I erupted all over my hand, long spurts of white heat, groaning and fucking my fist even faster to spur the pleasure on longer, pretending for those last few thrusts that it really was Molly’s cunt I was fucking and not my own hand. Until finally, I stilled, breathing hard. My lust was temporarily slaked, but I didn’t feel any better. Instead, I tried to push down the yawning emptiness that wanted to creep up in its place.
I didn’t want to do this alone.
I wanted to be with her.
And on top of that, what kind of man needed a woman that way after she’d told him the terrible stories of how someone had abused her?
A bad man, that’s the kind of man.
I felt a little guilty for using the nearby ewer and towel to clean myself, since this wasn’t my room, but it needed to be done. A few minutes (and some vigorous scrubbing) later, I was clean and decent enough to be seen in public. I pressed the emptiness down, along with the anger over what Molly had endured at the hands of that monster, plastered a grin on my face and made my way to the club’s dining room.
Generally only members were allowed to dine at the club, but members could invite guests, and since Castor was a member, we were more than welcome. When I reached the table, Julian, Castor and Martjin van der Sant were deeply engaged in a conversation about shifting trade alliances around the Empire. I made my apologies for my lateness, was introduced and sat, staying quiet for most of the meal. Not necessarily because business didn’t interest me, but because I wanted to study van der Sant, this man I’d rashly plunged into business with for Molly’s sake.
Van der Sant seemed to be the kind of person who inspired respect, not affection. Though short in stature, his rigid posture and imposing demeanor gave the impression of a much larger man, and his conversation was clipped and direct. Completely humorless.
However, when Julian happened to mention his child, van der Sant’s face softened. “I always wanted a son,” the Dutch man said. “But I am more than pleased with my Birgit.”
He turned his attention to the waiter, to signal for more water, while the three of us exchanged uncomfortable glances. Castor and Molly had arranged tonight so that Birgit’s innocence would be unequivocal. But we hadn’t once given a thought to the emotional toll this would take on van der Sant, witnessing the attempted seduction of his daughter. Would he be furious? Devastated?
How would I feel if this happened to one of my nieces? Or my own daughter? There was no way to endure that kind of test politely or stoically—every masculine protective instinct roared at the thought. In fact, I wanted to go upstairs now and strangle Cunningham before he could even lay eyes on Birgit again.
But of course, reality was slightly more complicated. The illegality of murder aside, there was the issue of preserving the relationship between father and daughter along with Birgit’s virtue. I’d not been consulted—perhaps if I had, I would have advised against all this subterfuge and opted for something more direct—but I knew enough about Molly to know that she believed in almost nothing more than the sanctity and warmth of a healthy love between a father and his daughter. I knew enough about Molly to know that she saw Birgit as a younger version of herself, and that her efforts to help Birgit were penances paid to the ghost of the girl Molly used to be.
Lost in thought, I didn’t notice how the conversation had shifted until the mention of Molly’s name pulled me out of my haze. My head snapped up to see van der Sant gesturing delicately with his fork.
“…Currently investigating a shipping company here in London that we’d like to work with. However, there have been rumors of certain behaviors,” he said distastefully. “My manager tells me that there are a few people who assert that Miss O’Flaherty has been sighted acting immorally.”
Immorally. The word carried judgment and self-righteousness and the strident fervor of someone who associated any and all irregularity in public behavior as a moral failing.
Irritation flared, irritation and the very real urge to drive my fist into van der Sant’s face. But that was unthinkable—however harshly he criticized Molly, he was still a potential business partner, and I couldn’t jeopardize that with my selfish need to defend her. The company was more important to her than what some priggish stranger thought of her. Aside from that, Molly’s relationship with the three of us was still unknown to van der Sant, and it was prudent to keep it that way until it was absolutely unavoidable. It would be wise to keep up the illusion that we were merely investors interested in sealing our exchange with a friendly meal.
He may decide not to do business with Molly at all after tonight, I thought. But that was out of my control. My reaction to van der Sant’s statement, however, was in my control. With great effort, I kept my face relaxed and open, my lips tilted up in an interested smile.
But next to me, Castor and Julian had both stiffened, Castor’s powerful frame no longer merely athletic but threatening. Silent anger spilled out from Julian, spilling like paraffin oil across the table, a dangerous thing waiting to be kindled into explosive flames.
I glanced over to Castor, whose scowling visage indicated he was ready to fling lightning bolts down upon his enemies, like a muscled, clean-shaven Zeus, and then over to Julian, who flexed and fisted a hand under the table, unconsciously rehearsing for a duel of honor, and then to van der Sant, who seemed baffled by the sudden and stony silence that had fallen over the table. It appeared that it was going to have to be me who kept this dinner afloat, along with Molly’s prospective partnership with van der Sant’s company.
“Rumors are just that, Mr. van der Sant,” I said easily, using the smile that had gotten me dances in the ballroom and reprieves from my childhood nursemaid. “Just words. Did you happen to find anything substantially immoral in the company itself while you were investigating?”
Van der Sant shook his head and wiped his mouth. “That’s just it, Mr. Cecil-Coke. The company has been sedulously guided through the years. The books are scrupulously kept, the managers are all honest, and there’s been nothing irregular whatsoever in the financial machinery of her business.”
“Surely that is a better testament to Miss O’Flaherty’s character than mere hearsay?” I asked, lifting an eyebrow.
“I’m forced to concede you are correct,” van der Sant admitted. “And while I find it improper for a woman to be involved in such a masculine enterprise, I cannot ignore that she has done a marvelous job. Her company still presents an excellent opportunity for us, and though it may trouble my conscience, I believe I will put aside those rumors permanently. Ultimately, what matters is that her company is ethically run, and in that respect, it is quite spotless.”
Good, you asshole, was what I wanted to say. But I refrained, instead only making a small noise of approval in my throat and then asking if he’d like more wine.
Next to me, Castor and Julian slowly let go of their anger, and by the time we were finished with the meal, a semblance of civility had covered over the earlier tension. Still, Julian’s voice was brusque when he stood and said, “Would you like to retire with us upstairs for some brandy? Silas and I would like to talk over our new investment.”
Van der Sant nodded. “Of course.”
The room wasn’t empty when we opened the door. Of course, that was the plan, but I still felt a clench of anxiety when Molly stood and swept toward Birgit’s father with a serious look creasing her face. I wanted to protect her from this—all of it. From van der Sant’s disapproval, from the memories of Cunningham’s touch, from the chaos that could ensue after Cunningham’s perversion was exposed.
But Molly didn’t need protecting. With her shoulders back and her eyes slightly narrowed in determination and her dress gleaming green in the light of the small chandelier and its matching wall sconces, she looked like a solemn figure from some sort of Gaelic myth.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said quietly to Martjin van der Sant. “I have something important to discuss with you.”
The Dutch man looked from me to Castor to Julian—and then back to Molly—confused and clearly a little annoyed. “Miss O’Flaherty, this is highly unusual. And improper.”
