by Cheryl Holt
“Are you telling me you’ve had an entire year to trick and deceive him? Because if that’s your defense, you can stuff it.”
“It’s not my defense. It’s simply the facts as they currently exist. He gambled and constantly lost. So he came more often and tried to reverse his fortunes, but he never could.”
“Once he got into financial trouble, why didn’t you bar him from the premises?”
“Am I his nanny? Am I to tag after him and order him to behave? How precisely would I have done that?”
“I don’t care how you rationalize it. You could have stopped him if you’d wanted to.”
“There’s the problem for you, Magdalena. I didn’t want to stop him. I wanted him to keep on and on, because he’s a rich, pompous prick, and when I was crushing him I felt like a god!”
He pounded a fist on the desk for emphasis, and they glared, their animosity frightening in its intensity. They were breathing hard, as if they were pugilists in the ring who’d just gone ten rounds.
Ultimately she complained, “You never mentioned any of it to me.”
“Why would I have? It was between him and me and none of your affair.”
“When you were at Cliffside, I thought you were a guest.”
“I wasn’t. I was the new owner, and you were all staying there—hosting your idiotic birthday party—with my permission.”
“I trusted you. I…liked you.”
“So? How is that relevant?”
He was being deliberately cruel, but he’d been inordinately stung by her harsh tone. She was being unusually strident in a way he loathed and wouldn’t tolerate.
People weren’t allowed to chastise or berate him. He was king of his world, and no person could enter it and challenge his authority. If they tried, there were consequences.
“You’re being a bully,” she nagged.
“I am. I admit it.”
“You’re enjoying this.”
“Yes.”
“You’re doing it because you can, because you can get away with it and no one can stop you.”
He scowled. “Why am I the villain here? Could we pause for two seconds so you can ponder the answer to that question?”
“You’re the villain because you committed treachery. You can deny it all you like, but I’ll never believe you.”
He was stung again, livid that she’d discount his word, his version of events. She knew Farrow was a snake in the grass, yet she was defending him anyway. Her misplaced loyalty to Farrow enraged Michael as nothing had in ages.
She thought he was an ogre? She thought he was a bully? Fine. She could feel the entire brunt of his vanity.
“Whether you believe me or not, the deal is finished. Cliffside is mine”—his torrid gaze slid down her torso—“and so are you.”
“You’re mad,” she spat, “and I won’t abide by the terms of your wager.”
“I’m not the one who bartered you away. You’re blaming the wrong person.”
“I’ve already told you I blame you both.”
“Yes, but if you want to toss around charges of lunacy, I suggest you apply them to your own family. Not to me.”
“You can’t haggle over me as if I’m an African slave.”
He shrugged. “Take it up with your brother-in-law. I hardly see how it’s my problem.”
“Are you claiming it was all his idea?”
“Yes, that’s precisely what I’m claiming.”
“He came to you. He proposed the sordid bargain. You were innocent as a lamb?”
“In this matter? Completely innocent.” He shook an angry finger at her. “And before you start riding your high horse, you should know that he initially offered your hand in marriage.”
“He wouldn’t have dared,” she huffed.
Michael ignored her indignant retort. “But I have no interest in marrying, and I particularly have no interest in marrying you.”
“You were happy enough to ask that I be your mistress.”
“I didn’t ask!” he snapped. “Get it through your thick head! It was Farrow’s plan—every stupid bit of it. He offered marriage, and I declined, so he offered you in a different way.”
“I won’t be your mistress. Not for an hour. Not for a day. Not for a week. I won’t do it!”
“I told him you wouldn’t, but he insisted on pursuing it.”
Suddenly the fight went out of her. She sagged in her chair and tears flooded her eyes. He steeled himself against her woe. Over the years, he’d had plenty of women sit where she was sitting, plenty of women beg as she was begging.
By the time he reached this despicable point, he was out of patience.
“If you’re about to weep,” he said, “I should probably apprise you that it won’t have any effect on me.”
“I can cry if I want to.”
“Save it. You can’t move me. You can’t dissuade me.”
“I’m so sick of men!” she seethed.
“As I am all male, I haven’t a clue how to reply.”
“You all think you run the world.”
“We do.”
“You presume you can engage in any folly, that you can wreck and destroy without consequence. We women have to hover in the corner and let you commit any reckless deed that tickles your fancy.”
“I remind you again, Magdalena. I committed no reckless acts. I’m in business, and I made a huge profit off another man’s loss. I’m simply collecting what I am owed.”
“You don’t have to follow through.”
“You’re correct. I don’t have to.”
“You want to.”
“Yes.”
“Why? Tell me the truth.”
“Because Gaylord Farrow is an arrogant ass, and I loathe him.”
“So it’s personal.”
“Of course it’s personal. What do you bloody think it is?”
“Don’t curse at me.”
“We’re in my office, in my business establishment. If you don’t like my language, you can leave.”
“How can I persuade you to mercy?”
“You can’t.”
“Is there nothing I can say?”
“No.”
To his astonishment, she pushed herself to her feet and rounded the desk. She dropped to her knees and clasped his hand, her beautiful blue eyes beseeching.
“Have mercy on my family, Michael. Please?”
“It’s too late for begging, Maggie.”
“If you won’t give the property back to Gaylord, give it to Pamela. Or give it to me. Please!”
“No.” He would have added the word sorry, but he wasn’t. He tried to pull his hand away, but she simply clasped it tighter.
“Why are you doing this to me?”
“I’m not doing it to you. Your brother-in-law is responsible for the whole mess, and you should consider the possible ramifications.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was very determined. If you won’t dally with me, who might he seek out instead? At least you’ve met me, and we have a passing acquaintance. What if he approaches a stranger? Are you prepared for that?”
“He wouldn’t,” she ridiculously claimed.
He bent down so they were nose to nose. “He already has. Aren’t you curious how we arrived at this point? And have you thought at all about your younger sister?”
“Rebecca? What about her?”
“Farrow offered her first, but I wasn’t interested, so he offered you in her place.”
“He offered to let you have Rebecca as your mistress?”
“Yes, so I ask you again. If you don’t relent and play your part as has been arranged, what foul deed might Farrow perpetrate next?”
“Give them more time,” she pleaded.
“To what?”
“To make plans. To move out.”
“Maggie, they’ve had six months.”
“You’ve owned Cliffside for six months?”
“Yes. Now get up. I can’t abide all th
is drama.”
He stood and drew her to her feet. They glared again, hostility flaring.
“Explain the details of your bargain with Gaylord,” she said. “What would I be expected to do?”
“You’ll be my mistress for a trial period of thirty days.”
“A trial period?”
“Yes, so I can see if you’re worth the bother.”
“If I’m not?”
“Then your family will leave Cliffside at once.”
“And if I am what you’re hoping? You’ll keep me for six months, and in exchange, they’ll have six more months to vacate. Is that correct?”
“Yes, but you could never be what I’m hoping for.”
He’d pricked her vanity, and she said, “I might surprise you.”
“I doubt it. No woman ever has.”
“What if I tell you to stuff it and walk out of here?”
“I’ll evict your sisters immediately. I’ll send a messenger on a fast horse, and I have men on the premises to ensure their departure.”
“You’d put their belongings out on the road?”
“They don’t have any belongings,” he grimly stated, “so they won’t have much to carry.”
“Why are you being so cruel?”
“I’m simply letting you witness my true nature.”
“No, you’re not. You can be kind. You can be generous and funny and wonderful. I’ve seen you act that way.”
“That’s all it is, an act.”
“No, it isn’t.” She stepped in, the hem of her skirt swishing over the toes of his boots. She studied him, her blue eyes probing, digging deep. “You’re upset about something. Not about this but something else, and you’re taking it out on me.”
“I’m not upset. You’re being absurd.”
“No, you’re extremely troubled. What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” he insisted, “and you’re annoying me. Would you go?”
She rested a palm on his cheek, and the gesture was very dear, as if she was his wife, as if she’d touched him gently a thousand times prior.
“You can tell me what it is,” she murmured.
“There’s naught to tell.”
He grabbed her wrist and yanked her away, and he hardened his features, irked to have her observe his distress.
Sensing his paltry attempt at indifference, she smirked and announced, “I’m calling your bluff.”
“What are you talking about, woman?”
“You’re being a bully and deliberately trying to drive me away.”
“Why would I bother? You’ll stomp out in a huff before too much more time has passed.”
“Why is that, exactly? Might it be because—if I stomp out—you get Cliffside with no delay?”
“It might.”
She was taking his measure, assessing his attributes and finding few that were redeeming.
“Fine, Michael Scott,” she said. “I agree.”
“You agree to what?”
“I shall be your mistress for thirty days, and if I please you, I’ll stay for six months.”
“You will not.”
“I will—for you see, Mr. Scott, I evidently know a fact about you that you don’t.”
“What is it?”
“You bluster and offend and insult, and while it might terrorize others, I am not afraid of you.”
“You’re not?”
“No. You may fume and rage all you like, but you’d never hurt me.”
“If that’s what you believe, then you’re a fool.”
“We begin our affair on Saturday. Isn’t that right?”
“I won’t proceed with you,” he firmly asserted.
“A deal’s a deal, Michael.”
“It’s not what you said five minutes ago.”
“Well, I changed my mind, and I demand you honor it.”
“You demand.”
“Yes.”
She was grinning, preening, as if she’d just bested him in every manner that counted. Didn’t the idiotic female fathom what would transpire?
“You understand your role, don’t you? I’ll take you to my house in the country and have my way with you—over and over again.”
“As I’m a spinster and a maiden, I have no idea what that means, but I’m sure you’ll show me.”
“You won’t like it.”
“I’ll grit my teeth and endure it.”
“That makes me eager to start up with you.”
“You wagered over my chastity, and you’ll receive it, but no bet—no matter how large—can force me to like you.”
“I don’t want you to like me. My plan doesn’t involve liking at all.”
“Yes, you’ve been very clear. When do we leave? Saturday morning?”
He grimaced with distaste, deciding she actually knew him quite well. He hadn’t sought the stupid bargain with Farrow and had only consented because he’d been confident she’d refuse and he’d be able to evict Farrow at once.
Now though, she was practically throwing herself at him. What was he supposed to do? Catch her? Then what?
“Saturday morning.” She smiled sweetly. “I’ll be ready at ten. Will you come to fetch me, or would you like me to meet you here?”
A muscle ticked in his cheek. He’d like to shake her. He’d like to bend her over his knee and take a switch to her shapely backside. He’d like to get her alone at his country house and perpetrate every wicked, immoral deed ever devised by man.
“You’re playing with fire, Magdalena.”
“I don’t think so,” she countered. “I think—deep down—you’re a big, fat pussycat. In a quick week, I’ll have you wrapped around my little finger.”
“In your dreams.”
“In my very vivid, very optimistic dreams, where you end up giving me everything I want.”
“And what would that be?”
“I’ll let you know—when I feel like telling you.”
She spun and sashayed out, and at the last second, she tossed over her shoulder, “Saturday at ten?”
He should have told her to sod off, should have told her she was insane and he wouldn’t be bossed by a female. But he opened his mouth and the words that emerged were, “I’ll pick you up at the mission.”
“Perfect.”
“Can you ride, or will you need to be pampered by traveling in a fancy coach?”
“I grew up in the country, Mr. Scott, so yes, I ride. Probably better than you.”
With that taunt deftly hurled, she left, and he eased down into his chair, wondering what the bloody hell he’d set in motion.
CHAPTER TEN
“I can’t believe this is your life.”
“Sometimes neither can I.”
Maggie laughed with her old friend, Evangeline Etherton, who was now Evangeline Drake, Lady Run. They’d grown up together at Miss Peabody’s School for Girls, and after they’d graduated Maggie had gone home, fallen in love, and become betrothed to Gaylord.
Evangeline had stayed on at the school as a teacher, and Maggie had always assumed that’s where she’d remained. It was mind-boggling to learn that she’d wound up married to a viscount. Who could have imagined it? The story had played out like a plot you’d read in a romantic novel.
Evangeline had shown up unexpectedly, and Maggie wanted to be irked but couldn’t be. She was in a frantic state, packing her bag and calming her nerves as she watched for Michael Scott to arrive so he could whisk her away to his house in the country.
She’d told Evangeline she was leaving town on a brief trip, but hadn’t shared any true information, and to her relief Evangeline hadn’t asked. Maggie was simply planning to push Evangeline out the door before Mr. Scott appeared. There was no suitable explanation Maggie could give as to why she’d be traveling alone with him.
“When Mr. Scott advised me you were here,” Evangeline said, “I was stunned.”
“I’m so glad you crossed paths with him.”
“I wa
s twiddling my thumbs, figuring I’d arrange to have him bring me for a visit someday, but I decided I couldn’t wait. You’re not upset, are you? That I popped in without warning?”
“Absolutely not.”
“I’m still as impetuous as ever,” Evangeline said, and they laughed again.
Evangeline was a fantastically accomplished singer and musician who’d loved to flaunt her many talents, and her penchant for aggravating Miss Peabody had been legendary.
“You haven’t changed a bit,” Maggie said.
“It’s a good thing too. My husband is a stick in the mud and in desperate need of enlivening, and I’m doing my best to deliver chaos into his life.”
“He’s very lucky.”
“I wrote you several times after graduation,” Evangeline told her.
“I know. I was too embarrassed to reply.”
“I should have pestered you until I heard back. I hate that you went through all that heartache without a single ally by your side.”
“It was definitely horrid,” Maggie admitted, “but it’s in the past. I rarely think about it anymore.”
“You rarely think about it? The cad wed your sister.”
“Other than that part, I try not to dwell on it. I’d drive myself batty.”
“I’m disgustingly rich. Have I mentioned that I am? Well, my husband is, but he’s incredibly generous.”
“From the jewels you’re wearing, I suspected your fortunes had improved.”
“I’ll start donating to you. I’ll make you one of my charities.”
“I’m not too proud to say yes.”
“I should hope so. Please take advantage of me. I’m settling into my position, and it’s wonderful to be wealthy—much more fun than being poor.”
“Yes, I vividly remember that affluent period when I could simply snap my fingers and have whatever I wanted.”
“That’s my world now. I feel like a princess in a fairytale.”
Evangeline had been an orphan and charity case at school, with an anonymous benefactor paying her tuition, but she’d never had an extra farthing to buy a new dress or ribbon for her hair. Maggie had often shared or—when shopping—had purchased two of everything so she could provide one to her poverty-stricken friend.
How odd to have their roles completely reversed!
“But listen to me chattering on and on,” Evangeline said. “It’s just that I have so much to tell you, and I’m blabbing while you’re finishing your packing.”