The Rake (Boston Belles #4)(55)

“The will is iron-clad. I reread it enough times to make my eyes bleed.” I growled into my stiff drink, perched in my study, in front of the only two men I knew who could weasel themselves out of serious trouble, albeit in very different ways.

Now I had to talk to them about my family, even if I only gave them the CliffsNotes version.

“Suddenly the fact that you’ve never told us about your family makes sense.” Cillian stood in front of my floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking the scenic view of the Charles River and Boston’s skyline. “Your parents sound worse than mine.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Sam took a sip of his own drink, sitting in front of me on a designer recliner. “And what happens if the charities, say, decide to skip on the fat donations?”

“The money and estate will go to various relatives, none of whom are my immediate family. Quite frankly, every Whitehall man I’ve ever come across is either a drunk, a brute, or both.”

Not to mention, I didn’t want to be indebted to Sam Brennan in any way or form. He had yet to succeed in luring me into business with him, and I wanted to keep it that way.

“Aren’t there primogenitures about shit like that?” Sam asked. “The Crown itself should grant you the lands. Even my simpleton ass knows that.”

“Loopholes,” I explained bitterly. “I’m not an immediate royal relative, so not all rules apply to me.”

Only the ones that were to my father’s liking.

“Remind me why you’re opposed to marrying this Lilian chick?” Cillian brooded.

“Louisa,” I corrected, rolling some ciggies to keep my hands busy. “Because I won’t cower to my father’s demands, not in life and definitely not from beyond the grave. Not to mention, there’s a pre-written prenup my father had put in place to ensure that if we ever got a divorce, she would get everything.”

“Even if you concede to his demand, he’d never know,” Sam growled into his whiskey. “He is, for all intents and purposes, dead.”

“I would know.”

“Marriage takes different faces and forms.” Cillian strode from the window toward the liquor cabinet, sifting through my drinks. “You could marry her and still see other people.”

“And make her miserable?” I chuckled gravelly.

Sam shrugged. “That’s none of your business.”

“I am incapable of making someone suffer unnecessarily.” I scooped up an ice cube, rolling it absentmindedly over the rim of my glass.

“Not incapable, just reluctant,” Cillian drawled. “We’re all capable of whatever it is we need to do to survive.”

“The thing is, I don’t need to survive this. My mother and sister do.” I let the cube drop into my glass. “Would you marry someone for money?”

Sam laughed sardonically, his gray eyes gleaming wickedly. “I would’ve married someone for a piece of toast if I needed to, back in the day. But the universe provided, and I chose my bride because I wanted her, not because I needed her.”

Cillian made a face. “That’s my sister we’re talking about.”

“Don’t remind me.” Sam drained his whiskey. “The fact that Ambrose shares a genetic pool with your ass without my throwing chlorine into it still gives me hives.”

“Peculiar.” Cillian tsked. “I don’t remember you coming from generations upon generations of neurosurgeons and army pilots.”

I didn’t have to ask if Cillian was willing to marry someone he didn’t love. He did exactly that a few years ago and ended up falling for the woman.

I rubbed my knuckles along my jawline. I thought about how Emmabelle would react if I told her I was getting married and realized she would probably laugh it off and ask if she needed to wear a fancy hat for the wedding.

Don’t wait for me.

“Well, my mother does need the money direly. And Cece would like to divorce her husband and start fresh, I suspect. Plus, I want the estate to stay in my immediate family.”

“Then what’s there to think about?” Cillian plucked a brandy bottle from an impressive row and poured himself two fingers. “Marry the woman. Make an escape plan afterward.”

“It’s complicated,” I growled, thinking about the pre-written prenup.

“Dumb it down for us, Einstein,” Cillian coaxed.

“I want the inheritance, not the woman.” Actually, I wanted neither, but Mum and Cecilia needed to be provided for.

“As established, you don’t have to spoon with her for the rest of your fucking life.” Sam knocked down his drink and stood up, done with the conversation. “Just put a ring on her damn finger. Bonus points if you can knock her up so you’ll have someone to leave the inheritance to.”

“I do have someone to leave it to. My child with Emmabelle.”

Cillian threw a pitying look behind his shoulder from across the room. “Leaving a title to a bastard? Really?”

I shot up to my feet, my legs carrying me toward him before I even knew what was happening. I grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the liquor cabinet, snarling in his face.

“Call my unborn child a bastard one more time and I’ll make certain you will need all your fucking teeth replaced.”