“I will sign it,” I said, pulling away from Hugh. “But for the company. Only for the company.”

Hugh smiled a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s good enough for me.”

Martjin van der Sant was a short man, with thin white hair cropped close around his ears and a precisely trimmed mustache. Even his clothing looked as if it had been folded and pressed with a ruler in hand. He did not smile, nor did he talk very often, but when he did, it was with a clipped Dutch accent that left no room for argument. My encounter with Hugh and his contract had left me shaken, but I swallowed everything down and mustered my most professional, competent demeanor as the other board members and I met van der Sant’s party down at the docks.

A man as wealthy and powerful as van der Sant could have easily sent representatives to investigate our assets. The fact that he traveled all the way here to see them for himself told me a lot, told me that he was a man to be both respected and feared. I was proud of the way I ran my company and I knew he wouldn’t find anything on the company’s end that would dissuade him from partnering with us, but I was more than a little nervous that word of my personal life might reach his ears. I glanced over at Cunningham as we walked along the docks. He was talking seriously with one of the other businessmen van der Sant had brought along, and there was nothing in his demeanor to suggest he was planting rumors about me.

He wouldn’t, I decided. He wanted this business deal as much as I did—maybe more than I did. Even he wouldn’t jeopardize the chance at more money simply to spite me. Besides, he had taken care to mention my engagement to Mr. van der Sant when we’d introduced ourselves earlier, probably to portray me as a normal, moral young woman.

The dock and warehouse visits went very well, and I was beginning to feel more settled about Hugh and the contract when we escorted Mr. van der Sant back to my townhouse for a late luncheon. “I hope you don’t mind if my daughter joins us,” Mr. van der Sant said. “This is her first visit to London and she is very excited.”

“Of course,” I said, sending word to one of my people to arrange for her to be picked up at their hotel.

But when she walked through the doorway an hour later, my stomach sickened. She was not, as I presumed from van der Sant’s age, a married woman in her thirties or forties, but a girl. A girl of about thirteen or fourteen, with flaxen blonde hair and gray eyes and a sweet, innocent face. “Everyone,” Mr. van der Sant said, “this is Birgit, my daughter.”

Birgit made a shallow curtsey, and I knew without looking that Cunningham’s eyes were pinned on the girl. I knew he was watching her, observing her sweetly uncertain mannerisms as her father introduced her to the other people present, knew that he was already wondering whether she was still intact.

I prefer my women fresher…younger.

He wouldn’t, I thought for the second time that day, but I was not so certain this time, because Cunningham’s eyes still hadn’t left the girl and his expression was hungry, like a fox watching a rabbit bounce by. No, even he wouldn’t be that foolish. That reckless. Cunningham loved money, and van der Sant was a fount of money. He wouldn’t throw that chance away simply to pursue this girl, no matter how virginally pretty and youthful she was.

I saw the way his lips lingered on the back of her hand as he kissed it, and then he did something that nearly made me bolt across the room and shove him away. He handed Birgit the flower from his buttonhole. A daffodil. Her father seemed completely oblivious to her pinking cheeks and fast-fluttering eyelashes, to Mr. Cunningham’s entirely-too-assiduous attentions.

And so after dinner, I asked Mr. van der Sant if it would be okay if Birgit and I retired to the parlor while the men enjoyed some brandy and smoking and business-talk. I could tell that my decorous femininity pleased him, but that’s not why I was doing this. As soon as Birgit and I went into the parlor, I closed the door and locked it and turned to face her.

She was so sweet-looking. I had looked like that, I knew…I still had men remark on how young and girlish I seemed. Maybe that’s why Cunningham still bothered me.

I sighed. “Sit, please, Miss van der Sant.”

She sat, looking a bit confused. I sat as well, on the sofa next to her so I could speak softly, hating that I was about to insinuate something so ugly to a girl so gentle and young. But I could not entertain the alternative, and I didn’t care if it might somehow circle back to Cunningham, if it would somehow tarnish my own place within the company. Right now only one thing mattered, and that was making sure Birgit stayed safe.

“Miss van der Sant, I’d like to ask you—privately—to do me a favor.”

She was clearly still confused, but nevertheless, she drew up, looking eager to please. “Of course! Is it about Father’s business here? I would very much like to help.”

I saw so much of myself in this girl. And her eagerness only made me more certain that I needed to do this. “I would like you to consider me a friend,” I told her, “a confidant. And the things we discuss will only remain between us, so I do not want you to worry that I will speak to your father about any of the things we discuss.” Unless I need to, I added to myself silently. But I didn’t say it aloud; it was more important to cultivate her trust at the moment.

She nodded, her eyes wide.

“That gentleman in the dining room? Mr. Cunningham? I am going to tell you a story about him, and then after I tell it to you, I need you to promise me that you’ll let me know the minute he ever tries to talk to you alone…”

The carriage ride to the Baron’s the next night was long and uncomfortable. The Baron was hosting a party in honor of Julian and Ivy’s visit, and Hugh had forced himself along. He had also taken the trouble to remind me that although we were only engaged, he’d still prefer it if I didn’t sleep with anyone tonight. The way he’d said prefer made it clear that all of his other threats held true in this case as well. In yet another unexpected corner, I was forced to sacrifice happiness for the hope of holding on to my company.

“But I will make you come plenty, if you’d like,” Hugh had offered once we got in the carriage. He’d tried to slide over to my seat, but I claimed a headache, and he sulked back to his side.

A headache. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, but I hated myself. I’d become one of those terrible women who avoided sex on pitiful pretexts, who lied instead of just saying no in plain language. But I was becoming increasingly aware that I had very little power in this dynamic between Hugh and me. Not if I wanted to keep my company. And so I had to placate him, which for now meant lying, but later it might mean actually having sex with him, and that made me very unhappy. It shouldn’t—he had never been a poor lover and he was so good-looking, but…well, if I was being completely honest with myself, I only wanted Silas right now. The only tears I wanted to cry were tears drawn forth by my smarting ass as he spanked me…the only hands I wanted to feel around my waist were his wide ones.

That’s enough, I told myself firmly. I was a big girl. I needed to accept my fate and move on. Just like I had with Cunningham all those years ago—I was doing what I had to for what I wanted, which was my company. I could handle a loveless marriage. I could handle a life without Silas. I could handle anything as long as I had my company and my dignity.

I sat up straighter in the seat. I was Molly O’Flaherty, dammit. And I would sacrifice anything for what I wanted.