The Wedding Pact (The O'Malleys #2) (4 page)

Yeah, there was a confrontation coming for sure. Thank Christ it wasn’t coming tonight.

*  *  *

Carrigan woke up to knocking on her door. She blinked at the clock and mentally cursed. Seven a.m. Everyone in the family knew that it was running the risk of death to wake her up before eight, but the knocking hadn’t abated. She cursed again—this time aloud—and struggled out of bed. It took her a few minutes to find a nightgown to drag on, but she wasn’t about to answer the knock while naked. Good thing, too. Liam stood on the other side of her door, his face carefully blank as he stared at some point over her shoulder. “Your father requests your presence.”

It wasn’t a request and they both knew it. But it also wasn’t Liam’s fault that Seamus O’Malley liked to haul his children before him at the most inconvenient time. She smoothed her hair back. “I don’t suppose I have time to get ready?” He might be her father, but she didn’t like having these talks without her full armor in place. Ten minutes after waking up meant there was no chance of that…something her father had no doubt considered when he sent his favorite muscle up here to wake her.

As she expected, Liam shook his head. “He said immediately.”

Naturally. She glanced down at her long nightgown. It was white and vaguely Victorian and looked like something a virgin out of a historical novel would wear. It would have to do. “Then let’s not keep him waiting.” She closed her bedroom door behind her, but Liam didn’t move out of the way. “What?”

“You went out last night.”

She looked around quickly to make sure no one was within hearing range. “I went to church.”

The look he sent her told her exactly what he thought of the lie. “Someone is supposed to be with you when you leave the house.”

“It’s not my fault the other men can’t keep up.” Liam alone was the one who allowed her to have her occasional excursion. Any of the other men would report it to her father and put a quick end to her tiny bit of freedom. She patted him on the shoulder and hurried around him, wanting to escape this conversation even more than she wanted to avoid the one waiting for her downstairs. “The study?”

“Yes.”

She could feel his disapproval at her back as she made her way down the staircase and through the halls to the study. Though her father sometimes held meetings in the library, his study was his preferred place of business. She hadn’t had any illusions about what kind of meeting this was, but the location he chose only confirmed that this was business. She closed the door softly behind her and wished she’d taken a few minutes to throw on something other that this goddamn nightgown. “Father.”

“Carrigan.” He sat behind his desk, and the sheer size of it should have made him look diminished. It didn’t. He looked like a king in perfect control of his kingdom—the kind of man who could order someone’s head removed without blinking. He showed as little emotion now as his gaze coasted over her, taking her measure just like he always did when they spoke.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that he catalogued every new sign of age, every line or less-than-youthful blemish. She was twenty-eight—hardly an old maid—but he never failed to make her feel like she had one foot in the grave. All without saying a single word. She kept her spine straight and her shoulders back, refusing to flinch away from the criticism she saw in his dark eyes.

“We missed you at dinner last night.” He glanced at the papers scattering his desk. “Both of your sisters managed to grace us with their presence after your months in the country.”

Their exile. Four long months spent in the Connecticut house, theoretically out of danger, while the men in the family took care of the remaining threats. It had never occurred to them to ask her what she thought of the situation, because her opinions and feelings didn’t really matter as long as she was obedient. Carrigan swallowed down the old anger. Losing her cool would just reinforce her father’s belief that she was too emotional to be trusted. There was no winning with him, but she wasn’t going to make things harder on herself. She clasped her hands in front of her. “I was at Our Lady of Victories. It’d been too long.”

“I see.” He hadn’t moved, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was larger. More dangerous. His cold dark eyes watched her so closely, she straightened on instinct, her heart beating harder in her chest.
He doesn’t know. He can’t possibly know.
He didn’t move, but suddenly the room seemed a whole hell of a lot smaller. “Have you given any more thought to your decision?”

Here it was. She knew all the right answers to get him to hold off, but going through this song and dance was exhausting. “I’ve been praying.”

There was no hint of his thoughts on his face. The only warning she got was a slight lifting of his brows. “I grow tired of this game, Carrigan. Your age is becoming an issue, a fact both you and your suitors are well aware of.”

Suitors
. Such an old-fashioned word, with more than a hint of romance if a person didn’t know better. Carrigan knew better.

Her father continued, “You’re not going to take your vows, and we both know it. Which means it’s time for you to pick a husband. The list of interested men has been steadily decreasing for the last year, and it’s time to stop toying with them. You have until your birthday to make a decision, or I’ll make it for you.”

Her birthday. December twenty-third. A little less than a month from now.

Her lungs turned to lead in her chest, each breath a searing agony that did nothing to clear the frantic buzzing of her mind.
A blink of time and then it’d all be over.
She’d known it was coming, but some small secret part of her had hoped they’d never have this conversation.

He was obviously waiting for a response, so she forced a small smile. “Of course, Father.” She kept her voice perfectly bland, giving no indication to the panic rising inside her with each tortured inhale. She wasn’t sure she ever wanted to get married, let alone to someone her father approved of. It had worked out for Teague, but that was a one-in-a-million chance. She wouldn’t be so lucky.

“I’m glad you’re being reasonable about this.” He lifted a paper and motioned for her to take it.

Meaning he was glad she was doing exactly what was expected of her. Carrigan took the paper with shaking hands. It was far harder than it should have been to smile at her father as if she didn’t want to be as far from him as the earth would allow.

“Here are the candidates who are left. Choose wisely.”

She managed to push to her feet and leave the study without breaking down or showing the slightest flicker of emotion, but as soon as her bedroom door closed behind her, she slumped to the ground and dropped her head into her hands.

All the fighting and scheming, and for what? It was over. Tears threatened, but she pushed them back. Crying wasn’t going to do a damn thing for her. It was what weak women did in the hopes of manipulating the men around them. Tears didn’t work on her father. They never had.

She raised her head, resolve settling in her, loosening the band around her lungs. She had to pack an entire life’s worth of living into a month. There was no other option. And it had to be
good
.

Those memories were going to have to sustain her for the rest of her life.

Chapter Three

C
arrigan sat in the library, trying to recapture the feeling of peace she’d once been able to have here. It was no use. Everywhere she looked, she saw evidence of her father and a reminder of her deadline ticking down. He’d given her a
list
of eligible men—a list that was apparently smaller than it had been a year ago. Like it was a shopping list that she just had to go down and choose one to spend the rest of her life with—to put her safety and future in the hands of. It made her sick.

She ran her hand over the soft fabric of the couch. Once upon a time, this place was her sanctuary. She used to lie here and stare at the ceiling and dream about what she wanted to do when she grew up. Back then, it had ranged from a lawyer to a fashion designer to—she snorted to think about it—a marine biologist. And now? What would she do if she hadn’t been born a daughter in the O’Malley family?

She traced the pattern with a single finger. It was tempting—far too tempting—to indulge in the fantasy. Here, in this room, she could almost believe being a publicist was actually an option. It was a career that she could have used to the benefit of her family, if only her father would see her as something more than a set of ovaries.

With a bachelor’s degree in communications and journalism, she easily could have let the O’Malleys slip into the spotlight a little—just enough to entice the media and everyone who watched it. They could manipulate public opinion and gain more power and influence as a result.

But her father wouldn’t even discuss it with her. As far as he was concerned, she had her place, and it was her duty as a daughter to stay in it.

The door opened and she tensed, ready to smile and make some excuse to leave. Company wasn’t high on her list of things she wanted at the moment—hell, it wasn’t on the list at all. But when Teague appeared in the doorway, she had to bite her lip to keep from throwing herself at him. She held herself perfectly still, but sheer relief at the sight of him made her giddy. Even though she knew he couldn’t actually do anything to help her, his presence was a comfort she didn’t know she needed until he was here in the room with her. “Teague.”

“Hey.” He closed the door behind him and crossed to sit next to her. “How was Connecticut?”

“It’s good to be back.” Even if it meant that she didn’t have a choice anymore about the direction her life was going.

His dark eyes, so similar to their father’s, searched her face. “Is it?”

Words and worries and fears welled up inside her, desperate to be put to voice. She couldn’t, though. If she started talking, it would be too slippery a slope into something as dangerous as tears. Carrigan refused to cry.
Refused
. “You know how this goes. Choice doesn’t come into it.”

His mouth tightened. “Carrigan—”

If she let him, he’d offer her a shoulder to lean on…and she’d never be able to stand on her own. Teague had always been too willing to act as shield to her and their sisters. It was a crying shame that he couldn’t shield her from her inevitable future. “How was the honeymoon?” As soon as her brother had been released from the hospital, he and Callie disappeared for a few weeks to somewhere in the Caribbean.

“We’re not talking about me.” He gave her a half smile. “But it was wonderful.”

“Good.” Even if her life was falling apart around her, at least one of her siblings was genuinely happy. She leaned back. “Did you come to offer me congratulations? Father has me set to be engaged before the end of the year.”

His expression grew thunderous. “That’s less than a month.”

“Well, you know I’m twenty-eight. My value is only diminishing with time. And let’s not even talk about my eggs.” The flippant comment struck something deep inside her. She wasn’t sure she even
wanted
children, but if she ever decided that she did, she didn’t want to bring them into a world where their sole purpose was to be pawns in a game not of their choosing.

Like she was.

Like all her siblings were.

Teague sighed and put his arm around her shoulders. “Say the word and we’ll fight him over it. We’ll get you and the girls out of here.”
We
being he and his new wife, Callie. “You can be free. Make your own choices. This isn’t all there is to life.
He
isn’t God, no matter what our father likes to think.”

The worst part was Carrigan knew he meant it. He’d ship her and the others off and willingly take the heat. And, good lord, there’d be heat. Their father wouldn’t take the loss of prime marriage material lying down. He might be pleased that Teague consented to marry the Sheridan heir—even if no one was happy that they snuck off to the courthouse without telling anyone—but that wouldn’t mean he’d so much as pause before he razed them and their territory to the ground for crossing him.

She couldn’t let him take the risk. Not for her.

“You know what happens if you do that, Teague. You and Callie end up dead, and he hunts us down, drags us back, and then I marry some man on his list anyway.”

His smile was bitter. “You don’t have much faith in me.”

“I have all the faith in the world in you. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you take the fall for me. I make my own choices.” Between death by marriage and death by convent. Not much of a choice when she looked at it like that—especially since it looked like her father was no longer willing to consider the convent as a choice—but she wasn’t about to let someone else fight for her.

Not when she knew they’d lose.

She’d already lost too much to power games and war. They all had. She wasn’t willing to lose anyone else. “Promise me, Teague. Promise that you won’t do anything to piss him off.”

“Carrigan…” Teague sighed. “What can I do? If I can’t get you out of here, and I can’t save you from this, what the fuck can I do?”