Patrick's Charm (The Bride Train, #2) by E.E. Burke Read Free Book Online Page B

Something you didn’t tell me.” Mr. O’Shea’s tone wasn’t scolding, but she sensed his disappointment nonetheless.
    “The paper I signed? That doesn’t mean I’m their slave. They can’t force me to marry.”
    He frowned at her response. “No one can force you to do anything you don’t want to.”
    Want had nothing to do with it. She longed to find someone to love and to be loved in return. Except, marriage required her to give up control. Having been at the mercy of a man who wasn’t her husband was bad enough. Married, she would have no way out. If she tried to explain her feelings to Mr. O’Shea, he would laugh at her, or think she was crazy.
    “Mr. Hardt is worried about losing money. I’ll make restitution from my earnings.”
    Her employer braced his hand on the bar. Despite his bravado, he still showed signs of being shaky. “I’ll cover whatever you owe.”
    Oh no, she would not be obligated. That was just another snare. “You don’t have to pay my debts.”
    “Less trouble for both of us if it’s done and out of the way. If it makes you feel better, I’ll take a little out of your pay each week ‘til we’re even.”
    He was being generous, which in her experience made him suspect. People didn’t extend favors without wanting one in return. He had a point, though. If Mr. Hardt’s financial concerns were satisfied, the agent would be less likely to make trouble for her.
    “I’ll consider your offer.” She gestured to a table, having the perfect excuse to get him to a chair. “If you’re ready to negotiate our agreement, why don’t we sit down? You can pour us each a drink. I’ll take a brandy.”
    His eyebrows arched. He would be even more surprised if she asked for a cigar. Something she had tried and not found to her liking. To her relief, he didn’t rebuke her. Instead, he took down a bottle and poured her a drink.
    As an actress, she had long been exiled from proper society, which held that men could enjoy whiskey and cigars, while women were allowed only medicinal tonics for female complaints. Ironically, the ingredients in tonics were fermented in alcohol or liberally laced with opium. She avoided them, having seen too many of her friends become dependent on daily doses, and their health seemed to grow worse, not better.
    Mr. O’Shea followed her to a nearby table. He pulled out her chair, set the drink in front of her and then sank heavily into the chair opposite. His stiff movements indicated he still suffered from whatever ailment had debilitated him earlier. The “wee pain” must be why he limped, and today the limp appeared worse. No wonder he turned to whiskey.
    “You aren’t having anything?” she asked.
    “I’ve had all I need.”
    She couldn’t remember a time her father had refused whiskey. Perhaps her employer didn’t overindulge because he’d observed the ill effects, or didn’t wish to drink away his profit.
    The strong scent of apples teased her nose. This didn’t smell like her favorite brandy. After her last show in Chicago, one of the gentlemen in the audience had sent her a bottle of Hennessy Cognac. She released a wistful sigh. There could be no returning to that life. Not right away.
    “Would you happen to have French Cognac?”
    “Not at the moment. I’ll be sure to find some, now that I know your preferences.” Mr. O’Shea’s firm lips twitched into a half-smile. She wished to see his face without all that facial hair, but mentioning it would imply she found him fascinating.
    “Merci,” she murmured, smiling as she took a sip. The brandy turned into liquid fire in her mouth, so strong she could hardly swallow it. She set the glass down, took a breath and blew it out. “Stronger than I’m used to...”
    “You might prefer wine.” His expression remained bland, although she spotted a mischievous gleam in his eyes.
    “Perhaps later.” She didn’t wish to be the only one drinking. That would put her at a disadvantage when