Page 63 of Her Irish Savage

I smooth the seam of my corset over my hip, taking care to emphasize the garment’s boned lining. “That’s not going to happen,” I say, back to faking boredom. “Maybe in July. After the Corman Gala.”

“I’m not asking, girlie. I’m telling.” He steps out from behind his desk, like a school principal laying down the law.

I can’t count the number of principals I’ve talked back to in my life, the number of times I was expelled for my smart mouth. So I feel like I’m belting out the refrain from an old familiar song when I say, “What have Ieversaid or done that could possibly make you think I care?”

His fingers curl into fists. “You will not win this game, Fee.”

I’m fuckingoverthat nickname. But I simply freeze my tone. “I’m not aware of anygame.”

He takes a step closer, using his height to make me look up. “The Old Colony Crew will never follow a girl.”

“Woman.” I settle my hands on my hips to emphasize my point.

Uncle Aran’s face flushes dark. “This is a man’s world.”

“Go on telling yourself that. But when I present a ten million dollar check to the Corman Museum, everyone who is anyone in Boston will know my name. They’ll recognize my power. They’ll understand who gets things done in this town.”

“They’ll know a spoiled little brat is throwing one last temper tantrum, trying to get the attention of her father, who’s dead and buried. By next year’s Gala, the Ingram name will be completely forgotten in Boston.”

My throat grows tight when he saysdead and buried. But looking up at his overgrown white beard and his red-veined nose, I say, “The Ingram name will live forever.”

His fingers clamp down on my arm, hard enough that I know he’s leaving bruises. “Not after you become a Dowd.”

“What?” I’m so shocked by his words that I can’t keep the question from huffing past my lips. I immediately hate that I’ve given him that much. I despise that he’s starting to smile.

He repeats himself, slowly and carefully, setting down each word like I’ve only learned the language this morning. “Not. After. You. Become. A. Dowd.” And then, in case there’s been any misunderstanding: “I’m putting a ring on your finger by the day the Grand Irish Union meets to name a general.”

“You’re my uncle!” I gasp, as if that’s the most objectionable thing about his insane plan.

“By marriage.” He harrumphs.

“Aunt Siobhan?—”

“Would be grateful we’ve found such an elegant solution. A Dowd marries Ingram’s brat, and the clan will be stronger than ever.”

“You are out of your fucking mind!”

“Language,” he says.

Patrick gets to tell me to watch my language—and only when we’re in bed. There’s not another man on earth who’s earned that right. So I enunciate very carefully when I say, “Sure thing, motherfucker.”

“Get it out of your system now. Because once you wear my wedding band, you’ll stop talking like a sailor. Stop dressing like a slut, too. You’ll be a good girl, a good wife, and once I get a baby into you, you’ll be a good mother too.”

Good girl.

My stomach twists so violently over those two words that I almost miss the rest of his threat.Good girlis another thing only Patrick is allowed.

My uncle’s proposal is revolting. He’s family. He destroyed my Aunt Siobhan. I know all about his affairs, about the diseases he brought home from hiscailíns.

“You’re a smart girl, Fee. This is how the Crew keeps its power.”

“Over my dead body.”

“Don’t turn me into some villain out of a Bond movie. Don’t make me say I can arrange that.”

“You’re disgusting!”

He’s still holding my arm. And now, he uses his other hand to grasp my jaw. Squeezing hard, using his certainty and his weight, he forces me back against his desk.

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