Read Online The Persuasion of Molly O'Flaherty by Sierra Simone - Free Book Online
Authors: Sierra Simone
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Out.”
“Molly—”
“ Clare ,” she seethed.
Clare.
Fuck.
With one last glance—a glance that was more like a glare on her end—I left.
I met Frederick Cunningham over lunch at the Cafe Royal. The venue was my choice, as it was primarily frequented by a younger, more fashionable set than Mr. Cunningham was likely used to, and I wanted him to feel out of place. I also wanted to meet him on familiar ground. Home territory.
I watched his face crease with distaste at the ornate pillars and brightly frescoed ceilings, and at the women dining beside men, all in a jostling swarm of Bohemians, journalists, and military officers.
Good.
The more unsettled he was, the more defensive he’d be. And defensive people often revealed their weaknesses.
I stood to shake Mr. Cunningham’s hand as he approached, and then we both sat down, him appraising the restaurant while I casually appraised him. Mid-forties, good-looking—if a little prettyish for a man. Undoubtedly wealthy, given the expensive cut of his suit and the fob watch gleaming under his jacket. But as I watched him condescendingly place his order and then sip tiny, Lilliputian sips from his wine glass, I deduced that whatever power he held came solely from his money and nowhere else. He didn’t possess an innate respect for his fellow man—which meant that underneath his arrogance, there was a deep-seated and unconscious insecurity. And nothing about his carriage or demeanor belied anything but bored derision. No intelligence, no perception, no idea of his own soft spots. No inherent strength of will.
Plus, he drank his wine like a schoolgirl, and I made it a point never to trust people who were weak drinkers.
“So, Mr. Cecil-Coke, to what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting? I was rather surprised to receive a letter from you, given that we haven’t been previously introduced.”
I’d kept my letter requesting our meeting purposefully vague, mentioning only that I had a lucrative business proposal for him. I’d done it because I wanted to see his face and hear his voice when I mentioned Molly. I wanted to know how he felt about her. Contemptuous? Jealous? Completely neutral?
I leaned forward, smiling as widely as I could. I wasn’t unaware of the effect I had on men as well as women. Beyond the sexual, I’d always found that people responded much better to friendly charm than to brooding threats. (Which was the reason I’d always had more friends than Julian Markham.)
“Mr. Cunningham, I’ve heard that you and your company are looking for a man to marry Molly O’Flaherty. I would like to be that man, and I want to discuss terms with you to see how we can make that happen.”
Mr. Cunningham blinked for a minute, and in that minute, I saw everything I expected to see—scorn and avarice and a glint of lust. “Well, Mr. Cecil-Coke, I’m sorry to say that you are too late. The board has already approved of a suitor.”
“I heard. The Viscount Beaumont.”
His blond eyebrows lifted. “You know that? Where did you hear that?”
“Mutual friends,” I said vaguely. Until our lunch was finished and he inevitably hunted down any and all information about me, I didn’t want him to know how close I was to Molly, since I suspected that would work against me at the moment. Let him just think I was a wealthy, run-of-the-mill suitor chasing after an inheritance.
He made an indeterminate noise. “Mutual friends, you say.”
“What did the viscount offer you?” I asked. “If it’s money, I have plenty. If it’s connections, I have plenty of those, too. Just name your price—and then any extra you would like to keep for yourself beyond that—and it’s yours.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Why are you so eager to wed Miss O’Flaherty? Maybe you don’t spend much time in London, but her…ah, spotted …reputation is quite well known among certain circles here.”
“My own reputation is quite spotted, Mr. Cunningham,” I replied, not
“Molly—”
“ Clare ,” she seethed.
Clare.
Fuck.
With one last glance—a glance that was more like a glare on her end—I left.
I met Frederick Cunningham over lunch at the Cafe Royal. The venue was my choice, as it was primarily frequented by a younger, more fashionable set than Mr. Cunningham was likely used to, and I wanted him to feel out of place. I also wanted to meet him on familiar ground. Home territory.
I watched his face crease with distaste at the ornate pillars and brightly frescoed ceilings, and at the women dining beside men, all in a jostling swarm of Bohemians, journalists, and military officers.
Good.
The more unsettled he was, the more defensive he’d be. And defensive people often revealed their weaknesses.
I stood to shake Mr. Cunningham’s hand as he approached, and then we both sat down, him appraising the restaurant while I casually appraised him. Mid-forties, good-looking—if a little prettyish for a man. Undoubtedly wealthy, given the expensive cut of his suit and the fob watch gleaming under his jacket. But as I watched him condescendingly place his order and then sip tiny, Lilliputian sips from his wine glass, I deduced that whatever power he held came solely from his money and nowhere else. He didn’t possess an innate respect for his fellow man—which meant that underneath his arrogance, there was a deep-seated and unconscious insecurity. And nothing about his carriage or demeanor belied anything but bored derision. No intelligence, no perception, no idea of his own soft spots. No inherent strength of will.
Plus, he drank his wine like a schoolgirl, and I made it a point never to trust people who were weak drinkers.
“So, Mr. Cecil-Coke, to what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting? I was rather surprised to receive a letter from you, given that we haven’t been previously introduced.”
I’d kept my letter requesting our meeting purposefully vague, mentioning only that I had a lucrative business proposal for him. I’d done it because I wanted to see his face and hear his voice when I mentioned Molly. I wanted to know how he felt about her. Contemptuous? Jealous? Completely neutral?
I leaned forward, smiling as widely as I could. I wasn’t unaware of the effect I had on men as well as women. Beyond the sexual, I’d always found that people responded much better to friendly charm than to brooding threats. (Which was the reason I’d always had more friends than Julian Markham.)
“Mr. Cunningham, I’ve heard that you and your company are looking for a man to marry Molly O’Flaherty. I would like to be that man, and I want to discuss terms with you to see how we can make that happen.”
Mr. Cunningham blinked for a minute, and in that minute, I saw everything I expected to see—scorn and avarice and a glint of lust. “Well, Mr. Cecil-Coke, I’m sorry to say that you are too late. The board has already approved of a suitor.”
“I heard. The Viscount Beaumont.”
His blond eyebrows lifted. “You know that? Where did you hear that?”
“Mutual friends,” I said vaguely. Until our lunch was finished and he inevitably hunted down any and all information about me, I didn’t want him to know how close I was to Molly, since I suspected that would work against me at the moment. Let him just think I was a wealthy, run-of-the-mill suitor chasing after an inheritance.
He made an indeterminate noise. “Mutual friends, you say.”
“What did the viscount offer you?” I asked. “If it’s money, I have plenty. If it’s connections, I have plenty of those, too. Just name your price—and then any extra you would like to keep for yourself beyond that—and it’s yours.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Why are you so eager to wed Miss O’Flaherty? Maybe you don’t spend much time in London, but her…ah, spotted …reputation is quite well known among certain circles here.”
“My own reputation is quite spotted, Mr. Cunningham,” I replied, not
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