by Joanna Shupe
See, Frank is perfect for you.
She pushed that ridiculous notion aside and settled deeper into her pillows. It didn’t matter how well suited the two of them were, or how the idea of kissing him again sent fire licking through her veins.
Or how beautiful his eyes were.
Or how well he could use his tongue and mouth when—
Ahem.
She must forget all that. Frank had too much to lose in the face of her father’s wrath. She would not have him ruined because of her. No, whomever she eventually married, if ever, must operate outside the circle of New York high society and have no connection to the Greene family. Someone who loved her and would allow her to make her own decisions. Frank was not that person.
If only it didn’t hurt quite so much.
She rubbed her sternum, attempting to alleviate the ache there. The dashed pain hadn’t ceased since she’d left his house two nights ago. Would it ever go away?
She sighed and stared at the book in her hands. Had he written a note? She flipped to the cover page.
For my little finger-smith.
A chuckle escaped her throat at his inscription. Clever man.
How on earth had he managed to get the book in her room? Unless he’d used a ladder, there was no chance he had come through the window. She couldn’t picture him skulking about the servants’ quarters, either. When would she ever figure him out?
Never, remember? You and Frank have no future.
And she merely had to keep reminding herself of that fact.
The knock sounded exactly on time. Thank God for those who respected punctuality.
Frank threw down his pen on his desk and rolled his shoulders. After a long day of meetings, he had a busy night of work planned. “Enter,” he shouted.
The door opened and Otto Rosen appeared. Frank stood as Otto closed the door behind him. “Good evening. Thank you for coming.”
Otto nodded and removed his hat. “Of course. I think I have all the information we need.”
“Excellent. Have a seat. I want to have a quick word before Miss Greene arrives.”
“Ah.” Otto’s brows rose. “I wasn’t certain if she was joining us.”
“She is, but there are a few matters I’d like to discuss out of her earshot. First, let’s start with Patrick Murphy, Mulligan’s brewer.”
Otto shifted uncomfortably. “Not much to say there, unfortunately. I tailed him for a few days but I suspect he spotted me.”
“He definitely spotted you.”
“He did? How do you know?”
“He told me. So, there’s no need to continue digging into his life.” Patrick had made his wishes perfectly clear the other morning. Frank had no intention of meddling in his brother’s affairs any longer.
“How did he find you?”
“I couldn’t say,” he lied. “I suspect he’s smarter than he lets on considering he’s one of Mulligan’s thugs.”
“He’s not running with Mulligan, if that’s what you think. Yes, he and Mulligan have a partnership when it comes to the beer but he’s not a criminal, not from what I could learn.”
Hmm. That fit with Patrick’s version. Yet it didn’t fit with everything Frank knew of the Murphies. Had Patrick gone straight? “Had you discovered anything useful before he spotted you?”
Otto removed a small notebook from his pocket and flipped through the pages. “Let’s see . . . Lives on Worth Street with his mother and his family. She’s older and he appears to be taking care of her.”
Frank smothered a grimace. Patrick was taking care of their mother? Was she ill? He didn’t like the idea of his mother growing too old to be self-reliant. Why not use the money he sent each month to hire help?
That’s Frankie’s money. I’ll give it back to him when he comes home.
The back of his neck ached with what he suspected was guilt. He pushed all those feelings aside to contemplate later. “What else?”
“Worked in a metal factory as a boy and got some shards in his leg. The injury became infected and he was forced to quit.”
It had been much worse. In fact, Patrick nearly died. The surgeon had wanted to cut off the boy’s leg, but their mother had insisted she could cure her son.
I won’t give up on him, she’d told the surgeon.
Now, where had that memory come from? Frank hadn’t thought of that day in a long time.
“And the brewery?” he asked.
“Makes a decent living at it. Murphy started there as an apprentice and then bought the previous owner out as time passed. He married a German girl from the neighborhood. The beer is well regarded in Five Points and beyond, and they’re expanding out into Brooklyn.”
Christ. How had all this happened without Frank’s knowledge?
Because you never bothered to look.
“Siblings?” he heard himself croak.
“Two sisters. Both married. One lives in New Jersey and the other in Astoria, Queens.”
Frank shot to his feet, too shocked by this news to sit still. He dragged a hand through his hair and faced the wall. His sisters . . . alive and married? When he’d been nine, the fifteen-year-old twins, Laura and Sarah, left home to work for a fancy brothel uptown. He’d heard his parents discussing it. The girls hadn’t returned and Frank had assumed . . . well, he’d assumed any number of things had happened to his sisters, all of them bad.
Did Patrick see them? Were they happy? Frank had loved his older sisters fiercely. They were smart and beautiful and had kept an eye on him for most of his youth. When they left, he’d felt lost. Abandoned. Like Five Points ruined anything and everyone who resided within those shabby, dangerous blocks.
Had he been wrong?
“Are you all right?” Otto’s brows had lowered. Frank nodded, swallowing his shock and composing himself. He was very good at composing himself, at donning a mask of affability and charm when it suited.
“Of course. Just a cramp in my leg from sitting too long. Anything else on Murphy, or shall we move along?” He lowered himself into his heavy leather chair and folded his hands. Relaxed. Calm. Reassuring.
“Nothing else. Like I said, he spotted me fairly early on.”
The Murphies are clever, son. We’re smarter than the whole lot of ’em.
His father had said this so often that Frank couldn’t recount the number of times he’d heard it. He hadn’t believed it, not when his father’s breath had reeked of gin. To this day Frank couldn’t smell gin without gagging. “Have you unearthed anything we can use on Detective Porter?”
“No, but I’m still digging. Perhaps Mulligan will have more luck.”
That was the answer Frank expected. People were hesitant to speak ill of the police in the city, mostly for fear of retribution. The officers were seen as corrupt agents of Tammany Hall, self-serving and biased. Reform had been discussed for years but so far those were empty threats. “Check in with Jack tomorrow, will you?”
Otto nodded and wrote in his small notebook. “Happy to, but he may not wish to speak to anyone but you.”
“I’ll see him if I have to, but I’d rather focus on the preliminary hearing. I have five days to put my thoughts together.”
“You could waive it.”
“No. Mrs. Porter’s children deserve to have this wrapped up as quickly as possible.”
“You’re certain you can get her charges dismissed.”
“Absolutely. If I weren’t I would’ve pled this out already for a reduced sentence.”
Otto pursed his lips and flipped his notebook closed. “Hate to see Miss Greene’s face if you lose this case.”
So would Frank. “We’re not going to lose.”
A knock on the door sounded just before Mrs. Rand’s face appeared. “Sir, a Miss Greene is here to join you.”
“Show her in, please.” Frank stood and straightened his cuffs.
Otto rose a bit slower, a smirk on his face. “You are so done for. Does she know how you feel?”
�
�Shut up,” he murmured as Mamie entered. She was dressed practically, with a white shirtwaist and navy blue jacket that hugged her upper half. A matching blue skirt swirled below to the tops of her leather boots. He thought about all the soft skin under that clothing and how he’d love to run his hands over her. Place her on his desk and slide inside her slick heat . . .
Fuck. He had to stop these prurient fantasies or else he’d embarrass himself in front of Otto.
“Hello,” Mamie said.
Frank’s secretary hovered. “Sir, did you need me to stay late?” She sent a pointed glare in Mamie’s direction.
He often worked late hours at the office and preferred to be alone. Even if that weren’t the case, Mrs. Rand had an infirm husband at home and she needed to relieve the nurse who cared for him during the day. “No, that’s unnecessary. Have a good night, Mrs. Rand.”
She departed and closed the door, giving the three of them privacy. “Thank you for coming,” he said and gestured to Otto. “You remember Mr. Rosen.”
“Of course.” Mamie came forward and shook Otto’s hand. “Nice to see you again.”
“And you, Miss Greene.”
It was not lost on Frank that she hadn’t shaken his hand. “Have a seat and let’s get started. The reason I asked to see both of you is because the preliminary hearing is in five days.”
Mamie smoothed her skirts. “What happens at this preliminary hearing?”
“The prosecution will attempt to prove they have enough evidence to proceed to trial. I will try and poke holes in their case. The judge rules on whether we proceed to a jury trial.”
“Which would take place months from now.”
“Correct, but I’m doing everything in my power to get Mrs. Porter released as quickly as possible.”
“I know.” She nibbled her lip and her attention seemed far away. “I’m merely thinking of her children. It must be awful for them.”
“I’ll speak to Mrs. Porter,” he said. “To prepare her on what to expect. I do have some disturbing news, however. Katie Porter is on the witness list for the prosecution.”
“Oh, no,” Mamie gasped. “How could they do that to a five-year-old child?”
“She’s the only witness, Mamie. If she testifies that she saw her mother strike her father with the pan, then that helps the prosecution’s case. For now.”
“Children make unreliable witnesses,” Otto said.
“True.” Frank would have to think on how best to cross-examine the young girl. “Mamie, you know these children. Is she capable of testifying in court?”
“Yes. She’s shy but quite smart. Though I’m not sure what she’ll say. I haven’t asked how much she saw that morning.”
“I’ll need you to assist with this. These children know you, and you’ll be able to ease her worries better than Otto or myself. We need her to tell the truth but in a way that puts her mother in the best light possible.”
“You want her to lie?”
“Absolutely not. But we need to know what she saw.” Now he had to break the bad news to her. “This means you’ll need to be at the proceedings as support. You will have to attend the hearing.”
Mamie wasn’t following. Frank seemed to brace himself, ready for her to argue, but she didn’t understand how helping Katie at the trial was problematic. She was willing to do anything to get Mrs. Porter out of jail faster. “All right.”
“I don’t believe you realize what this means.”
She cocked her head at Frank, aware of Otto’s presence beside her. She attempted to keep the frustration out of her voice. “Illuminate me, then, if you please.”
“Your presence will be noticed. By anyone present.”
“And?”
“And reported in the newspaper. And noted by members of the police force. And commented upon by anyone who recognizes you.”
Oh. That meant . . .
A cold shiver went through her and she blinked a few times at the stark wall in Frank’s office.
“Otto,” Frank said and stood. “I’ll cable you later and let you know how we’re getting on.”
Their voices drifted on, but Mamie wasn’t paying attention. She was thinking of her father and how he’d react to the news of her involvement in this. Her prediction? Not well.
You were willing to appear in court before you slept with Frank Tripp. Daddy’s reaction shouldn’t matter.
Yet she knew the conclusions her father would draw upon learning of this trial. Conclusions that reinforced what he already suspected: Mamie was involved with Frank Tripp.
Dash it all.
Well, there was no help for it. If Katie was to testify, then Mamie was the best person to assist with the girl. She’d visited the Porter children many times, always bringing treats, and Katie had even begun giving Mamie smiles. If Mamie had to suffer her father’s anger and disappointment to free Mrs. Porter, she would do it. Gladly.
Her father would recover. Mamie was not marrying Frank. They may have developed a special . . . friendship, but not one that led to marriage and Frank’s ruin. Nor would she marry Chauncey. All she needed to do was remain strong and not let her father bully her into doing what he wanted.
The same went for Frank. No matter how hard he tried, she had to resist him and his well-chosen gifts.
The back of her neck prickled with awareness a half second before he appeared. He leaned against the desk, his gaze wary. Her heart fluttered as she took in the long legs encased in fine wool. The tapered waist and broad chest. He wore a yellow silk vest with his dark gray suit, and the color brought out the vivid hue of his irises. Would she ever become immune to the sight of him? Doubtful, considering her memories of the other night.
You’re perfect. It’s perfect. Make it more perfect, please.
He’d turned her into a quivering pool of desire that night. The way he spoke, the things he’d said. The feel of his mouth on hers, his hands . . . The care with which he’d touched and pleasured her. It had all felt so right.
Frank’s appeal went deeper than his looks, however. It had to do with his intelligence and determination. His confidence, the ease with which he moved and breathed.
It’s called privilege. He’s wealthy and moves in the same social circles as you.
Privilege her father would strip away if he discovered their secret.
She could not allow that to happen.
“I see you understand my meaning,” he finally said.
“There’s no help for it. I’ll lie and tell my father Mrs. Porter is a friend.”
He crossed his legs at the ankles. “He will ask how you met.”
“Through my charity work downtown.”
“What charity work?”
“Helping needy families.”
“You know he’s going to be furious.”
She struggled to suppress a wince. “With both of us, undoubtedly. He’ll question why you’ve allowed my involvement at all.”
“I’ll handle your father when the time comes.”
She narrowed her gaze and studied him. What was he up to? “I don’t care for the sound of that. What do you mean?”
“I mean, I will deal with him.” He lifted a shoulder. “I’ll make my intentions known.”
“Sorry, intentions toward what?”
“Not what. Whom. More specifically, you.”
If she’d been drinking, she would’ve choked. “Me? Have you lost your mind? You cannot tell him about us.”
“I won’t tell him everything, merely explain my feelings for you.” His jaw hardened, determination etched on his face. “I meant what I said, Mamie. I’ll not give up until you marry me.”
This again. “I have stated my objections to the idea. I wish you would respect them.”
“Once I convince your father to support us, I know you’ll change your mind.”
She made a disbelieving sound in her throat. “He will never agree to your suit over Chauncey. Never. Chauncey’s father is my father’s closest friend. The pa
ct for the marriage was made years ago.”
“We shall see.” He smirked ever so slightly, as if he knew something she didn’t.
“What are you planning? I hope you’re not going to harm Chauncey.”
“Does that seem like something I would do?”
“If it suited your purposes, yes.”
“Such a low opinion of me.” He shook his head ruefully. “And here I thought my gifts would help with that. You received them, yes?”
Heat rose under her collar. It had been rude to not thank him for the gifts. “I did. They’re lovely. The bicycle is quite the spectacle.”
“And what of the book?” He uncrossed his legs, pushed away from the desk, and moved closer. “Have you been studying?”
“Perhaps.” She had . . . not that she would admit it to him.
“Liar. I know you’ve practiced.” He bent, placed his hands under her elbows, and lifted her out of the chair. When they were face-to-face, he kept holding her, his palms sliding to clasp her hips. Her heart raced, the silly organ excited at the idea of having him near. The heat from his touch sank into her flesh, a brand to remind her of all the wicked things from the other night. Wicked things she could not forget, no matter how hard she tried.
“I’ve missed you,” he said quietly, his thumbs stroking her hip bones through her clothing. “Have you been thinking of me?”
The ridiculousness of the question, so needy and unsure, was not lost on her. It was quite unlike him. “No,” she lied.
“Hmm.” He didn’t appear to believe her. His hand came up to her throat, where gentle fingers swept over the pulse hammering beneath her skin. “Someday you’ll admit the truth.”
Never.
“So stubborn,” he murmured. Then he watched, his gaze hooded, as his thumb brushed her bottom lip. “I’ve done little else besides think of you. My daily routine has increased to three sessions, in case you were wondering. Soon, I won’t be able to separate my hand from my cock at all.”
She bit her lip to stifle a chuckle, even as her body suffused with warmth. “And what are you thinking about during these three sessions?”
