly to a girl so gentle and young. But I could not entertain the alternative, and I didn’t care if it might somehow circle back to Cunningham, if it would somehow tarnish my own place within the company. Right now only one thing mattered, and that was making sure Birgit stayed safe.

“Miss van der Sant, I’d like to ask you—privately—to do me a favor.”

She was clearly still confused, but nevertheless, she drew up, looking eager to please. “Of course! Is it about Father’s business here? I would very much like to help.”

I saw so much of myself in this girl. And her eagerness only made me more certain that I needed to do this. “I would like you to consider me a friend,” I told her, “a confidant. And the things we discuss will only remain between us, so I do not want you to worry that I will speak to your father about any of the things we discuss.”
Unless I need to
, I added to myself silently. But I didn’t say it aloud; it was more important to cultivate her trust at the moment.

She nodded, her eyes wide.

“That gentleman in the dining room? Mr. Cunningham? I am going to tell you a story about him, and then after I tell it to you, I need you to promise me that you’ll let me know the minute he ever tries to talk to you alone…”

The carriage ride to the Baron’s the next night was long and uncomfortable. The Baron was hosting a party in honor of Julian and Ivy’s visit, and Hugh had forced himself along. He had also taken the trouble to remind me that although we were only engaged, he’d still prefer it if I didn’t sleep with anyone tonight. The way he’d said
prefer
made it clear that all of his other threats held true in this case as well. In yet another unexpected corner, I was forced to sacrifice happiness for the hope of holding on to my company.

“But I will make you come plenty, if you’d like,” Hugh had offered once we got in the carriage. He’d tried to slide over to my seat, but I claimed a headache, and he sulked back to his side.

A headache. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, but I hated myself. I’d become one of those terrible women who avoided sex on pitiful pretexts, who lied instead of just saying
no
in plain language. But I was becoming increasingly aware that I had very little power in this dynamic between Hugh and me. Not if I wanted to keep my company. And so I had to placate him, which for now meant lying, but later it might mean actually having sex with him, and that made me very unhappy. It shouldn’t—he had never been a poor lover and he was so good-looking, but…well, if I was being completely honest with myself, I only wanted Silas right now. The only tears I wanted to cry were tears drawn forth by my smarting ass as he spanked me…the only hands I wanted to feel around my waist were his wide ones.

That’s enough
, I told myself firmly. I was a big girl. I needed to accept my fate and move on. Just like I had with Cunningham all those years ago—I was doing what I had to for what I wanted, which was my company. I could handle a loveless marriage. I could handle a life without Silas. I could handle anything as long as I had my company and my dignity.

I sat up straighter in the seat. I was Molly O’Flaherty, dammit. And I would sacrifice anything for what I wanted.

And I would do it without complaint.

My mind flitted briefly to Birgit van der Sant safely ensconced in her hotel with her papa. I sincerely hoped that a different future awaited her.

The Baron hosted many parties, large and small, lavish and quiet, and this was somewhere in between. Despite being something of a recluse, Julian had many old friends in London, and there were even more people curious about the new Mrs. Markham, the mysterious beauty that most of the town had heard about but only a few had seen. And tonight she did look radiant, if a little reluctant to release her chubby boy into the capable arms of the nursemaid. But Julian leaned over and whispered something to her, and she finally relinquished the baby with a kiss and a quiet admonition to the nurse to come fetch her at the slightest hint of fussiness.

Watching this exchange from my seat on a nearby sofa, my stomach clenched. Not out of jealousy—although there was still the lingering version of Molly that remembered fancying herself in love with Julian—but out of a mixed sense of fear and regret. I never wanted to be Ivy—I didn’t want to be the woman unable to enjoy her dinner because her baby was a room away. But when I looked up and met Silas’s eyes across the room, there was this moment, this stupid moment, where I wondered what it would be like handing off a little blue-eyed child, with its father whispering in my ear that it would be okay.

I looked away quickly, my cheeks burning. I couldn’t afford thoughts like that. Not anymore.

I’d made my decision.

The one real blessing of the night was that Mercy wasn’t there, a fact Hugh seemed irritated about, even after the Baron claimed he’d invited her and there must have been some sort of mistake in the delivery of the invitation. He said this with a completely impassive expression, with complete authority, even though we all knew Mercy’s absence had been deliberate.

“Thank you,” I whispered to Castor as we walked into the dining room to eat, and he reached over and squeezed my hand before handing me into my seat. Sitting here with Silas while I had Hugh’s ring on my finger was terrible enough, but if I’d been forced to looked at Mercy’s sleek hair and pouting lips the whole night on top of that, I might have gone insane. Perhaps that was why Hugh was disappointed, perhaps he wanted that reminder of Silas’s failings near at hand tonight, to remind me that he was still my best option.

Supper was served, the Baron engaged in quiet conversation with Ivy about her aunt, Silas and Julian talking about some new railroad line coming though Yorkshire, and Hugh’s arm draped possessively across the back of my chair. Chatter from the other guests and music from a small band in the adjoining room filled the air, so nobody noticed my uncharacteristic silence, which I used to watch Silas. Now that I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I could never be with him again, it changed things. Softened things. I could look at him without my mind crowding with memories of him and Mercy, and for the first time in a long time, I could just
see
him. His jaw, clean-shaven and slightly pointed; his sparkling eyes; the way he smiled as he listened to Julian talk—smiled with his eyebrows lifted expectantly, as if he was genuinely excited to hear what his friend had to say. That was Silas, really: simply happy—happy to be talking, happy to be drinking, happy there would be dancing later. He lived in the moment, for the moment, and never had it felt more so than when the moment had also contained me. Why had I never noticed before? Why hadn’t I appreciated that when it was mine to appreciate, for however short a time?

As if he felt me watching him, he glanced over at me, stopping my heart with that smile and those dimples, with the way his smile faded into something hungrier. Slowly, he licked his bottom lip, his eyes moving from my face down to the bodice of my gold silk dress, where the tops of my corseted breasts rose into round swells. He shifted in his seat, not bothering to hide the fact that he was adjusting himself.

Hugh noticed and cleared his throat, his hand moving from the back of my chair to my shoulder. I wanted to shrug him off, I wanted to continue staring at Silas, but I didn’t dare. There was too much at stake. I glanced down at my lap, where my hands rested, trying to focus on the contrast between my skin and the gleaming silk. On the still-unfamiliar diamond ring on my left hand.

But Silas didn’t look away from me; I could feel the heat of his stare even across the table. “Castor,” he said, “didn’t you say there would be dancing?”

“Of course,” the Baron said. “After dessert.”

“Good,” Silas said, and that was it, but I still kept my head down all throughout the meal, answering Hugh in monosyllables and ignoring everyone else. I knew that if I spoke too much or looked up, my face and voice would betray the heat nestled inside my chest. The raw longing. Because the last time we were together here at the Baron’s…

Greed becomes you, Mary Margaret…

I decide what’s fair right now, do you hear me?

So tight.

So fucking tight.

I coughed, my face burning, my whole body hot and clenching at the memory of him fucking me, as if a red-hot chain had been wound around my cunt and then wrapped around my chest.

“Are you okay?” Hugh asked, an eyebrow raised, and I nodded, sliding my chair back.

“Just a little overheated,” I murmured. “Excuse me.” And I hurried out of the room, taking care not to glimpse Silas’s face as I did.

Molly fairly ran from the room in a rustle of silk and elaborately curled hair, and after she left, I found Hugh looking at me—staring me down. I gave him a small shrug, as if to say
I was over here the whole time, I had nothing to do with it
, even though we both knew the last part wasn’t entirely true. Whatever Molly had been thinking over there, her cheeks growing pink and her breathing growing fast, I would have bet the entire Coke estate that it had to do with me.

And Hugh knew it.

I flashed him my widest, happiest grin. He looked away, his jaw clenched tight.

That’s right
, I thought.
Be jealous. Because you’ll never truly have her, even if you manipulate her into marrying you.

Supper concluded without further incident, and we moved into the ballroom, where drinks were already circulating and music was playing. I danced with Ivy first, sweeping her away from Julian with a laugh and spinning her into the lively waltz the band had struck up.

Ivy’s hand was firm and warm around the back of my neck and her dark eyes were friendly, if a little feral.

“The last time you had your hand on my neck like this, buttercup, I do believe my face was between your legs,” I commented.

“I don’t remember hearing any complaining at the time,” she remarked dryly.

I grinned. “No, you didn’t. I was quite happy to be there. I don’t suppose there’s any chance that you and Julian would like an encore performance?” I meant it in jest…mostly. I wanted to stay dedicated to Molly, but even the most dedicated man couldn’t refuse his best friend, right?

She laughed dismissively, but a telling blush bloomed on her cheeks. “I thought perhaps you would be spending the night with Molly.”

My grin faltered. “I believe she’s taking her engagement to Hugh rather seriously.”

Ivy looked at me with a concerned expression. “And how are you feeling about that?”

Terrible. Shitty. Like my life is over.

“I have everything well in hand,” I said instead, twirling her so fast that her skirts billowed out around her legs. “I have a plan.” I didn’t mention that it was a terrible plan which essentially had no hope of working, because Julian would probably tell her that himself at some point, and also because Molly walked into the ballroom just then, and my world shrank down to a vision of gold and scarlet, silk and hair, and nothing else could exist.

“Go to her,” Ivy whispered in my ear. “Before Hugh does.”

It wasn’t very gallant to end my dance with Ivy early, but it was unthinkable not to go to Molly, and so I led Ivy off the floor as graciously as I could, and since Hugh was occupied in a dance with another woman, I strode over to Molly and took her hand without asking, tugging her onto the floor.

“Silas,” she said, her eyes darting around, looking for Hugh. “We can’t—”

“Even the strictest etiquettes allow for an engaged woman to dance, Molly, and this is hardly a house of etiquette. And besides, how can Hugh complain about us dancing while we are both in plain sight of him? We could hardly get away with anything with him so close.” I cinched an arm around her waist, pulling her body flush against mine while I leaned down to murmur in her ear. “Although, I’d like to try.”

“Silas…” her voice wavered, and there was that flush of red on her chest, like she was burning up from the inside. Blood went straight to my groin as I fantasized about pressing my body against her flaming skin, as I remembered how hot her ass was, hot and tighter than the tightest fist.

We moved to the music, stepping easily around each other, moving in perfect time to the music. Molly was a fantastic dancer and I liked to think I was not so bad myself, and I could feel the eyes of the room following us as we moved. I knew we must cut a captivating picture—Molly and her gleaming gold skirts and her red curls piled high and spilling over one shoulder, me and my perfectly tailored tuxedo and my wide hands guiding Molly expertly through the steps.