Page 6 of Heated Rivals
For a second, he thought Ricky would push more, but something on his face must have scared his brother, because he finally muttered, “We took a drive through O’Malley territory, saw some shit, then went down to the pub for a few drinks.”
O’Malley territory—where Carrigan was once again living. The thought of something happening to her… James’s stomach gave a funny leap that had him clenching his teeth. “Saw what shit?”
“Dunno.” A belligerent shrug. “One of their bitches walking down the street. Thought about picking her up, but she was gone before we could.”
He made an effort to relax his muscles. There was no way of knowing if it was Carrigan they saw, but there was no reason to think either of her sisters would be wandering about unescorted on the same night he knew she’d been out. It was too much to hope for a convenientcoincidence.
James sat down and folded his hands on the massive desk. “Stay out of their territory.”
“But—”
“I didn’t fucking stutter, Ricky. Stay out of their territory or you’ll damn well wish you did.”
His brother stared at him for a long time, and James held the look, waiting to see what he’d do. There was a confrontation coming, whether he liked it or not. When Ricky cursed and marched out of the room, slamming the door behind him, James allowed himself a silent sigh of relief.
Yeah, there was a confrontation coming for sure. Thank Christ it wasn’t coming tonight.
* * *
Carrigan woke up to knocking on her door. She blinked at the clock and mentally cursed. Seven a.m. Everyone in the family knew that it was running the risk of death to wake her up before eight, but the knocking hadn’t abated. She cursed again—this time aloud—and struggled out of bed. It took her a few minutes to find a nightgown to drag on, but she wasn’t about to answer the knock while naked. Good thing, too. Liam stood on the other side of her door, his face carefully blank as he stared at some point over her shoulder. “Your father requests your presence.”
It wasn’t a request and they both knew it. But it also wasn’t Liam’s fault that Seamus O’Malley liked to haul his children before him at the most inconvenient time. She smoothed her hair back. “I don’t suppose I have time to get ready?” He might be her father, but she didn’t like having these talks without her full armor in place.Ten minutes after waking up meant there was no chance of that… something her father had no doubt considered when he sent his favorite muscle up here to wake her.
As she expected, Liam shook his head. “He said immediately.”
Naturally. She glanced down at her long nightgown. It was white and vaguely Victorian and looked like something a virgin out of a historical novel would wear. It would have to do. “Then let’s not keep him waiting.” She closed her bedroom door behind her, but Liam didn’t move out of the way. “What?”
“You went out last night.”
She looked around quickly to make sure no one was within hearing range. “I went to church.”
The look he sent her told her exactly what he thought of the lie. “Someone is supposed to be with you when you leave the house.”
“It’s not my fault the other men can’t keep up.” Liam alone was the one who allowed her to have her occasional excursion. Any of the other men would report it to her father and put a quick end to her tiny bit of freedom. She patted him on the shoulder and hurried around him, wanting to escape this conversation even more than she wanted to avoid the one waiting for her downstairs. “The study?”
“Yes.”
She could feel his disapproval at her back as she made her way down the staircase and through the halls to the study. Though her father sometimes held meetings in the library, his study was his preferred place of business. She hadn’t had any illusions about what kind of meeting this was, but the location he chose only confirmed that this was business. She closed the door softlybehind her and wished she’d taken a few minutes to throw on something other that this goddamn nightgown. “Father.”
“Carrigan.” He sat behind his desk, and the sheer size of it should have made him look diminished. It didn’t. He looked like a king in perfect control of his kingdom—the kind of man who could order someone’s head removed without blinking. He showed as little emotion now as his gaze coasted over her, taking her measure just like he always did when they spoke.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that he catalogued every new sign of age, every line or less-than-youthful blemish. She was twenty-eight—hardly an old maid—but he never failed to make her feel like she had one foot in the grave. All without saying a single word. She kept her spine straight and her shoulders back, refusing to flinch away from the criticism she saw in his dark eyes.
“We missed you at dinner last night.” He glanced at the papers scattering his desk. “Both of your sisters managed to grace us with their presence after your months in the country.”
Their exile. Four long months spent in the Connecticut house, theoretically out of danger, while the men in the family took care of the remaining threats. It had never occurred to them to ask her what she thought of the situation, because her opinions and feelings didn’t really matter as long as she was obedient. Carrigan swallowed down the old anger. Losing her cool would just reinforce her father’s belief that she was too emotional to be trusted. There was no winning with him, but she wasn’t going to make things harder on herself. She clasped her hands in front of her. “I was at Our Lady of Victories. It’d been too long.”
“I see.” He hadn’t moved, but shecouldn’t shake the feeling that he was larger. More dangerous. His cold dark eyes watched her so closely, she straightened on instinct, her heart beating harder in her chest.He doesn’t know. He can’t possibly know.He didn’t move, but suddenly the room seemed a whole hell of a lot smaller. “Have you given any more thought to your decision?”
Here it was. She knew all the right answers to get him to hold off, but going through this song and dance was exhausting. “I’ve been praying.”
There was no hint of his thoughts on his face. The only warning she got was a slight lifting of his brows. “I grow tired of this game, Carrigan. Your age is becoming an issue, a fact both you and your suitors are well aware of.”
Suitors. Such an old-fashioned word, with more than a hint of romance if a person didn’t know better. Carrigan knew better.
Her father continued, “You’re not going to take your vows, and we both know it. Which means it’s time for you to pick a husband. The list of interested men has been steadily decreasing for the last year, and it’s time to stop toying with them. You have until your birthday to make a decision, or I’ll make it for you.”
Her birthday. December twenty-third. A little less than a month from now.
