Wicked Nights With a Lover (The Penwich School for Virtuous Girls #3)(16)

“Perhaps,” he answered and held his breath as Jack regarded him with steady, unflinching eyes.

“Sorry, Ash. You know you’re like a son to me, but I have big plans for these girls and you don’t quite fit into them.” His expression must have cracked, because Jack added, “I can’t have you for a son-in-law. You’re no different from me—another rat from the stews.”

The words gouged him. “I see.”

Nodding, he turned and strode from the room, each bite of his boots on the carpet driving the insult of Jack’s words deeper home.

He did see. He saw everything clearly then. Jack had communicated his message perfectly. Ash wasn’t good enough, and he didn’t deserve to keep the empire he’d built up from two crumbling hells all to himself. He simply wasn’t good enough to be Jack’s sole heir.

Except no one told him he wasn’t good enough. That he couldn’t have something no matter what he did, no matter what he said or how hard he tried. He’d proven that over the years.

And he’d prove it again.

He may not want to marry, but he would.

He would have one of Jack’s daughters, steal her right out from beneath his nose. Whatever bloody duke Jack had lined up for her would just have to miss out. Because Ash wasn’t about to lose.

Not ever.





Chapter 7

She was vastly underdressed.

This regrettable thought flitted through Marguerite’s mind as she entered Jack Hadley’s drawing room to join her sisters. Her father, the butler informed her, was indisposed at the moment but would join them later. Just as well. She was not here for him, after all.

“Marguerite?” The older of the two girls rose to her feet, her elegant skirts swaying as she moved forward with an easy confidence. “I was afraid you would not come.” She motioned to the other female sitting so silently, her slim hands folded neatly in her lap. “We’d begun to fear you did not wish to meet us.”

“Of course I wanted to meet you. Both of you.” Especially before I leave. Marguerite took a hesitant step, unsure where to sit.

“Come, seat yourself. I’m Grier and this is Cleopatra.”

“Cleo,” the one with hair nearly as dark as Marguerite’s hastily corrected. A grim smile curved the lips. “My mother’s a bit fanciful.”

“You live with your mother?” It was on the tip of Marguerite’s tongue to ask why she was here then, if she had a mother.

“Yes, and my stepfather.” A grimace flickered across her pale face. “And my half brothers and half sisters.”

“Fourteen, can you believe?” Grier volunteered, tucking an auburn strand back into her loosely arranged chignon. Her skin was unfashionably tan, but even that did not hide the spattering of brown freckles over her nose and cheeks.

Grier leaned forward. Reaching for the tea service, she poured a cup for Marguerite.

“Fourteen? How lovely,” Marguerite murmured.

Cleo shrugged. “Not really. Why else would I answer the summons of a father who never sought to acknowledge me before?”

Marguerite nodded slowly, appreciating her candor and feeling the echo of that sentiment rush through her. “That’s why you’re here then?”

“That’s why we’re both here,” Grier clarified. “We’re both short on opportunities. Cleo is tired of being maid, cook, and nanny all rolled into one, and I’m … well. I just needed to get away from home.” Grier’s dark eyes took on a faraway glint. She tugged at her snug sleeve and scratched beneath at her wrist, convincing Marguerite she would be vastly more comfortable wearing something else. “I should have left a long time ago, but never had the opportunity before now. So, here we are then. And what of you? Are you here to stay?”

“It wasn’t my intention. I came to meet you both.” Marguerite cleared her throat, deciding now was as good a moment as any to explain that she would be leaving the country. “Before I go.”

“Go?” Cleo asked. “Where are you going? You just arrived.”

“I’m leaving. Tomorrow. For Spain.”

“Spain? How exciting.” Grier took a healthy swig of her tea and reached for a biscuit. “This is the farthest I’ve ever been from home. It’s fair to assume then that you’re not locked into sad circumstances that force you to accept the hospitality of the father who’s neglected you all your life? Good for you.”

Marguerite winced. She would scarcely consider her circumstances good.

“But what of tonight?” Cleo asked, her eyes bright with disappointment. “You do not intend to join us then?”

“Tonight?”

“Did you not receive my letter?” Cleo shook her head. The light streaming through the mullioned glass struck her dark hair, making it appear blue in places. “Jack gave me your address. I sent it two days ago. I thought that’s why you were coming today.”

Marguerite swallowed. She’d moved from the boardinghouse yesterday. Ever since her horrid nightmare, she’d been eager to leave the boardinghouse behind. Every time she glanced at the corner of the rented room, she expected to see the dark cloaked figure of Death again.

Aside from that, Roger insisted on putting her up at a hotel until they departed. His sisters resided with him in Town, so it was hardly appropriate to stay with him, but he was eager to begin his role of benefactor.