I nod, not trusting my voice. The words sound practiced, empty. He doesn't care about my father or Desmond. No one here does. And I expect he knows why Desmond was killed. If so, either he doesn’t care—which seems cold beyond measure and frightening for many reasons—or the platitudes are emptier than I thought.
"I'm sure you're wondering why we've come all this way to see you," he continues, settling back in his chair as if we're having a pleasant social call. "The truth is, Miss Connelly, the Council is concerned about your situation. You're very young, very alone, and you've inherited a considerable fortune and estate. In our world, that makes you… vulnerable."
Vulnerable. The word hangs in the air like a knife blade.
"I have security," I say, and I hate how small my voice sounds. It’s clear to anyone listening that I don’t really believe what I’m saying. "The men my father employed?—"
"Might as well be mercenaries," interrupts another man, the one Connor introduced as Liam Fitzgerald. He's younger than Connor, maybe fifty, with red hair turning that soft buttery patina of age and a hard face. "They're loyal to money, not to you. The moment someone offers them more, or the moment things get dangerous, they'll disappear. You can't trust them to protect you."
"Then I'll hire better security," I say, lifting my chin. "I have the resources—"Resources I have no idea how to access.The sensible part of my mind is shouting that I should be beggingfor these men to help me, but I don’t feel safe. I don’t feel as if they’re here to help. All I feel is danger, an instinctive sense that whatever they want for me, I’m not going to like it.
"It's not just about security, lass," Connor says, and there's something almost pitying in his tone that makes my stomach clench. "You're an eighteen-year-old girl with no family, no protection, and a fortune that's drawing attention from some very dangerous people. You need more than hired guns. You need legitimacy. You need someone with power and connections to stand between you and the wolves."
I draw a slow breath, trying to sound calm. Collected. A grown woman with power, though deep down, I know I have none. “What are you suggesting?”
Connor glances at the third man, the one he'd introduced as Brendan Kearney. Brendan is broader than the others, with a face like a bulldog and small, mean eyes. He's been looking at me with an expression I don't like, something that makes my skin crawl.
"We're suggesting marriage," Connor says simply. "A marriage that would place you under the protection of someone the Council trusts, someone with the strength and reputation to keep you safe and manage your inheritance properly." He pauses. “I know your father considered marrying you to Ronan O’Malley after your sister’s death. You were even examined to make sure you were intact and appropriate for such a marriage. Unfortunately, he made… other choices. But we have a match for you.”
My blood turns to ice. I remember that doctor’s appointment. I was told it was a routine exam. I had no idea they were checking me to make sure I was still a virgin for marriage. My stomach twists, my skin crawling. Whoever these men want to give me to, I feel sure that it won’t be someone I want. "No." I shake my head. “No.”
A flash of irritation crosses Connor’s face—the look of a man uninterested in being defied by a woman. "Miss Connelly?—"
"No," I repeat, more firmly this time, even as panic rises in my throat. "I'm not marrying some stranger just because you think I need managing. I can take care of myself." It’s so far from true that I almost laugh at my own words. But maybe if I can convince them, I can convince myself, too. Maybe I could figure this out, given a little time to breathe.
All I know is that, even though I’ve spent my whole life being groomed to marry a stranger, even though I thought I was at peace with it, now, in the moment, the thought makes me feel as if I’d rather die.
"Can you?" Brendan speaks for the first time, his voice rough and contemptuous. "You're a child playing at being a woman. Your father spoiled you, clearly, not having a marriage set up for you the moment you were of age. But he's dead now, and you're sitting on a fortune you don't know how to protect. You think you can handle the men who'll come for you? You think you can navigate the alliances and enemies your family made? You need a strong hand, girl. Someone to keep you in line and make sure you don't fuck it all up."
I flinch at the crude language, at the contempt in his voice. "I don't need anyone to keep me in line?—"
"You need exactly that," Connor interrupts, leaning forward. "A firm hand and a man who knows how to control a wilful woman. Fortunately for you, we've got just the man for the job."
My eyes dart to the fourth man. He's been standing behind the couch, arms crossed, watching me with those cold green eyes. He hasn't moved, hasn't smiled, hasn't shown any emotion at all. He just stares at me like I'm something distasteful he's been forced to deal with.
Looking at him makes fear spike through me, sharp and visceral. He's terrifying in a way the others aren't. Connor andLiam are dangerous, I'm sure, but they're older, civilized, the kind of men who like violence to be done by others. Brendan is brutish but predictable.
This man—tall and broad-shouldered, with his scarred face and hard eyes—looks like violence itself. And the way he's looking at me, with such cold, focused intensity…
"This is Sean Flannery," Connor says, gesturing to the silent man. "He's been working for the Council for years. One of our most trusted and effective enforcers. The Wolf of Dublin, they call him."
The Wolf of Dublin. The name sends a chill down my spine.
I was afraid of the wolves, waiting in the dark. Now they’ve brought one home to me.
"Sean has agreed to marry you," Connor continues, his voice calm and emotionless. "He'll move to Boston, take control of your family's assets and connections, and ensure your safety. You'll have the full protection of the Council and Sean's considerable… talents. No one will dare touch you."
I stare at Connor, then at Sean Flannery, my mind reeling. "I don't—I can't just marry a stranger. I don't even know him."
Connor looks at me with a touch of impatience. “Don’t be foolish, girl. Marriage to a stranger is what a woman of your class does. Surely you know that. I don’t think your father neglected that part of your education.”
"You'll have time to get to know each other," Liam says, though his tone suggests it doesn't really matter whether I do or not. "The wedding will be in two weeks. That gives you time to make arrangements, prepare the house for your husband?—"
"Two weeks?" My voice comes out as a strangled whisper. "You can't be serious. I won't—I'm not going to?—"
"Miss Connelly." Connor's voice cuts through my rising panic, firm but not unkind. "I understand this is overwhelming. But you need to understand your position. You're alone,you're vulnerable, and there are people who would happily take advantage of that. This marriage isn't a punishment. It's protection. Sean will keep you safe."
I look at Sean again, at those cold, hateful eyes, and I can't imagine feeling safe with him. I can only imagine being more afraid than I already am.
