by Joanna Shupe
The word “marry” echoed ominously in the enclosed space of the carriage. She did not want to marry Emmett Cavanaugh. She hardly knew him for one thing. He could be a philanderer. Abusive. An opium addict. Or any other manner of horrible and cruel traits undesirable in a husband.
Also, she had sworn to marry only for love. To have a man so besotted with her that he never strayed, never even glanced at another woman. Like the stories of her mother and father, the ones Will used to tell her late at night when she was too scared to sleep.
And though he caused her knees to go weak, a man like Emmett Cavanaugh would only bring heartache.
“What if I say no?”
Will heaved out a sigh. “Then we suffer the consequences. But Cavanaugh wants to marry you, Lizzie. Said so himself. Give him a chance to convince you.”
“Mr. Cavanaugh wants to marry me?” She couldn’t believe it. He did not seem the marrying sort.
“Yes. Asked for your hand and everything. He’s not my first choice—far from it—but I believe he’ll make you happy. I’ve already agreed. It’s done.”
“Will! How could you agree without even talking to me first?”
“Because I am your guardian and, like it or not, I have the right to make these decisions for you.”
“But . . .”
She couldn’t even finish it. Having the choice taken away, not being able to decide her own fate, angered Lizzie more than anything else.
You decided your own fate when you baited Emmett into kissing you tonight.
No, that wasn’t fair. She’d never expected things to go this far. Hadn’t thought anyone would discover them. She certainly had never considered a marriage would result. All she’d wanted was to open her own investment firm, she thought, rubbing her throbbing temples.
“Lizzie, your reputation is all you have. If you lose it, no one will even look you in the eye, let alone speak to you. You’ll cease to exist to those in our circle.”
Sweet mercy, her brother was right. Any chance of luring the wealthy society matrons and respectable widows to invest with her would disappear if word of tonight’s episode got out. A lump settled in her throat. Why had she been so stupid?
Perhaps she could talk Emmett out of an actual wedding. They could enjoy a long engagement and then call off the wedding before the ceremony. That made more sense. All they had to do was wait for the scandal to settle. Then they could cancel the wedding and go their separate ways, reputations intact.
A fine plan, she reasoned.
“I can see your thoughts turning,” Will said, her brother’s shrewd gaze too knowing. “Give over, Lizzie. It’s done.”
Wrong. This was far from done. But she bit her lip and kept her ideas to herself. Just like always.
* * *
The announcement appeared in the paper the following morning.
Dressed in a pale china-blue morning gown, Lizzie stirred her morning coffee, her mind swirling faster than the cream in her Limoges porcelain cup. This was her brother’s doing, she knew it. She hadn’t a clue how Will had managed the feat, but news of the impending nuptials graced the front page, shouting her misery to the world in stark black-and-white.
ELIZABETH SLOANE TO MARRY
“PRINCE OF STEEL” CAVANAUGH!
KNICKERBOCKER PRINCESS
THROWS OVER RUTLIDGE HEIR!
BROTHER WILLIAM SLOANE
“THRILLED” AT THE MATCH!
Lizzie rubbed her brow. Hadn’t the idea only been discussed last night? She had hoped to find a way out of the situation before word became public. Today’s paper certainly changed that. Not only would stopping the marriage prove more difficult, the news that she’d broken things off with Henry painted her like some man-hopping hussy.
And “thrilled at the match”? Will had hardly spoken to her on the ride home from Sherry’s, depositing her at the front door before disappearing into his home office, clearly eager to begin ruining her life.
Just then, her brother walked into the breakfast room. Tall and confident, his blond hair was perfectly oiled, his dress immaculate. How could he appear so put together on a disastrous morning such as this?
“Good morning,” he said casually.
Lizzie tapped anxious fingers on the table while he pulled out a chair and sat down. A servant rushed over with coffee.
“Excellent. You’ve seen it.” He gestured to the paper. “I suppose you’ll be besieged by callers today.”
Oh, dear heavens, she’d forgotten. Lizzie pinched the bridge of her nose. No doubt the ladies of New York society were ordering the wheels of their coupés greased at this very moment. She would have to face them, if not today then soon.
“Why did this need to appear in the morning’s paper? Can’t I even have a moment to let the idea settle?”
Will turned to the footman by the wall. “Paul, give us a moment.” The servant withdrew, shutting the door behind him, and her brother leaned forward, his expression clouding. “This had to appear this morning because you chose to meet Cavanaugh in a private dining room, Lizzie. Someone knew about your dinner, someone who sent me there to find you. This is me, protecting you.” He stabbed a finger at the newspaper. “I had to rouse the publisher out of a . . . quite unsavory place last night just to have the page reset.”
Bitter, ugly feelings expanded in her chest until she could hardly contain them. It was all happening too fast. No one was listening to her, or taking into account what she wanted. This was not how she had imagined her engagement. “Maybe I am tired of your protecting me!” she snapped. “You never include me in decisions, at least not anymore. You do whatever you please, telling no one, and damn the consequences!”
His eyes rounded. “Did you just swear in our breakfast room?”
“Yes, I did. If ever a day required swearing, this is it. Maybe I’ll never stop! Damn, damn, damn.”
A muscle jumped in Will’s jaw. “I won’t apologize for this. Not for any of it. I’ve done my best, but you’ve brought all this on yourself. You’re Cavanaugh’s problem now.” Will rose, gulped his coffee, and set his cup in the saucer with a snap. “And I wish him luck.”
Lizzie watched Will go, resisting the urge to call after him. She hated fighting with her brother, but she refused to roll over and allow others to decide her fate. There has to be a way out of this, she thought with another calculating glance at the paper.
Not long after, a noise in the hall caught her attention. She had just finished her breakfast when Edith Rutlidge strode into the breakfast room with Frederic, their butler, hot on her heels.
“I cannot believe it!” Edith declared at the same time that Frederic apologized for not announcing their guest.
“It’s fine, Frederic. Edith, please sit.”
Edith sat while the footman arranged a clean place setting in front of her. When finished, he wisely quit the room.
Edith’s eyes were wild and disbelieving. “You’re getting married? To Emmett Cavanaugh? I . . . I’m speechless, Lizzie.”
Well, not exactly speechless, but Lizzie refrained from pointing that out. “We are engaged, yes,” she hedged.
Edith’s gaze dipped to Lizzie’s finger. “Then where is your ring?”
Oh. Lizzie hadn’t thought of that. She twisted her hands together, hiding her bare fingers. “It was only just decided last evening, which is why I didn’t tell you.”
“The other night, that’s who dropped you and Henry off at the house. It was Cavanaugh, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
Edith slumped in the chair, her face as unhappy as Lizzie had ever seen. Guilt wormed its way under Lizzie’s ribs to clench her heart. She didn’t like hurting Edith’s feelings, but she was not ready to discuss the true nature of her engagement to Emmett Cavanaugh.
“I didn’t even know you two were acquainted. He’s so . . .”
Large? Handsome? Intense? There were a hundred ways to finish that sentence, but they were not here to discuss Cavanaugh’s strengths and w
eaknesses. “Edith, I realize this is a shock. The whole business caught me by surprise as well.”
Edith studied Lizzie’s face. “Caught you by surprise, in a good way? What I mean is, did he sweep you off your feet?”
Lizzie swallowed the rest of her coffee, which had turned cold. “In a manner of speaking.”
“You’re not telling me much. I’m supposed to be your closest friend. Henry is hurt by this,” she said, gesturing to the paper. “You should have seen his face this morning. And you cannot even tell me how Cavanaugh convinced you to marry him?”
“You are my closest friend, and I’m sorry for not being forthcoming. I’m still . . . reeling.”
“Do you love him?”
That question nearly made Lizzie laugh, but she restrained herself. Love him? She barely knew him. “Hard to say. It’s all been so sudden.”
Edith huffed. “You have maintained for years you’ll never marry except for love. And now you’re saying you are not in love with your betrothed? This makes no sense.”
“You need to take my word for it,” Lizzie said sharply. She did not want to argue with her friend, but Edith needed to stop peppering her with so many questions.
Frederic appeared, a silver salver in hand. One lone card rested on the surface, and Lizzie picked it up. When she saw the name, her stomach fell. Why was he paying her a call?
“What? Who is it?” Edith reached over to pluck the card out of Lizzie’s fingers before Lizzie could stop her. “Oh, my heavens.”
Lizzie wanted to run upstairs and draw the covers over her head. Instead, she told Frederic, “Show him to the front receiving room, please.”
“I’m coming with you,” Edith declared. “I want to meet him.”
“No, absolutely not,” Lizzie said emphatically.
A determined set to her chin, Edith shot out of her chair and rushed from the breakfast room. Realizing what was happening, Lizzie hurried toward the front of the house. Her friend was faster, however, and by the time Lizzie arrived, Edith was boldly introducing herself to Emmett.
In a wool morning suit of light gray and white stripes, he appeared tall, sturdy, and impossibly handsome. If he was bothered by the news in today’s paper, Lizzie couldn’t tell from the way he politely greeted Edith.
“Good morning,” Lizzie said.
Emmett glanced up, his dark eyes slowly traveling the length of her before settling on her face. That intense scrutiny made her shiver, despite her best intentions to remain unaffected by him.
“Good morning, Miss Sloane. My apologies for the early call. I hadn’t expected you to be entertaining.”
“That’s my fault,” Edith said. “I couldn’t help but come downtown as soon as I read the paper. It came as quite a surprise.”
To everyone, Lizzie longed to add. She wanted to rip open the door and scream into Washington Square Park, I have no intention of marrying him.
Emmett gave Edith an inscrutable look. “To me as well, Miss Rutlidge,” he admitted. “But a pleasant surprise, indeed.”
Edith’s expression softened, as if the statement had been a declaration of undying love. “Oh, you have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say that. When I saw the announcement this morning, I feared the worst.”
“And what would the worst be?” he asked her.
“Lizzie has sworn to marry only for love—”
“Edith! That’s enough. Mr. Cavanaugh is very busy, and we wouldn’t want to delay him.”
Emmett cleared his throat. “I won’t stay long. I wondered if we might have a word in private, Miss Sloane?”
“Oh,” Edith said, glancing between Lizzie and Emmett. Calls were required to be chaperoned, though Lizzie certainly wouldn’t have worried over propriety if she had been alone. Edith’s presence complicated matters.
“Excuse us, Edith. I’ll speak with Mr. Cavanaugh in the hall.” She turned and led the way out of the room.
Chapter Seven
Couples should know each other thoroughly before they become engaged.
—American Etiquette and Rules of Politeness, 1883
Emmett followed Elizabeth into the hall. Obviously he’d broken some absurd social rule by asking to speak with her alone, if the horrified look on the Rutlidge girl’s face had been any indication. Not that Emmett cared about the ridiculous rules, especially not after the previous evening.
Elizabeth stepped further along the corridor. The house, he couldn’t help notice, was decorated with the tasteful elegance one would expect from a family such as the Sloanes. No garish colors or gold leaf. Old, subtle paintings. Worn, expensive carpets. It was the kind of home that reminded you how long the occupants had been here, how well rooted their wealth.
But was that wealth only for show? That was what Emmett meant to find out. One way or another, Will Sloane would pay dearly for his part in all this.
Elizabeth stopped and faced him, her expression wary. She had dark smudges under her eyes, as if she’d had a terrible night’s sleep. He could relate. He’d hardly closed his eyes.
Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a robin’s egg–blue box that was tied with a white ribbon. “Here.” He presented the box to her, and she accepted it hesitantly.
“What is it?” She untied the bow and lifted the lid to reveal the smaller box within. She flipped the top open and then gasped. “Oh my.”
The way her gaze lit up, gray eyes sparking fire, caused a heady jolt of lust to streak throughout his body. He wanted to stoke that fire, watch her burn beneath him. Whatever else was between them, he could not help but notice her, react to her. He’d relived that kiss a hundred times, wondered how much more passion he could coax from this proper young woman.
Since she hadn’t made a move to touch the ring, he took the box from her. “I thought you might need this today.”
He reached for her hand and slipped the band on her small finger. A perfect fit, yet uncertainty gnawed at him as she remained silent. Did she not like it? He’d been led to believe that diamonds were the fashionable stone these days, at least that’s what Charles Tiffany had said last night when the man reopened his store so Emmett could pick out a ring. His choice, an antique setting containing a four-carat, emerald-cut yellow stone, spoke to his betrothed’s refined taste, he’d thought. But perhaps it was too gaudy—
“Emmett, this is . . . It’s too much. You shouldn’t have.”
His stomach sank. Of course he’d bungled this. He started to take the band off her finger. “I’ll exchange it, then. You may pick out whatever you want.”
Elizabeth curled her fingers protectively, surprising him. “No, I love the ring. There’s no need to exchange it for something else. I just . . . I can’t believe you thought of this.”
“Why wouldn’t I buy you an engagement ring?” As soon as he said the words, he knew the answer. Elizabeth didn’t consider them engaged. No doubt she’d been trying to think of a way out since they left Sherry’s last evening.
Not that Emmett hadn’t been trying to come up with an escape plan himself, but any way he looked at the situation, the two of them had to marry. He’d not allow his sisters to be ruined before they even debuted, period. They deserved the very best, and no matter the personal cost to himself, Emmett meant to ensure they had every advantage in life. He was marrying Elizabeth, and his sisters would be fully accepted into New York society.
And the retribution he planned for Elizabeth’s brother was no one’s business but his own.
“Emmett,” Elizabeth said, “I don’t want you to think me ungrateful, but perhaps we should discuss this supposed marriage.”
“There is no ‘supposed’ marriage, Elizabeth. This is real. Do you want me to hire someone to see to the details, or would you rather take care of the planning?”
Her jaw fell open. “The planning? Hire someone? We hardly know one another. You can’t seriously be considering going through with this.”
As if he had a choice. Indeed, Will Sloane would pay dearly for blackmai
ling Emmett to go through with the ceremony, no matter how long Emmett’s revenge took. Getting his hands on a large chunk of Northeast stock took a bit of the sting out, but Emmett would make sure Sloane regretted this.
His fiancée, for her part, couldn’t sound more horrified if she tried. That shouldn’t surprise him, but it did. After all, she was the one who’d asked him to kiss her. Had she been slumming? Wouldn’t be the first time a high-society woman had thrown herself at him. Though the other night was the first time he’d taken up the offer.
As he’d done his whole life, he buried his emotions deep. He stepped back, putting distance between them. “I am prepared to marry you,” he said flatly. “If you want to break it off and suffer the repercussions, that is your decision. But I won’t be the one to go back on my word.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Go back on your word? Your word to whom, exactly?”
Emmett could have bitten his tongue. Sloane had wanted Elizabeth to believe the marriage was real, that Emmett desired the match. Make it look convincing, Cavanaugh. If she suspects you’re lying, she’ll never go through with it. And your sisters will suffer the consequences. “That’s an expression. All I mean is that I am going forward with this marriage.”
She blinked, her brows flattening. “Why?”
“Does that matter?”
“Yes. You know nothing about me.”
She knew even less about him—and Emmett meant to see it stayed that way. But he’d be damned if he’d try and convince her of something neither of them wanted. “Talk to your brother. If this wedding is called off, I won’t be the one responsible. Grace Church has been booked for February twenty-second.”
“But that’s merely a month away!”
“You are welcome to bow out, Elizabeth.” Emmett strode toward the entry, collected his hat and walking stick, and continued directly out the door. Before he closed the heavy wood behind him, he heard Edith Rutlidge say, “You have a lot of explaining to do, Lizzie.”
