“How may I help you today, Mr. Cunningham? I’m afraid I have no husband yet, so if you’re expecting my engagement announcement, you will be sorely disappointed.”

“Call me Frederick, please. I think you’ve earned that familiarity, have you not, pretty girl?” Mr. Cunningham asked, settling into an upholstered armchair. My favorite armchair, if truth be told, because it sat at the head of the room. It was impressive and the perfect shade of blue to set off my eyes.

“I’d like to keep our acquaintance within the bounds of etiquette, if you don’t mind,” I said, doing my best not to grind my teeth together. I sat in another chair, one far enough away that I could pretend I didn’t know what that mustache felt like on my skin. Far enough that I could pretend I didn’t know exactly how selfish and ruthless he could be.

If I try to win your hand, I am not going to play fair.

Silas’s words from last night echoed in my memory, and I forced myself to connect them to the man sitting across from me. Frederick Cunningham was exactly why I didn’t let men fuck me, why I never ceded control of myself in the bedroom or in affairs of the heart.

Funny though, how I had so enjoyed the ruthless, selfish side Silas had revealed to me last night…

“As you may know, Martjin van der Sant is visiting us soon, and he will expect to meet with you, in addition to touring our docks and warehouses.”

Van der Sant, yes. I’d almost forgotten in the fog of recent events, but van der Sant owned one of the most expansive shipping networks in the world, connecting Europe to India and China, and he was looking to partner with O’Flaherty Shipping in order to expand his reach to Iceland and Canada—places where O’Flaherty Shipping was established and thriving. A partnership between us would be mutually beneficial and profitable, with very few drawbacks. However, we needed van der Sant far more than he needed us, since we were already losing clients who wanted more access to the Eastern hemisphere, and he was a notoriously fastidious and uncompromising businessman. There had been at least two other English companies he’d come close to making an agreement with, only to pull out at the last minute because he didn’t like the state of their books or the personal habits of one of their dock managers. Everything would need to be perfect for his visit, but I wasn’t concerned. I ran O’Flaherty Shipping fastidiously. There would be no irregularities in our books, our managers were all hardworking and moral men, and I was prepared to be as discreet as possible about my own personal habits when he came to town.

I took a deep breath and returned my attention to Mr. Cunningham. “I’m quite prepared for van der Sant’s visit, a fact of which I’m sure you’re aware. Is there another reason you needed to see me?”

He crossed his legs, raising his chin and looking quite pleased with himself. “I came to strike a bargain,” Mr. Cunningham said.

“I am sick of your bargains,” I said, not bothering to hide the irritation in my voice.

Mr. Cunningham smiled. “What a shame. But I think you will like this one better than our last.”

Our last. To an outsider, it might have seemed that he was referring to the board’s demand that I marry, but we both knew better. I kept myself from crossing my legs reflexively, making sure my back was straight and my shoulders square.

“In fact,” he continued, “I am certain you will like it. Perhaps too much; I admit, it does feel as if the board will be ceding too much in this agreement.”

Hope, for however brief a moment, flowered within me. As much as I hated this man, as much as I resented the other men who had invested in my father’s company, perhaps something had happened to change his mind. Perhaps they had found a new heiress to torture or perhaps they’d realized I would still find a way to run the company the way I wished, even with a husband.

Not for the first time, I cursed myself for not having the money to purchase as many shares as possible. But a few years ago, I had sunk most of my money into long-term land investments in America and Australia, all of which were doing quite well, but by the time I withdrew my earnings and tried to buy out the shares, it would be too late and the deadline for my marriage would have passed. And even if I could, I knew the board members would not sell their shares to me, out of avarice or spite or some combination of both.

I should have been buying shares all along, I thought regretfully, and not for the first time. If I owned the majority of the shares, I wouldn’t stand to lose so much when other people sold theirs.

“I’m afraid I still want you to get married,” Mr. Cunningham said, interrupting my internal cycle of hope and regret. “Just to forestall whatever you might be thinking.” Light glinted off his wedding band, and again, my sadistic memory dredged up the way it had looked in the candlelight of his room that night. The way it had looked covered in my blood and his semen when he’d shoved his fingers inside of me to confirm that yes, my hymen was well and truly gone.

My face burned with anger and my hands balled in my skirts, but I managed to keep my voice cold. Sneering, even. “I didn’t dare to hope for anything of the sort, Mr. Cunningham. Please proceed; I have many other things I need to accomplish today.”

“Very well then.” He leaned back and uncrossed his legs. “I know how much you despise this parade of suitors marching through your door and crowding you at parties. I know you hate the idea of getting married and would like to have this matter settled as soon as possible. Which is why I have selected a suitor for you. He is willing, he is powerful, and he has the board’s full approval. You will marry him and assume your proper role as a wife, and we will keep our shares, and everybody will live happily ever after.”

“What,” I asked, my voice icy, “makes you think I’d even be willing to consider someone of your choosing?”

“Frankly, Miss O’Flaherty, the board is being very magnanimous here: this gentleman is already a good friend of yours—and if I’m reading things correctly, he’s sometimes been more than a good friend. He approached the board and has told us in good faith that he will assist us in our cares.”

A good friend. My mind flashed to Silas and something in my chest squeezed. He’d said he’d playact with me in order to convince the board that I was doing his bidding; was this part of that? Had he already begun his pursuit of me? And why did that make me feel so light-headed and breathless?

“Who is it?” I demanded.

Mr. Cunningham dusted a speck of lint from his trousers. “Viscount Beaumont, Hugh Calvert.”

“Hugh.” Disappointment deflated me, helplessness streamed through my blood.

Hugh.

Hugh had approached the board, not Silas.

What did you expect? You know you can’t count on Silas for anything. You can’t trust him.

I forced myself to think clear-headedly. To be pragmatic. “Viscount Beaumont has already offered his hand to me.”

“Splendid!” Mr. Cunningham said. “Well, perhaps I am late with this news then. When shall you be delivering your acceptance to him?”

Pragmatic Molly cautioned me to keep the hot, angry words from spilling out, words that would tell Frederick Cunningham exactly how long it would take me to deliver my acceptance to any man, which would be when hell froze over, thawed and then froze again.

No, Pragmatic Molly recognized that she’d already given Hugh’s offer serious consideration. She recognized that perhaps this was the best chance she had at salvaging this miserable scenario and at least getting married to someone pleasant, someone who wasn’t after her money.

“I’m still thinking about it,” I said finally. “I am not willing to make this decision in haste.”

“Very well,” Mr. Cunningham said, shrugging and then standing to leave. “But just so you know, you may cease with interviewing your other would-be husbands. The board is quite set on the viscount.”