Page 3 of Felicity Cabot Sells Her Soul (Scandalous Sisters #3)

Felicity’s palm itched to slap the smirk straight off of Ian’s face.

He didn’t even bother to conceal his satisfaction.

But then, he had not even pretended he had been surprised that she had come.

Probably he had known, all this time, precisely what Nellie owed.

Precisely when her life as she had known it would end.

If he had not, exactly, hung that Sword of Damocles over her head himself, then at the very least he had not warned her of it.

Cunning and ruthless to the last, he had simply…

let it fall. It balanced now upon the tip of his finger, mere inches above her neck.

It seemed impossible now, in the face of that flagrantly victorious expression, to consider that she had once loved him.

So little remained of the boy she had adored within the man that sat behind that massive mahogany desk.

He hadn’t even bothered to rise from his chair when she had entered the room, as any gentleman would for a lady.

Determined to send a silent message that every bit of power was firmly within his grasp.

Casually, he reached for a drawer, and the sound of it sliding open frayed her threadbare nerves.

A leather folio slapped upon the desk, which he opened and oriented toward her to reveal a tidy stack of papers.

He slid a pen and inkwell across the desk and flipped through the pages contained within the folio.

“Sign here,” he said, tapping at the bottom of a page.

The very existence of these documents was another affront.

That they had been prepared for her signature already, no doubt well in advance of her visit.

Her humiliating defeat, written out well before she had known to expect it.

Her fingers twitched. “What am I signing?” “Does it matter?” Felicity swallowed the strangled sound that caught in her throat.

“It’s never wise to place one’s mark upon a document without having read it.

” “But does it matter?” he asked again. “You’ve come here to ask me for money.

Would you have, if you had any other choice?

” A tense silence stretched out between them as she seethed.

“You always want what you can’t have, don’t you, Ian?

You always have to win .” “I have grown rather accustomed to it, yes,” he said.

“So I’ll ask you again. Does it matter what is in this document?

You’re going to sign it anyway. Because if you do not…

” If she didn’t, her life and livelihood would crumble, and Nellie—Nellie would go to prison.

A debt so large could not easily be satisfied, and Nellie was entering the twilight of her life.

She wouldn’t survive Marshalsea. He was right, however loath she was to admit to it.

It didn’t matter what was in the document he’d placed before her.

She picked up the pen. “I hate you for this,” she hissed as she dipped the nib into the inkwell and scrawled her name upon the paper.

“I could have simply sent you on your way,” Ian said smoothly, as if entirely unbothered by her enmity.

“I should think that the fact that I did not is deserving of some amount of respect.” “It isn’t.

” She laid the pen down and thrust out her hand.

“The money.” Ian chuckled. “I don’t keep such a sum on my person.

” “A bank draft will do.” “I’m not giving you that, either.

When I invest my money, I do so with care.

Your friend’s debts will be paid as promised.

I’ll see to it myself tomorrow morning.” He closed the folio once again, sliding it further toward her.

“Take this with you. You may read it at your leisure this evening.” “I thought it didn’t matter.

” “It doesn’t. You’ve already put your mark to it.

But my expectations are outlined within, and I will expect you to know them.

” Her chin notched up. “Perhaps I’ll simply burn it if I object to it.

” “Perhaps your friend will spend the remainder of her life in Marshalsea and the doors of your precious school will close forever.” With a sour sound, Felicity snatched up the folio, infuriated all over again.

“I agree to nothing until Nellie’s debts are paid.

” “I thought as much, which is why you are permitted to leave this evening.” “Permitted!” she choked.

“ Permitted !” “And I will expect you back here no later than ten in the morning.” “I couldn’t possibly.

The school—” “Has but two pupils in residence. Surely there is someone to mind them for a few hours. There are no lessons over the holiday, are there?” “No, but—” “No later than ten, then.” As if to convey that he considered any further discussion closed, he turned his attention back to an abandoned stack of documents that had been shoved to the corner of his massive desk.

“I can’t stay through the night. Ever,” Felicity ground out between the clench of her teeth.

“You can,” Ian said blandly, though he didn’t bother to look up at her.

“And you will.” “I can’t .” It was dangerous enough for her to have agreed to this Faustian bargain.

Dangerous for the school. She might have agreed to make herself his mistress, but if she should ever be caught leaving his home—she would be ruined.

The school would be ruined. Everything she had worked for would go up in a puff of smoke.

Discretion was beyond critical. “I can allow for an hour at a time at most.” “Felicity.” He looked up at last, and there was a glacial frost to his dark eyes, hard and uncompromising.

“You will sleep in my bed, each and every night. It’s not negotiable.

I suggest you make your peace with it, and enjoy this last night as much as you are able.

” His gaze flicked to the clock. “It’s nearly one already.

You’ve precious few hours left before ten.

” “Why ten?” Her fingers curled around the folio in her hands, digging crescents into the buffed leather surface.

“I had thought after nightfall—” “Weddings are conducted in the morning, between the hours of eight and noon. I have some business to attend to prior to ten.” Felicity recoiled on instinct.

“Weddings!” “Yes, of course there will be a wedding,” he sighed in exasperation.

“If I had been interested in ruining your reputation, I might have done that years ago.” “Why didn’t you?

” she asked, as her heart tripped through its paces in her chest. A few whispers into the right ears of what they had once been to one another, and she would have been made suddenly scandalous.

“Why didn’t you, then?” “Because I doubt it would have yielded me the outcome I desired.” A cant of his head.

“What, you would rather have been my mistress?” Yes.

Yes, she would. Being his temporary mistress would be infinitely more desirable than being his wife.

A position which would be hers until one of them died.

Preferably him. “I can’t—” Her breath backed up into her throat, her voice emerging on what little she could manage to wheeze out.

“I can’t.” “That is my price. And you’ve already agreed.

” And all it would cost her was her freedom.

Her hand. Her name. If she came here tomorrow at ten, she would shortly find herself a different person altogether.

Not Felicity Cabot, nor even Felicity Nightingale, but instead Felicity Carlisle.

Her tattered self-control fractured beneath the pressure of it all.

“I thought…a temporary arrangement. For the—the duration of the Christmas holiday.” “I know what you thought.” The words emerged surlier than she would have expected, as if he had taken offense to the suggestion.

“I have no interest in bedding an unwilling woman.” “But you will marry one.” “Yes.” He seemed to think this a sufficient response.

He grabbed for the pen she had abandoned, dibbed the nib in the inkwell, scratched through a line on the page before him, and scribbled a correction beneath it.

“You won’t always be unwilling,” he said.

“I will be.” How could he possibly think otherwise?

He’d said it himself—she would never have come to him had she had any other option.

“I won’t sleep with you. Not ever.” “I’m not yet four and thirty.

You’re—what, one and thirty? I expect we’ll have many years of marriage ahead of us.

Plenty of time for minds to change. And ever is a long damned time.

When I do bed you, you will be willing. But until then, you will sleep in my bed.

” He lifted his head once more. “Beginning tomorrow.” Her heart thudded in her chest. “It’s just twelve hundred pounds.

That’s nothing to you.” “But it’s everything to you, isn’t it?

It’s your life, your livelihood—your friend’s future.

Twelve hundred pounds to keep your friend out of prison and to save your school.

I could have asked so much more of you than only this.

” Only this. Only the rest of her life. Her mouth opened, searching desperately for the words that would move him to pity.

He bent his head back to his documents, unimpressed.

Perhaps even irritated. “Go home,” he said curtly.

“There are precious few hours left before dawn.” She spun to face the door, her heart burning with fury.

It was not a new feeling; merely a fresh log cast upon a fire that had blazed for a decade.

“Felicity,” he called before she reached it, and she turned in the faint hope that he might have reconsidered.

Instead his dark eyes raked her grey coat, the black skirt of her dress revealed beneath.

A mocking smile curled his lip. “Wear something pretty tomorrow,” he said.