Текст книги "The Persuasion of Molly O'Flaherty"
Автор книги: Sierra Simone
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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 10 страниц)
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.
Molly wouldn’t look at me, however, keeping her face turned to the side, exposing the delicate line of her jaw to me. I wanted to bite it.
“Silas,” she said as we danced. “Hugh has…he is…he’s threatened to take the company away from me.”
I kept perfect, easy rhythm and I didn’t let my face betray the sudden flare of fury I felt, but I let my voice carry my displeasure with this revelation. “Explain. Please.”
And she did—telling me about the contract, about Hugh’s ultimatum, his demand that her fidelity start now. It explained so much about her behavior tonight, so much more timid and passive than I was used to from her, and it also explained why Hugh seemed to be so singularly possessive at dinner.
“You can’t be thinking of signing this contract, Molly,” I told her. We spun and came back to center, my hand finding the small of her waist again. I heroically resisted the urge to play with the laces and buttons there.
“What choice do I have?” she asked impatiently. “If I refuse, I get nothing.”
“Legally, you would technically get nothing either way. What if you marry Hugh and he reneges on his verbal agreement with you to allow you access to the company? What if you end up with nothing and married to him?”
A small line appeared between her eyebrows. I wanted to bite that too. “Hugh wouldn’t do that,” she said.
“Are you sure?”
She didn’t answer right away, but when she did, her voice was so heartbreakingly tired. “What’s my alternative, Silas? Walk away from it all? This company that my father built, that I built?”
“Is it worth your future? Your happiness?”
“I don’t need to be happy,” she said firmly. “I just need O’Flaherty Shipping to keep running.”
I spoke with my lips close to her cheek, and she shivered as my breath skated over the delicate skin there. “Ask me for help, Mary Margaret. Ask me.”
“There’s nothing to be done.”
“There’s always something.”
She looked up at me, her blue eyes glittering in the light of the chandeliers. “Not this time.”
I hoped she was wrong. I hoped that my crazy plan would work, and I almost told her about it, right then and there. But it depended completely on secrecy, and I didn’t want Hugh to get even an inkling of what I was doing, and a change in Molly’s attitude towards everything might signal to him that something was off. Not to mention that I couldn’t bear to let her down—what if I told her and then I ended up failing?
No, silence was better for now. But I hated that defeated look on her face, the rigid way she held her body, as if already preparing for the onslaught of misery her choices would unleash upon her. I couldn’t comfort her the way I wanted, with my lips and my hands and my cock, not with Hugh here. But maybe I could comfort her with my words and say all the things I needed her to hear right now.
“Do you want to know why I fucked Mercy?” I asked.
Her already tense body stiffened and she tried to pull away, but I didn’t let her. My hand tightened around hers, and the other tightened against her waist. “Don’t do this,” she said, angry and frail all at once.
“Yes, Mary Margaret, we are doing this and you are going to listen to me.” My voice left no room for question, and her lips parted ever so slightly.
She liked that voice.
We whirled past another couple and then I started talking again. “That day,” I said, knowing I wouldn’t have to clarify which day I meant. It would always be That Day for us, that defining and pivotal moment where everything had shifted from almost unbearable joy to unbearable pain. “That day, we woke up in bed together, and I looked at you…your body tangled in the sheets, your hair still knotted from the night before, and then you woke up and do you remember what happened?”
“You took me on a picnic,” she said quietly.
“We didn’t fuck, we didn’t fool around. I took you out in the sunshine, and I kissed you on that blanket for hours. Just kissed. Do you remember?”
“Yes, Silas,” she said, and she looked up to me. Her pulse pounded in her throat, her pupils wide and dilated. “I remember.”
“Kissing you is heaven,” I told her. “Your mouth is perfect, you know that? And Christ, I could have kept kissing you until the stars came out. But we were coming here, to the Baron’s for a party, and you needed to change into an evening dress and I needed to change into my tuxedo. So we went our separate ways. And it was on my lonely ride to the Baron’s that I panicked. Was I arriving at Castor’s a single man? Or was I now attached to you? And if so, it was the first time I had been anything other than unattached, and that was terrifying. That’s not who we were, Molly, not who we are. We fuck people. Lots of people. We don’t go into the sunshine and kiss for hours, we fuck and we move on, and what was happening to me? Who was I, if I wasn’t acting like the man I’d always been?”
We spun again, and she swallowed, but she didn’t say anything, her rapt expression encouraging me to continue.
“And so I got to the Baron’s already panicked, panicked but still desperately in love, and then I saw you and Gideon dancing already, and he leaned down and kissed you. Kissed that mouth like it wasn’t the same mouth I’d spent hours laying claim to just that afternoon, and you let him. You let him kiss you.”
Her face went white. “Silas…”
I gave a curt shake of my head to let her know she wasn’t allowed to speak yet. “You pushed him away, I know. I saw. But you hesitated before you did, and I thought to myself, what if she’s right to hesitate? What if we were making a mistake trying to bring this new thing between us into our old world? What if we were denying who we really were? And then Mercy was there, beckoning me upstairs, and I had to prove to myself that I didn’t care that you kissed Gideon. That I wouldn’t care if you went to bed with him. I had to prove that this meant nothing, because if it didn’t mean nothing then that meant that it would mean everything, and God, Molly, I was terrified of that. Terrified like a sinner about to convert. Terrified like a man about die and go to heaven, because the reward was paradise but the price…the price was me. My life. My soul. It would no longer belong to me alone.”
I took a deep breath and said what I should have said nine months ago. “I loved you and I betrayed you. I indulged the weakest, basest parts of me, I was selfish and despicable and disgusting. I was low. I am low. I don’t ever deserve your forgiveness, and I won’t presume to ask for it, but you deserve my groveling and my apology and so here it is. I am so sorry that it hurts. I am so sorry that when I look in the mirror at myself, all I feel is hatred. I am so sorry that sometimes I can’t sleep, and I pace the room and drink and cry until I’m so drunk and emotionally exhausted that I can’t remember why I started drinking in the first place.
“I am so sorry, and there’s nothing you could command me to do right now that I wouldn’t do, because you deserve that. You deserve my blood and my pain and my torture. You deserve to watch me branded with hot iron, and I would do it gladly, if only to spend that much more time with you.”
The music swelled and came to an end, but I didn’t let go of my partner, not caring that it was my second breach of etiquette that night, not caring that Hugh was surely glowering somewhere in the margins of the ballroom. Let him seethe, let him rage—he wouldn’t come out here to claim Molly, not tonight, because it would make him look weak. Even he knew that.
Instead, I kept hold of her until the next waltz began, watching her face. She had turned away from me again, allowing me to see the exquisite quivering in her lower lip, the rapid sweep of her long eyelashes as she tried to keep her tears to herself. I wanted to lean in and blot them away from her lashes with my lips, I wanted to kiss away every tremor in her chin and throat, and I fucking couldn’t. And I wanted to ask her what she was thinking, if she was crying out of rage or hurt or understanding or what, but I also knew she wouldn’t want to break down in front of everybody here, and I worried that interrogating her as to her feelings would push her closer to the edge…but fuck, I was desperate to know. Was I making everything worse by being honest?
No, I decided. It was time for honesty.
“Let me tell you what should have happened that night. What I wanted to happen, what I spend every night falling asleep wishing had happened,” I said, guiding her easily through the steps of the dance. Even looking away, even about to cry, her dancing was still flawless, her body still perfectly in tune with mine. This time, as my hand tightened against her waist, I did allow one finger to play with the laces there, tugging hard enough that she could feel it.
She blinked faster.
“I wish we had kept kissing in the park that day. I wish that I had pulled back and looked at your sweet face and had the courage to admit to myself that I didn’t want to see anybody else. I didn’t want to share my time with anybody else. I wanted only you, and there was no way in hell that I was going to go to a dinner party when the only place we belonged was in a bed together, just you and me.”
A tear finally slipped past her eyelashes, spilling gracefully. And then another and another, and I could feel her ribs seize and stutter under my hands as her breathing turned jagged.
“I should have taken you out of that park and back to your bed, and then I should have spent hours with my face between your legs, fucking you with my mouth until you couldn’t speak or think or even breathe, and then I should have asked you to marry me. Not because of your company or because I wanted a family, but because I wanted you. Because I wanted to spend every night of the rest of my life with you underneath me, every day counting the freckles on your stomach when we woke up.”
She was crying in earnest now, her face crumpled and her voice thick. “But why?” she asked. “Why did you love me?”
I moved my hand from her back to her delicate jaw, taking it in my fingers and tilting her face to mine.
I stared directly down into her eyes as I talked, feeling the words burning everywhere—my heart and my mind and my stomach. “Why do I love you, you mean. I love you right now, still…and more than ever. And it’s because you provoke me, because you provoke everyone. Because you’re strong and because you need someone you can be frail with…because you’re the smartest woman I know and sometimes also the stupidest, because you’re honest and determined and sometimes manipulative. Because I want to see Ireland with you, because I want to see everywhere with you, and I want you to read me novels in the evening with your adorable Irish lilt, and I want you to let me hold you when it’s all too much. Because I’ve known you for ten years, and it feels so desperately like no time at all, and I need more.”
I finally stopped talking, my own breathing coming fast now, my own tears close at hand. I felt suddenly naked, raw, like my skin had been flayed from my body, my rib cage cracked open and my beating heart exposed for all to see.
Molly’s dancing slowed until we both stood stock still, our hands clasped and her eyes pinned to mine, and despite the tears, her eyes had grown unreadable, hard-shelled like jewels.
“Say something,” I begged. “Please. Anything at all—tell me I’m an ass for saying this, a prick for still chasing after you when you’re engaged, a monster to beg for forgiveness. Tell me to get ready for the hot irons. I don’t care, just please speak.”
The other dancers moved awkwardly around us, and in the corner of my eye, I could see Hugh finally pushing his way toward us, his patience exhausted or his dignity overridden by his irritation, one of the two.
Molly took a deep shuddering breath and then straightened her shoulders. “Yes, Silas, you are an ass. And a prick. And a monster. And you are something worse than all of those things put together.”
My voice was hoarse. “Which is?”
“Too fucking late.”
