by Joanna Shupe
Whereas you have risked your career to help her friend.
Whereas you took liberties on a billiards table and cannot get the taste of her out of your mind.
Whereas you would do anything she asked, anything at all, just to see her smile.
Damn it all.
“You do know young women,” Duncan muttered as if trying to convince himself. “All right, I’ll back off. For now. However, if I notice any behavior that’s out of the ordinary for her, I’ll be signing this agreement in her stead. Chauncey will just have to live with it.”
“Noted.”
They both stood and Frank blew out a silent breath of relief. Somehow he’d avoided disaster today. He collected the copies of the unsigned marriage agreements and placed them in his satchel, trying not to think on what this all meant. “Shall I let the Livingstons know of the delay?”
Duncan grimaced behind his prodigious facial hair. “No, best for me to handle that. I’m supposed to see the eldest Livingston tonight anyway.”
“Excellent. Enjoy the rest of your day, then.” He lifted his satchel and prepared to leave.
“Frank, one more thing.” Duncan put his hands on his hips. “My daughter will marry Chauncey Livingston, even if I have to pull her down the aisle kicking and screaming to do it.”
Did Duncan still suspect Frank had designs on Mamie? Apparently Frank hadn’t been as convincing as he’d hoped.
He dipped his chin and forced out, “Of course. I’ll do everything in my power to ensure the marriage happens.”
“See that you do.”
Night had long fallen when Mamie tiptoed out of her bedroom and along the corridor. She and her sisters always snuck out via the servants’ stairs, as they were far from her parents’ bedroom and unused at this hour. Through the kitchens, out the rear, around the side of the house and . . . freedom.
When she was halfway down the stairs, noise sounded behind her. A servant? Her father? Panicked, she pressed tight to the wall and held her breath. She was fully dressed, clearly not just on her way to the kitchen for a small bite. Dash it all.
Footsteps on the stairs. There was nowhere to go but to the bottom and hope the darkness provided a hiding spot. As quietly as she could, she descended the rest of the steps. Then she darted around a corner and tried to calm her racing heart. A minute later, whoever was on the stairs reached the ground floor. Mamie carefully took a peek—and saw her fully dressed sister creeping toward the empty kitchen.
“Florence,” she hissed. “What are you doing?”
Florence spun and put a hand to her heart. “You scared me half to death,” she whispered. “What are you doing?”
Mamie came forward and took her sister’s arm. When they were in the kitchen, she asked, “Are you going out?”
“Yes. Are you?”
Mamie nodded. “Shall we share a hansom?”
“If you’re going downtown, then yes.”
Holding Florence’s hand, Mamie led them out the back door and around the house. Once on Fifth Avenue, they crossed over and flagged a passing hansom. The entire business lasted less than five minutes.
“Now,” Mamie said as they settled inside. “Tell me where you’re going.”
“The Bronze House. I think I know where you are going. You’re visiting Frank Tripp, aren’t you?”
Was she that obvious? Mamie didn’t confirm her destination. Instead, she said, “How will you get in? We were barred from entering that casino ever again.”
“I have my ways.” Florence’s sly smile was evident in the dim interior light. “Let’s just say the owner and I have become friends of a sort.”
“Mr. Madden?”
Florence nodded. “I am learning so much. Remind me to give you my winnings for the tenement ladies. I think I have six hundred dollars squirreled away in my suite.”
“Six hundred dollars?” That would feed a lot of families. “How did you win so much?”
“Talent. And you never said whether I was right about your errand this evening. That was Mr. Tripp’s address you gave, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.” Mamie brushed her skirts, smoothing the fabric. “I’m going to see Frank.”
“Ha! I knew it. I take it my advice on seduction was successful.”
Mamie didn’t comment on that. Instead, she thought it might be time to confer with her sister about the ramifications of refusing a marriage to Chauncey Livingston. “Chauncey signed the marriage agreement today. Daddy is still set on the marriage taking place, despite my objections.”
“Oh, he would never make you marry someone against your wishes. You’ve always been his favorite.”
Because she’d always done as he asked, played the part of dutiful society daughter. “He told me I would sign the marriage agreement, even if he had to force my hand to do it.”
“He’s bluffing.”
Florence sounded certain, but Mamie didn’t share her sister’s optimism. “What if he isn’t?”
“Then run away.”
“Run away?”
“For whom are you living your life, you or Daddy? What’s the worst that happens if you refuse?”
A strangled noise escaped Mamie’s throat. “At best, he disowns me.”
“Then you marry whomever you’d like. How is that a deterrent, exactly?”
“You say that, knowing I’d be kicked out of the family.”
“Maims, you’ll always be my family, no matter what happens with Daddy. I certainly don’t plan on letting him choose my husband. Would you still be my sister if he disowned me?”
“Of course,” Mamie said without thinking. “I would never turn my back on you.”
Florence held out her hands as if to say, See?
Then there was the promise she’d made. “There is another concern. If I marry someone other than Chauncey then Daddy might force you to marry Chauncey—or some other man of his choosing.”
Florence threw her head back and laughed. “I would leave and join a traveling sideshow before I’d marry Chauncey. Being a Greene with all the trappings and trimmings of society means absolutely nothing to me.”
Mamie believed her. If any of them was fully capable of starting a new life somewhere, it was Florence. She was wise beyond her years, self-sufficient and absolutely fearless.
Florence sobered and studied Mamie’s face. “Have you been worried about that possibility? Is that why you agreed to marry Chauncey, so I wouldn’t have to?”
“No, of course not.” Not exactly anyway. “I just didn’t mind the idea so much when the marriage was first discussed.”
“Before Frank Tripp, you mean. That’s another reason I like your knight in shining armor. I hope he sweeps you off your feet.”
“He won’t. He keeps telling me to marry Chauncey.”
“Likely because he’s worried what Daddy will do when he finds out about the two of you. Convince him you’re worth it, dear sister.”
No, Mamie couldn’t. Their father would ruin any man involved with her. The guilt would kill her if Frank’s career and social standing suffered because of their acquaintance. Perhaps in five or ten years her father would be more understanding—not that she expected Frank to wait that long.
Besides, Frank had repeated there could be nothing between them, that he had no interest in marriage. The man certainly wasn’t head over heels for her, writing sonnets and sending her gifts. She’d never change his mind . . . but she did have one month to enjoy whatever this was between them in secret.
In the meantime she’d find a way out of this arrangement with Chauncey. Under no circumstances could she marry that man. She’d be absolutely miserable as a society wife and everything told her Chauncey would make a terrible husband. He’d already warned her he wouldn’t be faithful. He’d shown no backbone in standing up to either of their fathers, and had caved on the marriage agreement the second she’d expressed doubt about their union.
Not to mention a man like Chauncey would never understand her causes. He’d nea
rly had apoplexy when she’d mentioned her downtown charities to him the other night. The truth would likely give him a stroke.
Most importantly, she didn’t feel anything for him. Her heart didn’t beat hard around him, her chest tightening like a bowstring. She didn’t long for Chauncey’s fiery kisses or whispered promises. She didn’t crave his rough yet gentle touch, or wish to explore every inch of his body. Only one man brought forth those desires—and it wasn’t her almost-fiancé.
Marriage to Chauncey would be like a lifetime of cloudy days after first experiencing sunshine.
So tonight, she planned to confer with Frank on ideas to extricate herself from this agreement. There had to be a way. And if kissing happened as well . . .
The carriage slowed. “Be careful,” she told Florence. “I don’t like you out on your own.”
Florence rolled her eyes. “Bald Jack hardly leaves my side whenever I’m there. Madden won’t let anything happen to me.”
The way she said it, with such confidence . . . “Are you involved with Madden?”
“No. I don’t think he has much interest in women. I can’t . . . Well, I can’t figure him out.”
“Isn’t he dangerous? Florence, it’s one thing to visit his casino but another altogether to become entangled with him.”
The carriage stopped at the curb. Florence pushed open the door. “Don’t worry about me. I’m in no danger from Madden or anyone else in that place.”
“You’ll be in danger if Daddy learns of these outings,” Mamie warned as she crawled over her sister and stepped out of the carriage. “Don’t let anyone recognize you there.”
“I won’t.” Florence shooed Mamie with her hands. “Stop badgering me. Go forth and have fun. Give Sir Frank my best.”
The hansom door closed and the wheels began to turn. Mamie didn’t know what to think about her sister going to the Bronze House and developing a friendship with Madden. No good could come of it, that was for certain.
There wasn’t time to dwell on that now. She was too exposed, standing here on Fifth Avenue in the middle of the night. Hurrying up the walk to Frank’s house, she climbed the steps and tried the latch. Locked. Dash it. Frank must’ve spoken to his staff after the last time she’d snuck in.
There had to be a rear door or window unlocked. Moving silently around the side of the house, she looked for a way in. She rounded the corner and approached the terrace. Perhaps she’d find the terrace doors open.
Her feet whispered over the stone steps. She held her skirts to keep them from rustling and moved to the door. Just as her hand fell on the latch she heard a noise behind her.
Startled, she spun around—and a figure emerged from the dark edges of the terrace. “What are you doing here?”
Frank. Oh, thank heavens. He didn’t appear happy to see her, unfortunately. His long legs stalked toward her, his body clad in only a shirt and trousers. His feet were bare, which she found oddly arousing. “Mamie, it’s the middle of the night.”
Blowing out a breath, she leaned against the glass panes. “I came to talk to you about earlier.”
“Did you?”
A light from inside the house illuminated his rugged handsomeness. His eyes were locked on her, not wavering for a moment as he drew closer. She shivered at the intensity in his hooded gaze, the grim set of his mouth. He looked as if he’d decided on a course of action but wasn’t too pleased about it.
Please, God, let that course of action involve kissing.
He kept coming until he stood directly in front of her. Then he jammed his hands into his pockets, as if he were trying to keep from touching her. “Your father is already suspicious enough. Must you tempt fate by coming here?”
“What did he say to you after I left the room?”
“I talked him out of hiring a Pinkerton to trail you around New York City.”
Shocked, Mamie’s equilibrium wobbled for a brief second and she rocked against the glass. Heavens, that would be nothing short of disastrous. “Why would he want me followed?”
“Because, my little hedonist, he believes there is another man involved. One who is trying to woo you away from Chauncey.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
He braced his arms on either side of her head, trapping her against the door. Her skin prickled, a rush of excitement filling her as she breathed him in. He smelled of cigar and springtime, a heady combination of man and earth. He was real and raw, polished veneer over a core of pure steel. She wanted to lean into him, feel all that heat and strength for herself.
“Is it?” he whispered. “Because I’d say he’s exactly right in this case.”
She licked her dry lips, moistening them. “Are you trying to woo me, then?”
“Come inside and perhaps you’ll find out.”
Against his better judgment, he took her upstairs.
Frank never took women to the second floor of his home. It was his private space, one he didn’t like to share. Growing up, he’d never had a room to himself, let alone a bed. With so many people in one tiny space, there’d been nowhere just for him. Once he could afford to live alone, he made a habit of using only hotel suites or the woman’s home for liaisons.
And now, here was Mamie, standing in his bedchamber like she belonged.
I like her here.
He might never recover. He’d have to sell the house and start over just to erase the memory of her in this room.
Or maybe I’ll keep her forever.
“I thought you were angry with me,” she said, turning to take in the space. “The way you said there would be no more billiards games the other night worried me.”
Not angry, merely resolved to resist her. After his meeting with Duncan, he’d vowed to forget her. To shepherd her and Chauncey into the marriage agreement then move on.
That was before she’d appeared on his terrace, skulking about in the dead of night to see him.
And also before he’d spent the last six hours thinking about her, how he’d never kiss or touch her again. How he’d encounter her and Chauncey around town, watching them smile and laugh in Delmonico’s or at the Metropolitan Opera House. How he’d always regret losing the smartest, strongest and kindest woman he’d ever known.
And as soon as he saw her tonight he knew he couldn’t do it.
He couldn’t let her go, not without a fight.
They stared at each other for a long time, tension coiling around them, winding, as they both waited. He was lost for her, drowning in craving and need, and the force of it frightened him. The urge to cross the room, tear off their clothes and slide inside her had his hands shaking.
No, he must pause a moment and calm down. He couldn’t frighten her, too.
Then the side of her mouth hitched and she crooked a finger, beckoning him.
God, yes.
He closed the distance between them in four steps and cradled her face in his palms, brushed the soft skin of her jaw with his thumbs. “Does that mean you’d prefer to play billiards tonight . . . or would you rather stay here instead?”
“That depends.” Her fingers wrapped around his wrists. “Will we be playing another type of game?”
The words, along with the heavy-lidded gaze she gave him, punched through his chest like an arrow. Lust uncoiled in his gut, heat that wound its way along his shaft and through his balls. “Perhaps. Would you like that?”
“If you let me win.”
He dipped his head to whisper, “In this particular game we both win.”
He heard her swift intake of breath just before he sealed his mouth to hers. Her lips were soft and luscious, just as delicious as he remembered, and he deepened the kiss. All of his frustration and longing over the past few days combined and he was instantly, insanely desperate for her. He loved the way she kissed, her mouth greedy and fierce, tiny sounds of pleasure escaping her throat as if she couldn’t help herself. With some women, kissing was a quick prelude to other more intimate acts. With Mamie, he could do this all
night and expire a happy man.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, moving closer, her breasts molded to his chest, and he had to touch her. Opening his mouth, he slipped his tongue past her lips to seek hers then let his hands drift to her sides. She was breathing every bit as hard as he, their lungs bellowing as if they’d run a race, and he slid a palm across her ribs until he reached the underside of her breast. He wanted her naked and underneath him, her supple body welcoming his, breasts swaying while he pumped atop her . . . Fuck, that mental image threatened to unravel him.
But that was not his decision. It was hers.
And this had to be discussed with a clear head.
Breaking off from her mouth, he rested his forehead on her temple. “Christ, Mamie. I lose my mind every time I’m around you.”
“I feel the same. It’s like I need to crawl inside your skin to get close enough.” Her fingers tightened in his hair. “I hardly recognize myself.”
“We need to talk about this.”
“Must we?” She angled her face and kissed his jaw, her lips dragging over his rough whiskers. She’d end up with beard burn on her creamy skin if this went further.
“I would have shaved if I’d known you were coming,” he murmured.
“Then I am glad you didn’t. I adore it. Feels like the real man underneath the smooth lawyer.”
His imagination instantly went to the other places where she could feel the real man. Stop. This isn’t helping. He let out a shaky breath.
Stepping back, he put distance between them. “We should discuss what you’d like to happen.”
“Is it unclear? Because I assumed coming up to your bedroom was a definitive sign of what I would like.”
Oh, his little innocent. She had no idea the number of depraved acts that could occur in his chambers. “Not entirely. For example, are you hoping for what I did the other night . . . or are you hoping for more?”
“More,” she instantly replied, and his cock pulsed, more desire rushing to his lower body.
God, this woman.
She came toward him. “You’re a man of words but I’m a woman of action. There are times when words are unnecessary.” Her hands found his chest, palms gliding over his ribs and pectoral muscles. Fire trailed across his skin where she touched.
