by Joanna Shupe
“Another casino? I don’t understand.”
“He’s using you as revenge against me.”
“You think that Clay is trying to tear down Granny’s house?” She started chuckling and looked over at Clay. “That is ridiculous.”
Clay didn’t join in the laughter. Instead, he merely stood there, his body braced, ready to absorb the hit. The accusations were true. Duncan hadn’t lied. And everyone in the room, save Florence, knew it.
She’d soon realize he’d withheld this from her, that he was a monster. A selfish bastard. She’d learn that revenge mattered more to him than anything else. Even her.
It didn’t have to be this way.
Wrong. There had never been any other outcome. So he waited, his throat burning with explanations he wouldn’t give. It was too late to turn back.
And he could tell by the dawning realization on her face that he was about to lose her for good.
The room was silent. Too silent. The kind of silence where everyone else knew the end of the story and one poor fool was struggling to keep up.
Florence was the fool.
The truth was there in her father’s disappointment and disgust. In the policeman’s smug expression. In Clay’s vacant eyes.
He hadn’t even tried to defend himself.
Because he knows he can’t.
Her stomach plummeted. The surroundings mocked her, this elegant stage of seduction and romance he’d orchestrated this evening. How could a man so tender, so loving, have schemed to steal her grandmother’s home behind Florence’s back? She’d told him what that house meant to her and her future. How could he have listened to her and still proceeded with this plan?
Maybe she’d misunderstood. Maybe her father was wrong. “No,” she whispered with a violent shake of her head. “It can’t be. My grandmother’s house?”
Clay remained silent, his stony gaze locked on her father. Both men were engaged in a battle of wills—and Florence was caught in the middle.
She had to speak to Clay, alone. There had to be more to this than what her father believed. “Daddy, I’d like a moment alone with Clay.”
Her father’s expression grew hard. “Over my dead body. Get in the carriage this instant or I will carry you out of here.”
“You force her over my dead body,” Clay snapped.
“I have no problem with that outcome.” Duncan started to remove his topcoat, his brows lowered over glittering angry eyes. “Perhaps I’ll save everyone the trouble and strangle you right here with my bare hands.”
“Daddy, stop!” Florence moved between them, her back to Clay. “Five minutes. That’s all I ask.”
“I will not leave you alone with him.”
She hated to do it, but she had to point out the obvious. “I have been alone with him all night. A few more minutes won’t change anything.”
Daddy pushed the edges of his jacket back and thrust his hands on his hips. “Fine, damn it. Five minutes. But before I go, I have some choice words for you, Madden.” He leaned in, his voice as menacing as Florence had ever heard it. “Seducing my daughter was low, even for you. Hear me now. If you come within ten feet of her ever again, I will stop at nothing to bury you.”
Clay’s lip curled into a sneer. “You tried that twenty years ago, Greene. Didn’t work then and it sure as hell won’t work now.”
“I told you, that was not my fault!”
“Wait, what are you talking about?” Florence looked between them. “What happened twenty years ago?”
Silence descended for a long minute. Clay merely watched her father, his big body nearly vibrating with rage. “Why not tell her? No doubt she’ll appreciate your benevolence.”
“Stay away from her,” Daddy snarled. “And stay away from my mother’s home.”
“Too late,” Clay said with a smirk. “The plans have been filed and I expect construction to start within the month. It should become very loud and dusty on her block soon.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” Now her father smirked, his expression full of arrogance and privilege. “Five minutes, Florence. Then I’m coming in.”
Her father and Bill left, the door slamming behind them. Florence’s head spun. What had just happened here?
Clasping her hands, she faced the man who’d come to mean so much to her. “It’s true, isn’t it? You are the one destroying all the homes on my grandmother’s block so you can build a casino.”
“I never lied to you,” he ground out. “I never—”
“All you said was your revenge wasn’t physical or financial. How does that make this better? It’s my grandmother’s house, Clay.”
“It’s no less than what your father deserves.”
“Oh, I see. This is where you try to justify breaking my grandmother’s heart and sabotaging my future.”
Dark resentment roiled in the depths of his gaze. “I don’t need to justify myself. Not to you. Not to anyone.”
Her lips parted on a swift intake of breath. The callous words were like a blow, her body rocking with the impact.
Her reaction must have affected him because he dragged a hand through his hair and shifted on his feet. His tone softened. “I wasn’t using you as part of any revenge. This plan has been in motion for years.”
“How can I believe you?”
“I have never lied to you. Not once.”
“Lying by omission is still lying.”
“You knew more about this than anyone, save Jack. Regardless, everything that happened between us was honest.”
She wasn’t certain she could believe that. Before she could sort through her feelings, she had to learn what Clay and her father had been talking about. “I still don’t understand what my father did twenty years ago. Tell me what was so terrible that you needed to carry out—”
“Time’s up!” A fist pounded on the taproom door. “Come out now or I will break this door down.”
Her father. She kept her attention on Clay. “You owe me an explanation.”
“There isn’t one. If you are hoping to discover I’m the hero in this melodrama, you’ll be sorely disappointed.”
“Right now!” her father shouted. “I’m giving you ten seconds. Ten. Nine. Eight . . .”
The countdown continued. Years of experience told her that Duncan Greene never bluffed. Her father would bust the door down as soon as he finished counting. And perhaps she’d let him if she wasn’t the first woman inside the Hoffman taproom. If the place was destroyed tonight, the world would blame her. Then they’d never let another woman in, ever.
This is not done. I will have answers.
Florence started for the door. Before she turned the lock, she glanced over her shoulder at Clay. “I never asked for a hero. What I wanted was a partner.” Flicking the lock, she yanked on the knob and left.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Not so high and mighty now, are you?”
Blinking in the dim light of the streetlamps, Clay turned to the voice. Bill. Christ. He’d almost forgotten the policeman was part of this nightmare. “Is this the part where you gloat? If so, save it.”
“I told you.” Bill pushed away from the brick building and stalked toward Clay. “I said you would regret it if you took my house away from me. Ruined my marriage. You deserve everything that’s happened tonight.”
Clay struggled to keep from lunging at the other man and strangling him. “You still won’t get your house or your wife back. This did absolutely nothing to help you.”
Bill thrust his stomach out, likely to take up more space. A classic intimidation tactic Clay often employed with his shoulders.
Yet, Clay would not feel intimidated, certainly not by this man.
He stood his ground and crossed his arms over his chest. “You’ve played your only card, Bill. You’ve played it—and you lost. You have nothing over me now.”
“Except arrest and jail time.”
“My lawyers would have me released within an hour. It’s a waste
of everyone’s time.”
“This late at night, they’d have a hard time finding a judge to spring you. I’m tempted to do it, just because I can.”
“This is fucking ridiculous.” Clay was in no mood for this shit. Bill had cost him another evening with Florence, on her birthday no less. The evening had been so perfect—and now it was ruined. She’d never speak to him again.
It’s my grandmother’s house, Clay.
Spinning on his heel, he strode toward his carriage. At least he could get to the club and lose himself in the piles of work awaiting him.
“You made it too easy to find your weakness,” Bill called. “All I had to do was create a threat at the club and she came scurrying out on your arm.”
Clay drew to an immediate halt and slowly faced the assistant superintendent. “What do you mean, you created a threat at the club?”
“Your boy at the door. He never knew what hit him. You assumed there was an intruder and sent your paramour off in a carriage, protecting her from harm. That’s how I knew you were screwing her.”
The attack on Kid Johnny had been . . . Bill’s doing? Goddamn him. There hadn’t been an intruder. Bill had wanted to see if Florence was inside the casino and expose the affair.
Rage filled Clay’s veins and his muscles bulged. He lunged for Bill, intent on taking him down, and they collided and crashed onto the walk. Clay’s hands were fast and he got in two jabs to Bill’s chin before the policeman fought back.
They struggled on the hard ground. Bill got the upper hand for a split second, and he took advantage by punching Clay’s throat. Clay was stunned just long enough for Bill to roll Clay on his stomach and pin his arms.
“You assaulted me. Now I am arresting you.”
Clay tried to break free but Bill had a bruising grip on his arms, not to mention a knee in the small of his back. “I will do more than assault you when I have the chance,” he snarled. “I will—”
“Are you threatening me, as well? Because I will add that to the list of charges.”
Clay roared and tried to throw Bill off, but it was halfhearted. She was gone. Gone. He’d imagined the scene many times, but this hurt so much worse than he could have ever predicted.
Anger withering, he stilled, which earned him a punch to the kidney. His vision wavered for a long second as the pain rolled through him. When Clay could breathe again Bill had them both on their feet.
Not letting go, Bill marched Clay toward a waiting hack. “Oh, I am going to enjoy this. The notorious Clayton Madden, spending the night in the holding cells. You’ll be a bona fide celebrity.”
“You pompous prick,” Clay said, not bothering to put heat in the words. They could try to humiliate him, but this wasn’t Clay’s first arrest. Likely not his last, either. He knew how the system worked. The more noise he made, the rougher the coppers became, as they were able to justify the violence. If he stayed cool then he could send for his lawyers and get released quickly.
Though really, what was the hurry? Other than his pride, of course.
When freed, he’d return to a cold bed—a bed that would stay in that pitiful state now that Florence was gone. The Bronze House would only remind him of her mischievous smile, those laughing eyes. He’d hear her around every corner, a whisper to torment him from now until eternity. It was too depressing to contemplate.
Perhaps Bill had done him a favor. Spending the night in a cell was a hell of a lot better than trying to dodge memories of the woman he’d lost.
The ride uptown was made in terse silence.
Florence could practically feel her father’s anger as they drove home. He stared out the window, jaw tight, silent, as the homes grew larger and more spaced out, his fury rolling off him in waves. The quiet suited Florence just fine. The last thing she needed was for her father to yell at her in this enclosed space.
It gave her time to think. Her mind whirled with questions and recriminations, going round and round every bit as fast as the carriage wheels. Anger and sadness warred inside her.
Everything that happened between us was honest.
How was that possible, when he’d been holding this secret the entire time? He hadn’t deviated from his revenge, even after she’d told him what her grandmother’s house meant to her. What sort of a man does that?
One who doesn’t care a whit about you, that’s for certain.
The back of her throat burned and she feared she might cry in front of her father.
The nymph was playful and wicked, the spark of joy his lonely life had been missing.
Lies, all lies.
Before long they were pulling under the portico alongside the Greene residence. Anxious for solitude, Florence didn’t wait for the groom to open the door and set the step. She got down on her own and hurried to the entrance.
The house was quiet at this hour and she could hear her father right behind her. “Florence, a word.” He didn’t wait for a reply, merely turned and started toward his office.
Stomach sinking, she followed. Situated in the back of the house, the office was used exclusively by their father. He liked his solitude while working and was notoriously irritable when interrupted. Florence had spent the most amount of time there, however, seeing as he preferred to dole out lectures and reprimands from this male sanctuary.
Sigh.
The room was a tomb, dark and quiet, the ticker-tape machine frozen until the morning. A stream of white paper had collected on the floor, unchecked. She sat in one of the chairs facing the desk, while her father went around and lowered his muscular frame into the seat behind it. “In case I wasn’t clear earlier, you are to stay away from Clayton Madden and the Bronze House.”
She opened her mouth—and her father held up his hand. “Do not argue with me, young lady. You had no business visiting a casino in the first place, let alone getting involved with that man. Your mother would have heart failure if she knew.”
“Are you planning to tell her?”
“No. It would break her heart, which is why I am ordering you to drop this business. No more sneaking around with Madden. No visiting casinos. Are we clear?”
“What happened between you and Madden twenty years ago?”
“It’s none of your concern. Suffice it to say that I’ve found a way to thwart Madden’s plans. He won’t get his hands on your grandmother’s home.”
Well, that was a relief. “How did you manage that?”
“Those papers your grandmother gave you the other day?” When Florence nodded, her father continued. “It turns out the city wishes to build a school on that block. They will claim eminent domain on the house and the surrounding land. In fact, Mr. Crain is coming with the papers for me to sign in the morning. Madden will get nothing—and I cannot wait to see his face when I tell him.”
A school? So the house would be torn down after all? “How does that help, exactly?”
“Your grandmother has already agreed. She’ll move to Newport and live there. The house here goes to a charitable cause. Most important, Clayton Madden gets absolutely nothing.”
“But why is that—”
“Florence, allow me to worry about why that matters. Right now we are here to discuss you and your improper and reckless behavior. From here on out no more Clayton Madden. No more gambling. No more running around the city at night God knows where.”
“Daddy, no. I intend to open a casino just for women—”
“Absolutely not.” His mustache twitched the way it did when he was agitated. “No daughter of mine will engage in such a low endeavor. You could get arrested, Florence!”
“The chance of an arrest is slim. There are ways around the laws.”
“Yes, with bribes and kickbacks, methods no doubt employed by the likes of Clayton Madden to keep his business afloat. I forbid you to continue down this path. It’s bad enough that Mamie is dragging out her betrothal to Chauncey. I cannot have another daughter flagrantly disregarding my wishes.” He pointed at her. “You will do as I
say, Florence.”
“In other words, marry a childish, selfish man like Chauncey. Settle down and have kids, and oversee his household while I wither and die from living inside a gilded cage.”
A flush worked its way over his neck. “You make it sound as if those things are abhorrent. There is no shame in having a family.”
“There is when it prevents women from having choices!” Her voice rose with each word until she was shouting.
“Choices that could land you in prison!” her father shouted in return.
Frustration burned her skin. “If I were a son you would let me do whatever I wished.”
“Hardly. Being a man comes with responsibilities you cannot imagine. Being a father even more. And as long as you live under my roof—”
“Then I’ll move out.”
His mouth flattened into a thin line. “And support yourself in what manner? Do you have any idea of the challenges of living on your own?”
“I told you I plan to open a casino.”
“I will never allow that to happen, not while I am still breathing on this earth.”
“Daddy, that is not fair.”
“Fair?” He leaned in, his eyes narrowed. “Do you think it’s fair for a policeman to come to my home and tell me my daughter is sleeping with a casino owner, a known criminal? Then I learn that she has been sneaking out at night to visit his casino. Have you any idea of the fear and worry I have experienced in the past four hours? Is that fair, Florence?”
“He would never hurt me.”
“Are you carrying his child?”
She gasped, and the question would have knocked her off her feet had she not already been sitting. “No.” In fact, she’d finished bleeding just a few days ago.
“Thank Christ for that,” her father muttered. “And you can hardly act surprised that I’d ask. God knows how long this has been going on.” He dragged a hand down his face. “You’re going to put me in an early grave, Florence. I cannot understand why you thought any of this was a good idea.”
