All of these friends, all of this carefree joy and lighthearted laughter as they drank and ate (at my expense, but that was easily forgiven)—would it all vanish once I was legally under Hugh’s thumb?
Unlike me, my future husband was untroubled by any sort of introspection or epiphany. He laughed along with the guests, handsome, ruddy, and blond, a picture of Saxon health and vitality. He shook hands and he kissed hands. He bowed to women and he embraced men.
Unlike me, he had nothing but a happy future ahead. A rich wife, an infusion of money, and nothing else about his life would have to change.
It took everything I had not to push him away whenever he drew me close. Especially when that woman Mercy Atworth sashayed up to us, her dark hair glistening and her neckline low. Mercy had been the woman to drive Silas and me apart last year—and almost again last month—and while I tried to remember that it wasn’t necessarily any fault of her own, since I had never laid public stake to Silas and Silas was by far the guiltier party when it came to both of those incidents, it was hard not to hate her. Her and her easy beauty and her lush sexuality.
We’d been friends once. More than friends; I knew what her nipples felt like hardening against my tongue. I knew what sounds she made when she came around my fingers. But that was a lifetime ago, in another world, with another Molly. Now I kept my posture stiff and restrained as she curtsied to us both. And then Hugh pulled her in to kiss her cheeks, both kisses landing at the edge of her curved, full mouth.
There was something about their familiarity that scratched at me—it wasn’t jealousy, not at all, although if Silas had touched her that way, I would have dug my fingers into her eyes until I touched her brain.
No, it was more like the realization that the two of them were closer than I’d really understood. Close like the closest friends, sensual like the most passionate lovers.
It struck me that the way they stood right now, hands clasped, bodies tilted toward one another’s like twin plants arcing toward the same sunbeam, was a lot like how Silas and I were around one another.
Were Hugh and Mercy…in love?
This didn’t upset me. This didn’t even change my perception that Hugh was genuinely fond of me, in a romantic way. I knew better than most people that you could believe yourself in love with one person while you were actually deeply and subconsciously in love with another.
I turned this new angle on their friendship over in my mind as she chattered with Hugh. I thought of how close they were, how frequently they spent time with one another. I thought of something else too. I thought of Hugh’s anxious displeasure when Silas came to town. Of the day we’d caught Silas with his cock inside Mercy’s mouth. I’d been with Hugh, lunching together in his townhouse, when he’d received a brief letter from Mercy. “She needs us to stop by,” he’d said, folding the letter and tucking it into his jacket. And I’d agreed to go, not needing to be anywhere else.
So it had been no coincidence that we’d walked in to find that scene. Which made me feel marginally better about Silas’s role in that, but quite depressed about my own intelligence. How had I not seen the trap? How had I not seen how I’d been guided and manipulated—not just by Hugh and Mercy, but by Cunningham and the board? For all these months…all these years?
I snagged a glass off of a tray traveling nearby, draining the champagne in two easy swallows. I scanned the room for Silas—something I’d been doing approximately every three or four minutes since the ball started. Castor was here, as were Julian and Ivy, and everyone else we knew.
But not Silas.
Not that I could blame him. If he were throwing himself a massive ball to celebrate his engagement to someone else, I wouldn’t be able to go either. But it still stung, because I missed him. I craved him. Especially after what I’d shared with him; he was one of the few people in the world who knew all of me, and the only one who loved me the way I needed to be loved. I knew this had to be unbearable for him, but what about me?
Doesn’t anyone care that it’s unbearable for me?
The time came for a toast, led by Gideon, Hugh’s closest friend. I allowed my thoughts to wander during his speech, pretending to laugh and smile at all the right jokes, and then it was time for Hugh and me to dance. The band struck up a tune, Hugh found my hand and my waist, and then we were spinning around the dance floor, our partygoers forming a circle around us.
Hugh smiled down at me, and I once again appreciated how completely oblivious he was to everything—my feelings, my needs, the unique monstrosity of the situation. And I couldn’t stand it any more. That smug happiness needed to end, and given that this was the first time we’d had anything remotely approximating a private conversation since the other morning, it was going to end now.
Why not start off this miserable union from a place of total honesty?
As we moved toward the center of the room, well out of earshot of our guests, I looked up at Hugh. “I know that Cunningham is your cousin,” I informed him.
It took a moment for Hugh to process this, his smile slowly fading and his shoulder growing tense under my hand. “You know?”
I sensed that he was searching for a defense, a justification, for keeping something like this from me, which of course there was no acceptable justification. “I know that you have no money. I know that Cunningham has been lending you enough to keep you living at a certain standard. And I know that you deliberately kept this fact from me.”
Hugh chewed on the inside of his mouth for a moment before slipping back into his easy smile. “Molly, you must understand. Frederick and I knew it would complicate something that was so simple—and complicate it unnecessarily. We were—are—such a good match, and we didn’t want you to be distracted by that one small facet of our connection.”
I gave him a smile back, but I knew it was in no way easy, that it was a hard, sharp smile. “There is no we, when it comes to you and Cunningham anymore, I’m afraid.”
Hugh tensed again. “I’m aware,” he said tightly. He could hardly not be—his cousin’s arrest was prime gossip in every fashionable club and ballroom in London, along with rumors of all his perversions.
“I did it,” I told him, still wearing my sharp smile. “I didn’t know if you knew that. I made sure your cousin was caught and arrested before he could hurt another girl.”
Hugh’s hand tightened around mine, painfully so, but I didn’t lose the smile. Fury pooled in his rich brown eyes. And perhaps I was digging my own grave, perhaps I was making things worse for myself after our wedding, but I didn’t care. Somewhere in the last two days, I’d been freed from caring. All that mattered was Hugh knowing that I knew. That out of everything, he couldn’t claim that victory.
“And you and Mercy? I know that you arranged that scenario with Silas.”
“He was a willing participant within that scenario,” Hugh hissed. We were whirling back by the guests again, and he struggled to keep his voice low. “He wasn’t doing anything he didn’t want to do.”
“I agree. But I also think it was truly wretched of you to make me witness it.”
“Perhaps not any more wretched than you seeing my cousin thrown in jail on such ridiculous charges.” This brown eyes were practically embers now; I could feel their scalding heat.
I ignored it. “That you think Cunningham’s behavior doesn’t merit punishment is one of the worst things about you.”
Hugh yanked me closer to him, forcing me to stumble in my steps and balance against his chest. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your little outburst, Molly. Because, believe me, after we are married, I won’t allow it to happen again.”
And then the music ended, Hugh’s ominous words hanging in the air as we separated. But I didn’t mind. I’d reached a place of utter numbness, of not caring, because what consequences could be worse than anything else I’d already endured? I floated away from Hugh and the dance floor, disappearing into the crowd as they swarmed back in pairs to dance and drink and twirl under the chandeliers
as if they didn’t have a care in the world.
I slipped through them all, feeling drunk on my numbness, feeling—in a sick way—proud of my stoic forbearance and practicality in the face of my new life. And now I would go find some gin and become actually drunk, and maybe I would fall asleep before I had to endure any more of this terrible party. When I glanced over one shoulder, I saw Hugh and Mercy dancing together, Mercy looking characteristically congenial in her sultry way, Hugh whispering furiously to her…no doubt relating all of the things I’d just told him.
I was numb to it. In fact, I was grateful for their camaraderie. Maybe they’d fuck each other and I’d avoid Hugh’s inevitable advances, which tonight would no doubt be laced with menace. I turned back to my path, searching for gin the way that a falcon searches for a mouse in the field.
I narrowed in on a waiter in the corner of the room, who was carefully pouring drinks. As he hoisted his tray into the air and moved into the fray and bustle of the crowd, I brushed past his station, swiping the decanter of gin off of the butler’s buffet. Then I ducked between two thick curtains by a window nearby, relishing the cool air seeping through the glass. The window was deeply inset into the wall, enough that I could step easily behind the curtains without feeling too claustrophobic. I wasn’t completely hidden, but I was mostly obscured from and I had gin, so that was good enough for now.
I took a swig straight from the decanter, savoring the botanical burn as it traveled down my throat, and then the decanter was lifted from my fingers.
“I’ve found the blushing bride, I see,” Silas said.
I turned. “You’re here,” I whispered, joy clawing up my chest like pain. “You came.”
He took his own drink from the decanter and then set it gently on the waist-high windowsill. “Yes. I came.”
I licked my lips—a unconscious response to his nearness, his maleness, as he took a step closer to me. His clean Silas smell came over me, soap and citrus and gin, and his eyes dropped down to my mouth as I bit my lower lip.
“Where’s Hugh?” Silas asked.
“He’s off dancing. With—” I waved a hand, the gin suddenly making the world brighter and fuzzier. “—With Mercy.”
Silas blanched a little at Mercy’s name, a blanch of guilt and regret, but he quickly recovered. “Good. I want you to myself right now.”
I glanced around. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Somebody might see.”
“Mary Margaret, I would love it if someone saw.” Something in his tone made me look back to him as heat flooded between my legs. His voice was a low growl when he said, “I want them to see me take what’s mine.”
Oh, God. It was this Silas, and I was helpless against this Silas, numb or not numb. My newfound pseudo-peace as an automaton resigned to her fate slowly filtered away, replaced by a liquid warmth pouring into my core.
“But Hugh,” I protested weakly as Silas walked behind me, wrapped an arm around my waist, and tugged me deeper into the recess formed by the heavy, pleated curtains. “The contract.”
“They don’t matter any more,” he said sternly. “What matters is you giving me what I want.” One arm wrapped around my waist as his long fingers wound in my hair and yanked my head back. “What’s your safe word?”
I took a deep breath, almost unable to cope with the feeling of his body behind me, crushing up against my dress. Of his hands in my hair. Of his words at my ear.
If you acknowledge this, if you whisper your safe word, then you’re agreeing to submit to him…you’re agreeing to this.
I knew that if I kept up my protests, however weak they may be, that Silas wouldn’t cross the line. What had happened in The Hedgehog that night had been inspired by my confession, by my pain, and I knew he wouldn’t abet me in breaching my contract again.
But.
If I acknowledged my safe word, it was a very clear signal that I was willing to let him take me. It was also a concession that all the power rested with me. I alone would be responsible for stopping us before things went too far; it would be me who had to decide when to stop, not Silas’s sense of gentlemanly conduct.
I shouldn’t say anything. I should walk away. As tipsy as I was, as weary and tired as I was, I still knew the consequences of breaching my contract would be too disastrous to endure. If Hugh caught me—not an unlikely scenario, given that Silas and I were barely hidden in this obscenely crowded ballroom—then I could lose all rights to my company. And I couldn’t bear that. Not after I’d fought so hard and sacrificed so much.
But then Silas pressed me closer, his fingers moving from my hair to my neck, and I shivered, thrills skating across my skin. There was something so dangerous and primal about Silas’s fascination with my neck, as if he couldn’t help but test his strength against me, as if the feeling of my pulse beneath his fingers was the most potent aphrodisiac in the world.
“I asked you a question,” he growled in my ear.
I had to make a choice. Did I trust Silas? Did I want him? Did I love him enough to give him myself right now, so publicly, so dangerously? Or did I do what I’d done for the last year, and put the company first?
Always the company.
Fuck the company.
The thought came from nowhere, but it came as clear as a church bell through the cool morning air.
Fuck the company.
Hadn’t it taken enough? Hadn’t I given it everything—my time, my happiness, my future—and even still, it wasn’t secure? I would marry Hugh, but I only had a tentative verbal agreement that I would get to remain in charge of the company; if Hugh wanted, he could dismantle the company at a moment’s notice. Legally, as his wife, my life’s work would belong to him and I would have no recourse. Was that what Aiden O’Flaherty really would have wanted for his daughter?
No.
I chose Silas. I chose my future. Perhaps it was the gin or the warm press of his body or the feeling of his fingers just barely denting the skin of my throat, but everything in me rebelled against the bleak future I’d built for myself and clamored for something different. For the man I loved.
“Clare,” I said finally.
Clare.
So many meanings for such a small word. For her, it meant home and her mother and a future she could only dream of. And for me, it meant Molly. It meant her body under mine, my palm stinging against her ass, her blue eyes wide and dark as her body shuddered with a climax that I’d given her.
With my hand cupped around her throat, I felt her speak her next words more than I heard them.
“What did you say, Mary Margaret?” I murmured.
“You,” she repeated, louder this time. I loosened my grip so that she could turn in my arms and face me. “I choose you.”
My pulse sped up and my heart crashed against my ribs. Be cautious. Be sure. After what Molly had been through, I had to let her make this decision on her own. I wouldn’t push her, although I wanted to. I wanted to guide her, to coax her, to force her to admit that she wanted me and only me and that nothing was worth letting us go.
But I wouldn’t. Because I loved her, because I respected her, because I knew why her company was important to her. If she’d been any different, any less driven and fiercely independent, then she wouldn’t have been my Molly.
She slid her hands up my stomach, resting them flat on my chest, and I felt her touch reverberate everywhere along my body. “I don’t want to marry Hugh,” she said. “I don’t want to spend another moment apart from you, and maybe it’s the gin talking, but damn the consequences. Damn the company. If that’s the price I have to pay to be your Molly, then I’ll pay it gladly.” Her eyes searched mine, sapphire in the low light of the ballroom. “I love you. I think, in a way, I always have. The night we met in Paris, do you remember?”
Julian and I had brought her to our hotel room and fucked her together, him coming in her mouth and me coming inside of her. I definitely remembered.
“We fell asleep together,” she continued. “You
and me, snuggled close while Julian slept on the other side of the bed. It was the first time I’d ever slept with a lover—man or woman. Some part of me must have known, even then, that I was meant to be with you.”
My grip on her tightened again, and I leaned in to kiss her. “I love you,” I said against her lips. “I love your mind and your cunt and that smile that hardly anyone ever gets to see.” She moved her lips to mine, but I pulled back ever so slightly. “I want to hear you say it again. Say that you choose me. Say it.”
“I choose you.” It was a breath, just whispered syllables against my mouth, but those syllables meant everything. Having this, her choice, her apparent willingness to walk away from everything simply to be with me, wasn’t something I expected. And it wasn’t something I would have consciously wanted. But now I knew it was something I needed, confirmation that her yearning for me was as great as mine was for her.
And the best part was yet to come. I pulled back. “Molly, I need to tell you something. And I know you’re going to be furious with me, but I just hope that when I explain why I did it, you’ll eventually forgive me.”
She tensed in my arms.
“Julian and I didn’t just invest in van der Sant’s company. We invested in yours too.”
“What?”
I kept going, before she could hoist her defenses any higher. “We knew there was a possibility even after you married Hugh that something could go awry with O’Flaherty Shipping, and we didn’t want you to be without allies inside the company. Together, Julian and I acquired about twenty percent of the shares.”
Still tense and suspicious, I saw her retreat into her mind to run through the calculations. “So between the three of us, we have almost forty percent of the shares,” she said slowly. “Still less than half, but not an insignificant number.”
I found her face with my hands, forcing her away from her mental ledger and back to me. “It won’t be easy if the other shareholders leave, Molly. But you could still salvage the company.”
The Wedding of Molly O'Flaherty Page 6
