The Prince of Broadway

by Joanna Shupe

  “Do you care?”

  No, but Florence would miss spending time with her father. Clay leaned over and rested his elbows on his knees. Jesus, this conversation hadn’t gone as expected. He almost felt . . . hopeful.

  He went with the truth. “I wouldn’t wish to come between Florence and her family. I know how much it hurts to lose loved ones.”

  Sympathy shone in eyes so much like Florence’s that he winced. “As do I. However, there comes a time when one must leave the nest. Florence has been itching to do so for the past few years—on her terms, of course. And she is close, especially since I have decided to fund her casino for women.”

  “You have?” That was monumental. Florence must have been ecstatic.

  “Yes, I have. Young women have ambition these days and I think such ambition should be rewarded. I want her to succeed.”

  “I do, as well.”

  “Do you?” She cocked her head. “Or do you just wish to feel less guilty where she is concerned?”

  “Both, actually.”

  “Well, at least you’re honest.” She put down her glass and stood.

  Clay also rose then shoved his hands in his pockets. He didn’t know what to make of this remarkable woman, a Knickerbocker matriarch who should by all rights hate his living guts. Yet, she’d been kind and had offered advice.

  It made no sense.

  In Clay’s world, violence begat violence. Evil was met with evil. Someone came at him, he hit back even harder. There was no forgiveness or charity. Kindness was a luxury he’d never been able to afford.

  But this woman was pushing him toward her granddaughter, to fight for Florence.

  While I wish it were otherwise, I cannot fault the emotion that drove you to take my home.

  When was the last time someone had given him something without wanting an even exchange? Or when a stranger had shown him the least amount of kindness?

  He felt humbled by her generosity, a gift he certainly didn’t deserve. Closing the distance between them, he held out his hand. “Mrs. Greene, it has been a pleasure.”

  She placed her hand in his, the bones thin but sturdy. “I do hope I’ve given you a thing or two to ponder over.”

  “You’ve given me much more than that.” Stepping back, he bowed. “Good afternoon, madam.”

  The Greene household was in absolute chaos.

  Florence’s older sister, Mamie, had just created the scandal of the year by refusing to marry her intended and taking up with their father’s attorney instead. A man, incidentally, with a hidden past. Turned out Frank Tripp had been lying to Mamie the whole time.

  Florence could certainly relate. It seemed both sisters had fallen in love with scoundrels.

  Men were the worst.

  Throwing open Justine’s door, Florence strode inside without knocking. Her younger sister was sitting on the bed. Florence pointed to the mess of yarn on the coverlet. “What are you doing?”

  “Knitting.”

  “Yes, I see that. But why?”

  “I’m attempting to make a baby blanket for one of the mothers downtown.” She shrugged. “It’s the least I can do while I’m inside, doing nothing.”

  “May I help?” Anything would be better than sitting around thinking. That only led to sadness and pain. Honestly, Florence didn’t think she had more tears left inside her at this point.

  “Of course. Come here and hold the yarn for me.”

  Florence sat on the bed, took the ball of yellow yarn and unwound some string. Justine continued knitting, the needles clacking furiously.

  “You’re quite good at that.”

  “Thank you,” Justine said. “It’s easy once you get the hang of it. Would you like me to teach you?”

  Not a chance. Mending, sewing and knitting were for other women, not her. Now that her grandmother had agreed to finance her casino for ladies, Florence would be knee-deep in ledgers, chips and dice. “Maybe some other time.”

  “Liar.” Justine’s mouth hitched in amusement. “You’re humoring me, but I appreciate it. Are you still feeling glum?”

  “I’m fine. Though it’s funny how Mamie and I both were recently duped by men, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t find it funny in the least. I hate that you’re both hurting. Most important, you mustn’t think you did something to deserve this.”

  Of course she had. She’d trusted the wrong man. “Let’s see, there was Chauncey’s attack on Mamie, combined with Frank’s secret history, and Clay’s swindle of Granny’s home. I have concluded that all men are awful.”

  “Now, Florence.” Justine never looked up from her knitting. “You know that’s not true. There are good men out there and someday you’ll find one.”

  “No, thank you.” There was only one man she wanted . . . but he’d broken her heart. “Mamie and I have sworn off men forever.”

  “That’s a silly thing to do. Especially when I foresee both gentlemen trying to win the two of you back.”

  Florence barely suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. “Justine, you aren’t able to see into the future.”

  “No, but I do know people. You’ll see. No man in his right mind would give up on either of my sisters.”

  At only nineteen, Justine was wise beyond her years. However, this prediction was too optimistic for Florence’s tastes. She had no intention of ever forgiving Clay, even if he did try to win her back. “A waste of time in Clay’s case. Besides, Granny has agreed to finance my casino and I’ll be too busy for romantic endeavors.”

  “Have you told Daddy?”

  “No. With everything else happening I haven’t had a chance. Not that it matters. He believes the casino is a mistake, so he’ll disapprove and lecture me about status and reputation again.”

  “That won’t stop you.”

  “Indeed, it won’t.”

  “This past week has certainly tested his beliefs of what’s right for his daughters. I’ve never seen Daddy so upset. I think it’s fair to say that he has no idea what any of us wants at this point.”

  “And what do you want, Tina?”

  “To save the world, of course.” She lifted a shoulder. “A husband and children, too, I suppose. Though later. I’m in no rush.”

  The needles clicked softly in a hypnotic rhythm. Florence fed the yarn and watched as the rows of the blanket took shape. It was relaxing, though she’d go batty if she had to do this every day.

  “Would you take him back, if it could all be undone?”

  Florence grimaced at her sister’s question. It was a foolish conundrum, not worth even contemplating. “He wouldn’t undo it so the exercise is pointless.”

  “It’s not pointless. You can’t see the future or what’s in Clay’s mind. Could you forgive him?”

  “Please do not start lecturing me on the power of forgiveness. I swear, I will stab myself with one of those knitting needles first. Furthermore, he doesn’t deserve forgiveness.”

  “No, not at the moment. But your anger will fade in the face of his apologies. Are you ready to live the rest of your life without him?”

  The back of Florence’s throat burned as her lungs seized. The idea of a future without Clay made her want to lie down and weep, but she’d done enough of that already. This past week her moods ranged from angry and hurt to sad and embarrassed. She was done with all these feelings. It was time to get her future under way.

  The door opened. Her mother appeared in the doorway, her eyes alight with a wildness Florence hadn’t seen before. “Florence, you must come downstairs to your father’s office.”

  Florence’s stomach clenched, dread gathering in her chest. She couldn’t handle a lecture at the moment. Sitting here with Justine, listening to the needles move, was soothing and mind-numbing. Her father would only yell at her. “Must it be now?”

  Mama’s expression remained unchanged. “Now, Florence. Right now.”

  “Why?”

  “Please stop asking questions and come with me.”

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nbsp; Resigned, she put the yarn in the basket and shoved off the mattress. She followed her mother through the corridor and down the steps. She’d never seen Mama move so quickly. What was going on? “Is it Mamie? Is everything all right?”

  “No, this has nothing to do with Mamie.”

  That meant this probably had to do with her. Florence bit her lip and tried to remember that her family loved her, even if they didn’t understand her. At least, that’s what Granny always said.

  Her mother pushed open the door to the office and sailed inside. Swallowing hard, Florence followed. You can endure another lecture. Soon you’ll move out to run your own casino. Don’t let them—

  She came to an abrupt halt. In a chair across from her father’s desk sat Clay.

  Here. In her family home.

  What in God’s name was he doing here?

  Her gaze flicked from Clay to her father. Daddy’s expression was decidedly dark, his mouth pinched as if he’d sucked on a lemon. The air in the office was thick with resentment and disapproval.

  She made no effort to draw closer. “I don’t understand. What is happening?”

  “Florence, come sit.” Daddy gestured to the chair next to Clay. “Mr. Madden has something he wishes to tell us.”

  Her feet started for the other side of the room, though her brain was stuck on the fact that Clay was here. The set of his wide shoulders draped in black cloth was familiar, yet she only felt pain and anger at the sight.

  After she’d lowered herself into the chair her father said, “There, Madden. She’s here. Now, let’s get this over with.”

  Clay didn’t look at her. He kept his gaze trained on her father, his expression unreadable. She couldn’t guess as to what he was thinking or what this was about. “I am not one to prevaricate, so I’ll come right to the point. I have decided to return the deed for the Seventy-Ninth Street property to your mother.”

  Florence’s jaw fell open but her father gave no outward reaction at all. He merely stared at his adversary over the width of the walnut desk, the rise and the fall of his chest his only movement. “I don’t believe you,” he finally said.

  “It hardly matters if you do or don’t.” Clay lifted a thick shoulder. “I’ve already returned the deed to your mother along with my apologies.”

  He had? A tiny part of Florence’s heart rejoiced at this news. But nothing could undo the fact that he’d stolen her grandmother’s home in the first place. He’d still lied to her. Returning the house didn’t undo any of that.

  “And what is the catch?” her father asked.

  “There is none,” Clay said. “I am righting a wrong. I shouldn’t have taken it.”

  She frowned. He was doing this out of the goodness of his heart?

  Understand that my motives are never pure. I’m as selfish as they come.

  Those had been his words on the night they met. There had to be something he hoped to gain by giving up his revenge and returning the house. “Why?” she whispered.

  Clay shifted and his eyes met hers for the first time since she’d walked in. “Because I hurt you.”

  Ah. He hoped to gain her.

  Especially when I foresee both gentlemen trying to win the two of you back.

  How had Justine known? Florence’s chest fluttered yet she smothered the silly emotion. “While I appreciate the gesture, it is in vain. Still, you owe me answers and I mean to have them.”

  The edges of Clay’s mouth lifted slightly. “Duncan, I’d like a few moments alone with your daughter.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  The words were said with such finality that Florence knew her father wouldn’t change his mind. Still, she had to try. “Daddy, please. I want to put this all behind me, and the only way to do so is to get answers.”

  “Florence, let me do my best to protect you. His answers do not matter. This is not the man for you.”

  “Just like how Chauncey was the man for Mamie?” He winced but she didn’t apologize for it. She hated to bring up her sister’s situation but their father had been wrong in pushing Mamie to marry Chauncey, who’d turned out to be a masher of the worst sort.

  “Florence,” Mama said, a hint of censure in her voice. “That was unnecessary.”

  “I disagree,” she argued. “You need to let us make our own choices, even if you and Daddy don’t agree with them. Things are different now. It’s not like when you were young.”

  “It’s not that different,” her father said. “We also had criminals looking to seduce innocent young ladies.”

  “Oh, Duncan,” Mama said. “In case you haven’t noticed, he’s already seduced her. And, if you don’t let her speak to him now she’ll merely sneak out to see him later. Wouldn’t you rather have her here than out on the streets after dark?”

  Mama and Daddy exchanged a long look. They seemed to communicate without words, a lengthy conversation only the two of them understood. Finally, her father sighed. “Fine. But I’m leaving the door open and I won’t be far.”

  Her parents departed and Florence was alone with Clay. She smoothed her skirts, focusing on the fabric instead of the man next to her.

  “I am sorry.”

  Her breath caught. An apology from Clay? This was also unexpected. She shoved down the sentiment and tenderness and focused on her anger. “I meant what I said. Whatever you are attempting won’t work.”

  “And what do you think I am attempting?”

  “You think by returning my grandmother’s house that I will forgive you.”

  “Are you saying you won’t?”

  “Returning the deed does not negate the fact that you stole it in the first place.”

  “True, but I cannot undo the past. I am trying to make amends. For you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I care about you. Because . . . I miss you.”

  His eyes were steadfast and clear, twin pools of deep chestnut that held no artifice, and the words tumbled down into her soul like pebbles, tiny ripples of joy echoing throughout her entire body. This was more than she’d dared to hope. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined he would give up his revenge for her, that he would come to their house declaring his feelings.

  Yet, it wasn’t enough.

  “Why didn’t you tell me what happened twenty years ago between you and my father?”

  “I didn’t want you to know. If I had confessed what he’d done, you would have tried to intercede. Talk me out of my plans.”

  “So you lied instead. I had to eavesdrop in your office to learn the truth.”

  He stood and began pacing, his leather shoes thumping heavily on the carpet with each step. “I never lied. I was not forthcoming, but I never lied.”

  “We are back to this, I see.” She sighed and pushed up out of her chair. “This is a waste of time. The little bits and pieces of you that I get aren’t enough. I want someone who trusts me with the truth, who doesn’t hide his motives. I want someone who didn’t try to steal my grandmother’s house.”

  “You won’t ever forgive me, will you?”

  Despair filled her chest, her heart rendered into jagged pieces that could not be mended. The damage he’d inflicted was forever. There was no changing what had happened.

  There was only the ash and rubble of what might have been.

  She took a deep breath and struggled to maintain her composure. She would not show him the depth of her hurt. “You think to apologize and have it all go away, but you’re stuck in the past. You cared more about a twenty-year-old grievance than you did about me. About us. I need someone who will put me first. I cannot forgive what’s happened, Clay. I cannot.”

  His shoulders slumped ever so slightly but his eyes didn’t change, almost as if he expected this result. “I see.” He blew out a long breath. “I suppose that’s it, then.”

  “I suppose so.” God, why did this hurt so badly? She hadn’t even known this man long, yet he’d come to mean everything to her. She bit her lip and fought back the tears.<
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  Before she could move or speak, he came closer, and his nearness caused her muscles to lock, the air to become trapped in her lungs. What was he doing?

  He leaned in and she closed her eyes, willing herself not to melt into his solid frame. His lips brushed the top of her head with a gentle kiss. “I’d give everything I own to start all over with you,” he said quietly. “Goodbye, Florence.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Clay lurked in the shadows of the balcony and watched the evening’s revelry. It used to bring him such joy, such satisfaction, to see his dominion full of patrons spending their money on games they’d never win.

  Nothing brought him joy anymore.

  It had been almost a week since he’d returned Mrs. Greene’s deed and gone to see Florence. She’d appeared haunted and sad, such a contrast to the brave and audacious woman he’d met all those nights ago.

  You did that to her. You made her miserable.

  All for what? Revenge for something that happened when he was just a kid. He’d ruined his future because he’d been stuck in the past. Exactly as Florence had said.

  He was an idiot many times over. The woman he wanted, his perfect match, had been in front of him the entire time . . . yet, he’d been too blinded by his own hurt to realize it. Too focused on Duncan Greene and an eye for an eye. Now he’d lost her.

  I need someone who will put me first.

  He flinched at the words. Yet, he didn’t back away from the pain. He deserved this perpetual awful ache inside him. Deserved to see her ghost around every corner. Deserved to lie awake in bed for hours, replaying every moment with her, missing her touch with a feverish insanity.

  He deserved the misery.

  Perhaps he should move. Go to Philadelphia to be with his mother. Nothing kept him here in New York City, not now. Jack could run the club and Clay could start over in a place that didn’t constantly remind him of Florence Greene.

  A man down below started cheering loudly, collecting his winnings, and Clay’s lip curled in disgust. He hated all of them, these swells too stupid to calculate odds. The house always wins in the end, he wanted to rail at them.