Chapter 9 Sean #3
She swallows hard. “I know what you were told to do,” she whispers. “So you should have done it.”
“I couldn’t.” My voice is flat, rough. “I still can’t. Not unless you want me.”
She stares up at me, her eyes impossibly wide. “I don’t even know what that means.”
“I know.”
A heartbeat passes, and every cell of my body is screaming at me to back her against the garden wall, to turn her around and tug her jeans down, spread her slender thighs, and sheath myself in her tight, virgin cunt.
She's my wife. I have every right. Right now, in this moment, I could almost convince myself that she wants me.
Her eyes are wide. Her chest heaving. Her cheeks flushed. She feels this thing—this pull—between us, but she just admitted she has no fucking idea what it is. She’s so innocent she can’t recognize desire even if she feels it.
I could solve several of our problems right now. I could strip her down, sit on that bench, and pull her into my lap, onto my cock. I could give myself what I so desperately need and seal this bond between us that will protect her.
But I can’t fucking do it.
I’ll feel like a monster if I do. Even if it would be so fucking easy—
No. Fuck, no.
I step back, breaking the spell.
"We should go inside," I say, my voice harder than I intend. "I have work to do."
The hurt that flashes across her face is like a knife to the gut. "Of course you do." Her voice is cold now, all that fire extinguished. "Heaven forbid you actually have a conversation with your wife."
She pushes past me, heading back toward the house. I watch her go, my hands clenched into fists, everything in me wanting to follow her and apologize again, just in case it might be different this time. To pull her back and finish what we almost started.
But I don't.
Because if I go after her now, if I touch her even once, I won't be able to stop.
And she deserves better than being fucked against a garden wall by a man who doesn't know how to be gentle.
—
I'm back in the study, staring at documents without really reading anything, when Mrs. Brady appears in the doorway again.
"You have a visitor, Mr. Flannery. Council business."
My jaw tightens. "Who?"
"A Mr. Fitzgerald."
Fuck.
Of everyone from the Council who could have shown up, Liam Fitzgerald is my least favorite option, right up there with Brendan Kearney.
Liam is so far up Connor McBride’s ass that he probably knows what time the man takes a shit every morning, and he’s always looking for ways to ingratiate himself to the old man.
If that means making trouble for me, he’ll happily do it.
Also, because he just fucking doesn’t like me. It’s mutual, but that doesn’t do me any fucking good.
I follow Mrs. Brady to the front parlor, where Fitzgerald is waiting.
He's standing near the fireplace, having helped himself to a glass of whiskey from the bar cart, and is looking out over the estate.
He turns around as we walk in, and Mrs. Brady closes the door behind her, leaving me to cross the room and greet him.
"Sean." He doesn't offer to shake hands. "I trust you're settling in."
"Getting there."
He gives me a lecherous smile. “How was the wedding night?”
“Successful.” I return his gaze without a hint of emotion. “The marriage is legal.”
Liam looks at me for a long moment, as if he’s gauging whether there’s any insincerity in my words, whether or not I’m being entirely truthful. “Good,” he says finally, taking a sip of his whiskey. “I’m here to ensure that you’re taking your responsibilities seriously."
"My responsibilities." I don’t flinch. “Please, elaborate.”
He shrugs. "To your wife. To her estate. To ensuring that the Connelly interests remain stable and productive." His gaze is cold and equally unflinching. "The Council entrusted you with this, Sean. We expect results."
"I've been married less than twenty-four hours."
"Yes. And according to the housekeeper, you've already managed to upset the girl." His expression hardens. "She mentioned being concerned. Which concerns me.”
Fucking meddling staff. I already miss the peace of my empty apartment. "Mrs. Brady can mind her own business."
"The Connelly household is her business.
And yours, now." Fitzgerald moves closer, his voice dropping.
"Let me be clear, Sean. This marriage serves a purpose.
It keeps Maeve under control, it secures her inheritance for the Council's interests, and it reminds you of the consequences of failure.
But it only works if you actually fulfill your role as her husband. "
"I'm aware."
“Are you? You’re sure you consummated the marriage properly? That the girl upstairs is no longer a virgin? If we were to have her checked—”
It takes everything in me not to flinch, to call what I hope is a bluff. “Do you need me to go over the particulars of how a woman gets fucked, Fitzgerald? Maybe it’s been a while since your wife has let you in her hole, but I can walk you through it, if need be.”
Liam’s jaw tightens, and his eyes darken.
Shit. Maybe I shouldn’t have poked the bear quite so hard.
“We expect to see a pregnancy within a reasonable amount of time, Flannery. If that doesn’t happen, I can assure you we will be looking into it, medically, to make sure that Mrs. Flannery is ripe for conception and that there are no problems.”
My hands clench into fists at the thought of a doctor examining Maeve, reporting back to the Council. "That's none of your fucking business."
"It's entirely my business." His smile is cold, and I have a feeling he’s seeing through me, that my anger at this entire situation is making it difficult to hide what I’ve done.
My chest tightens. If Fitzgerald pushes this, it will put both Maeve and me in danger.
"The Council has been patient with you. We gave you a second chance after the Brennan situation. But patience has limits."
"Brennan." I keep my voice level. "What's the status on him?"
Fitzgerald's expression shifts slightly. "Why do you ask?"
"Because he's the reason I'm in this situation. And because a man like that doesn't just disappear after a failed hit."
"Cormac Brennan is being watched," Fitzgerald says carefully. "And he knows we're watching him. He won't make a move without us knowing."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the answer you're getting." He straightens his jacket. "Your focus needs to be here. On your wife. On the estate. On proving that you can handle the responsibilities we've given you."
"Or what?"
"Or we'll find someone else who can." He heads toward the door, then pauses. "There are others who would welcome the opportunity to marry into the Connelly fortune. Younger men. Men who wouldn't have the same… difficulties performing their duties."
The threat is clear. Fuck this up, and they'll replace me. Marry Maeve off to someone else. Someone who might actually hurt her. And it’s clear that Liam doesn’t believe my lie about consummating the marriage.
Or at the very least, he questions it. Maybe not enough, yet, to demand that Maeve be examined, but enough to use it as a threat against me.
If he truly believed that I fucked her, he wouldn’t be able to use the threat of her remarriage against me.
"I'll take care of it," I say through clenched teeth.
"See that you do." Fitzgerald's smile is thin. "Consider it motivation to take your responsibilities more seriously. Good day."
He leaves, and I stand there in the empty parlor, my mind racing.
I should have followed orders last night. I should have consummated the marriage, ensured that Maeve was protected, that this arrangement couldn’t be undone, no matter how much I fucking hate it.
And now, I’m going to have to figure out how to fix my mistake.