by Joanna Shupe
“That sounds ominous.” Eva took her plate to the sideboard, where a large collection of covered dishes awaited. She selected three pieces of buttered toast and some eggs. Now recovered from the champagne headache, she found herself ravenous.
“I never had a chance to speak with you alone last night.” Nora sighed and lifted her china cup. “What did you think of Julius?”
“He’s intelligent and kind. And absolutely perfect for you.”
Pink swept over Nora’s cheeks. “I swear, that man. I am utterly and completely mad for him.”
“I noticed,” Eva said dryly as she scooped up some ham. “I’m happy for you both. I do wish I could have attended your real wedding, however.”
“Father rushed it all through. You know, protecting my sterling reputation.”
“As well he should. That is what fathers are for.”
“Oh, Eva. I am so very sorry your father’s health has worsened.” Nora’s gaze swam with sympathy as she watched Eva retake her seat. “Perhaps a handsome American will sweep you off your feet and you’ll end up in a hasty marriage yourself.”
Eva must have turned the color of a tomato but Nora just slyly smiled. “Why, Lady Eva Hyde, you are blushing. What are you not telling me?”
She shook her head, not meeting her friend’s eyes as she chewed a bite of toast. “Absolutely nothing.”
“Oh, and I suppose absolutely nothing is responsible for the love mark on your neck?”
Eva’s hand flew to her throat where the bruise-colored mark was covered by her dress. “How did you . . . ?”
“I saw it last evening. I thought I should let you have a good night’s sleep before I wrestled that information out of you. So, who was he? Someone on the ship, obviously.”
Eva sighed and rubbed her forehead. Nora would never let this go, not without the truth. “Yes, a man on the ship. An American.”
“Hmm, I see. And?”
“And that’s all.”
“That’s all?”
Eva shrugged and began eating, ready to move on from this conversation. Nora made a noise in the back of her throat. “I don’t believe you. You would never let some stranger leave love marks on your neck. The two of you obviously had a spark of some kind. Who was he?”
A spark? More like an inferno. “No one important. Merely a shipboard dalliance. Caught in the storm with no one else about. We had dinner together and then the lights cut out. He took me to his cabin and I’m afraid the champagne caught up with us.”
“Champagne or no champagne, that’s hardly like you. I’ve known you a long time and I do not believe you’ve ever been in an improper situation with a man. Me, on the other hand . . .”
Eva didn’t answer and Nora started drumming her fingers on the table. “Spill, Eva. It’s plain you are holding back. What are you worried about, that I’ll judge you? Please, I am the last woman to ever cast judgment on a dalliance. Julius and I certainly did not wait until marriage and then there was Robert. You may trust me.”
“It’s not a matter of trust. You know I trust you. Goodness, you’re about the only person I would ever confide in. But the whole thing was so strange. I went from eating with him one minute to kissing him in the next. And I don’t even know his last name.”
That caused Nora’s eyes to widen. “You don’t even know his last name?”
“No, and I told him my name was Evelyn.”
“Good lord. What are you, some sort of wartime spy?”
“It’s silly, of course. I just . . . I didn’t want him to know who I was.”
“Why?” When Eva did not respond, Nora said, “Oh, that ridiculous nickname.”
“Not so ridiculous when you consider the circumstances.”
Nora leaned in, stabbing a finger at the tabletop. “You are aware that you had nothing to do with the deaths of those three men, correct?”
Eva loved her friend even more for the fierce response. “Of course, but society hardly sees it that way. Nor do the newspapers—and neither will the owner of this hotel I am building. I’m considered cursed.”
“They can all hang. You lost your betrothed three times. It’s a bit odd, granted, but young men do foolish things. One of them died after being thrown from a horse, one from influenza, and another drowned when his boat sank. Good heavens, Eva. You’re to be pitied, not vilified.”
“I don’t want pity, either. My father wanted those matches, not me. I liked them each well enough but there was never any emotion attached to it.”
“Not a spark?”
“No, not a—”Eva saw what Nora was trying to do. “You may cease that line of thinking right there. I don’t want to get married. Not to him, not to anyone.”
“You say that now, but marriage isn’t so bad. Not with the right man.”
“Spoken like a true newlywed. The last thing I need is another dead fiancé—or worse, a closed-minded, controlling husband who will try to curtail my activities at every turn. I need to focus on my father’s legacy then begin planning my own.”
“Fine. I’ll refrain from matchmaking.” She picked at her roll. “Tell me, was he handsome?”
“Absurdly handsome. Big, like one of the workers on a construction site.” Eva held her hands to her shoulders to indicate Phillip’s muscles.
“Oh, my.”
“Indeed. He was . . . Well, a nice distraction for a few hours.” She checked the time. Oh, no. She would be late if she didn’t leave soon. After a few quick bites of ham, she pushed her chair back from the table and stood. “I need to be going. They’re expecting E. M. Hyde at the hotel construction site to go over a few things before we break ground tomorrow.”
“How exciting. I am looking forward to seeing your work here in New York.”
“My father’s work.”
Nora shook her head. “No, your work, Eva. Make no mistake—this is yours. It may carry your father’s name but this is your building.”
The carriage stopped at a giant empty lot at Thirty-Fifth Street and Fifth Avenue. Eva turned the latch and threw open the door without waiting on the driver. A group of men were gathered at the corner, a circle of brown and black hats, while the morning traffic of New York continued around them.
Clutching her large case, she descended from the carriage, careful to watch her step. If she tripped or appeared weak in any way these men would sense it and lose all respect for her.
James, the Cortlands’ coachman, appeared in front of her, blocking her view. “Are you all right, milady? Wasn’t expecting you to jump down on your own.”
“I know, James. I tend to be a bit more independent than other women. I don’t believe I shall be long but if you want—”
“I’ll stay. I’ll just settle in and wait for your ladyship.” He tipped his cap and started for his perch.
Breathing deep for courage, she started for the group of men. This was a meeting with Mr. Mansfield, his construction chief, and some of the foremen who would oversee the job. The tone of this meeting would dictate all future encounters, so it was imperative she make a good impression.
There was something familiar about the largest of the men. He had his back to her, broad shoulders pulling the fabric of his coat tight. Short dark hair. For a moment, she almost thought it was Phillip.
She nearly laughed. One night of his kisses and she was seeing him everywhere. How pathetic.
And then he turned.
Her breath caught, heart leaping into her throat to strangle her.
Dear God, it was him. Phillip the American. Tall, square-jawed, brawny-shouldered Phillip.
She took a step back as he pushed forward and headed toward her. What on earth was he doing here?
Something in her chest fluttered at the sight of him once more. She tried to analyze the reaction and decided it was half embarrassment, half a basic biological attraction to the opposite sex. A silly female reaction. She clutched the leather handles of her case and tried to school her expression.
His brows drew toge
ther, wariness on his handsome face as he reached her. “Evelyn, what are you doing here?”
“I . . . Wait, what are you doing here?”
He took her elbow in a strong grip and led her away from the other men. “Not that I’m unhappy to see you, but I am quite busy this morning. Perhaps we could have dinner this evening? Just tell me where you are staying and I’ll make the arrangements.”
“You think I . . . ?” What, that she’d been driving by and saw him? The idea was so ludicrous she couldn’t finish it.
“I assumed you noticed me standing here.” Confusion clouded his dark gaze. “Whatever the reason, I am glad to see you. After you disappeared on the ship I thought I’d never find you again. I looked everywhere before we docked.”
She shook her head as if to clear it. “You did?”
“Of course. I wanted to . . . Well, I wanted to see you again. To take you to dinner.”
“That’s not a good idea.”
That set him back on his heels a bit. “Then what are you doing here?”
“I’m here for a meeting. Why are you here?”
“For a meeting.” He studied her face. “With whom are you meeting?”
Phillip . . . here for a meeting. Could it be? Puzzle pieces began to fall into place.
Oh, no.
No, no, no.
She forced the words out. “Oh, my God. You are Phillip Mansfield.”
He put his hands on his hips, annoyance and impatience staring down at her. “Yes, I am. I realize we never exchanged surnames on the ship but I hardly see why learning who I am caused you to go white as a sheet. And I still have no idea who you are.”
For heaven’s sake, she would have to tell him. There was no way to avoid it. Yet the words were not easy, not when she knew what they meant. This was the man who’d hired her father, who had entrusted E. M. Hyde to design his spectacular hotel. To deliver, as Mansfield had called it, the greatest building America had ever seen.
She was here to oversee the project. For this man she’d drunkenly kissed. Slept next to all night in various states of undress. God, he’d been shirtless in front of her . . . not to mention whatever happened the night before. She could die from mortification.
And he was her employer.
“Evelyn, what is wrong with you? You are scaring me. Are you ill?”
“No,” she said instantly, aware of the many curious eyes a few feet away. She could not appear weak, not in front of these men. “I’m perfectly fine. But there is something you should know.”
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, impatient, as she tried to summon the courage to speak. “Well,” he prompted when she remained mute. “We need to hurry this along. I’m expecting the architect for my hotel at any moment.”
“No, you are not,” she wheezed.
He peered at her. “I’m not?”
“Not waiting, I mean. The architect is here.”
“For God’s sake, I don’t have time for this. Get to the point.”
“Me. I am the architect.” She cleared her throat and repeated it, stronger this time. “I am the architect.”
After a beat he threw his head back and laughed, the strong cords in his throat standing out in sharp relief. “You had me there for a—”
“I am. The architect.” Anger sparked at the base of her neck, quickly spreading to every part of her body to replace any lingering embarrassment over their past. Of course he did not believe her. He was no different than any of her fiancés, or any of the other men who believed women should not have their own careers.
Slowly, he quieted, his amusement dying off when he realized she wasn’t joining in. He blinked, his lips pressing together into a flat, unhappy line. “Are you saying . . . ?”
She held out her hand. “I am Lady Eva Hyde, E. M. Hyde’s daughter. And I shall be overseeing this project.”
Chapter Four
Phillip could barely rein in his fury as the brougham bounded up Fifth Avenue. He kept his gaze on the familiar streets and limestone buildings, the city he knew and loved so well, while attempting to keep his emotions from bubbling over. Evelyn—no, Lady Eva sat silent next to him, her large leather satchel resting on the floor of the vehicle.
Lady Eva, also known as Lady Unlucky, the daughter of E. M. Hyde—or Lord Cassell, as he’d become a few years back—and Phillip’s architect.
Christ.
Phillip ground his teeth together. No wonder she’d kept her identity a secret on the ship, considering her reputation. Not that he cared about her history with fiancés; he didn’t want her working on his hotel. Not in any capacity.
As soon as she had introduced herself, he’d taken her arm and hustled her into his carriage, ordering Gabriel to finish the meeting. He needed to sort this out with Lady Eva and they did not require an audience.
“Were you planning to speak or merely grind your teeth the whole trip?”
He clenched and unclenched his fists. He wished to pummel something, to expel the dangerous energy coursing through him like a cancer. Perhaps he’d visit McGirk’s this evening. The boxing club in the Bowery was the only place in New York where he could truly lose himself and his polished upbringing. Drown in rough physical activity for a few hours. Regain his equilibrium.
“Will you at least tell me where we are headed?”
“My office,” he ground out, not looking at her. He watched the blur of people and carriages outside the window instead.
“Why?”
“Because I wish to speak with you in private.”
“We are in private now, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“We are on a public street in a very crowded city. My crowded city. This is hardly private.”
“In other words, you wish to yell at me and you are afraid someone might overhear.”
“I never said that.”
She made a noise in her throat. “You didn’t have to. I can see it plainly on your face.”
You have your father’s temper, his mother often said. You must find a way to control it.
He tried to relax, tried not to think about the three million dollars he’d put up to build the hotel. The hundreds of jobs this project would provide. The income the hotel would generate once it opened. This project was to be his goddamned legacy.
And the construction timeline was ambitious; he didn’t have time to find another architect and have the plans redrafted.
“Damn it,” he swore under his breath. She stiffened but said nothing more.
They reached Eighty-First Street and the carriage slowed. Heart thumping, he pushed open the door and climbed out before the wheels even stopped moving. He held out his hand and helped her to the walk, then escorted her into his home.
“Is this . . . ? It’s the Loggia del Capitanio.” Her chin tilted as she assessed the exterior of his home. “Goodness, it’s stunning.”
Of course she recognized it. No, I merely like to look at buildings. I’m curious to see how your landscape differs from London and the other European cities. A lie. The woman was the daughter of the greatest living architect in the world. What else had she lied about?
Even when we first met I thought you were perfectly lickable.
That too? Had she been playing him the entire time?
The front door opened and Roberts appeared. His eyes widened at the sight of his master tugging a small, well-dressed lady at his side. “Good morning, sir.”
“I’m not to be disturbed, Roberts.”
“Very good, sir. May I take . . . ?”
The words were lost to the empty room. Phillip had already left the entryway and was leading Eva farther into the house. He noted the way her head kept turning, the soft gasps at the artwork and details throughout the interior. He slowed his pace to allow her to keep up, though his hand remained securely wrapped around her upper arm.
He’d touched her before, of course, and thoughts of those touches had haunted him since waking to a cold bed on the ship. Since searching for her
in every nook and cranny on that floating hunk of steel. He hadn’t wanted to lose her. So, he’d raced about, looking, certain what they’d shared had been real, that her touch had perhaps been more real than any he’d ever had.
How wrong he’d been.
Throwing open the heavy wooden door to his office, he motioned for her to enter. Shoulders set and spine straight, she strode past him and lowered herself into one of the chairs opposite his desk.
He stripped off his morning coat and tossed the garment over a chair while taking a deep breath, preparing for the sight of her. He steeled himself against the glossy red hair that was every bit as soft as it appeared, the smooth, creamy skin that had given under his lips and teeth. The lush mouth that kissed like an angel and tormented like the devil.
He recalled every detail of their evening together, from laughing and talking over dinner to the breathy sound of her orgasm in his ear. It had been one of the best nights he’d had with a woman in ages, perhaps ever. Those memories were now tainted, ruined.
On the ship he’d assumed her to be . . . experienced. Women didn’t travel alone, especially wealthy English women, and there hadn’t been a chaperone anywhere in the vicinity. He’d guessed her to be widowed. Hell, she could’ve been married for all he knew and cuckolding her absent husband. He hadn’t asked.
You didn’t ask because you wanted her to be experienced.
Also, she’d acted bold and responsive—not like a virgin at all. She’d been warm and wet, a pleasant surprise. He could still hear the little gasps she’d made in her throat as he pleasured her.
“Are you an innocent?”
Her pale skin turned a dull red. “I hardly see how that is your business.”
“You would be wrong, considering what happened on the ship. Not to mention what could have happened. You should have told me.”
“If things had progressed I would have informed you.”
“I hope you mean that. I do not care for surprises.”
“I’m gathering that fact,” she said dryly, shifting toward him. “But this changes nothing. We must put the past behind us and not think about what happened on the ship.”
