Magnate

by Joanna Shupe

  Lizzie had been traveling to Newport all her life. The Sloanes owned a fourteen-room, Gothic-style “cottage” on Wellington Avenue, used exclusively for the eight weeks of the summer social season. She loved it here; from lazy afternoons at Easton’s Beach to ambling along the Cliff Walk, the seaside town had always been her favorite place to visit.

  But winter cast the surroundings in a much different light, she thought as the carriage ambled toward the center of town. Austere. Forbidding. A description that applied to the man sitting across from her as well.

  Emmett had not returned to his car during the remainder of their journey. And since disembarking, he’d hardly spoken, seemingly content to watch the landscape roll by. The fading light played across his profile, highlighting the rigid jaw and strong cheekbones.

  Your sister practically begged me to kiss her.

  Mercy, she could nearly die recalling those mortifying words, mostly because they were true. She’d prefer her brother didn’t know of her wantonness, however. Unlikely she’d ever forgive Emmett for revealing it, either. One thing she knew for certain, she would never, ever beg Emmett Cavanaugh for another dratted thing.

  The carriage turned off Bellevue and rolled toward the water. Soon a three-story, white Italianate-style mansion came into view, the property set back on a sweeping lawn. There were large windows with black shutters and a porch that ran along the entire south side. A wide staircase curved up to the front entrance, and she counted five—no, six chimneys. The house seemed to go on for miles.

  “I remember this one,” she said. “I’ve never been inside. Hasn’t it been empty for the last two years?”

  “Three,” Emmett answered. “I acquired Oceancrest last month as part of a business deal. The man who built it five years ago died unexpectedly. The interior has not been remodeled, but it’s been cleaned and aired out. I had a small amount of furniture delivered as well. You should, of course, feel free to redecorate as you wish.”

  She should correct him, take the opportunity to explain she had no intentions of redecorating anything since the two of them would soon procure an annulment, but she held off. Better to have the conversation inside, once they both settled in and where the driver would not overhear.

  The interior was even more impressive than the exterior. Two massive chandeliers hung over the two-story entryway, which had to be at least forty, perhaps fifty feet high, all carved, white marble. Archways flanked by Doric columns had been cut out to lead deeper into the house, including one over the dramatic sweeping staircase. Designed like an Italian palazzo, the open-air second floor overlooked the great hall from surrounding balconies.

  But there was hardly time to gawk. An army of servants had lined up to greet the new master and mistress of the house, and so she came forward. Emmett surprised her, warmly greeting each staff member and talking at length, smiling broadly, and she attempted to do the same.

  After he thanked and dismissed them all, he turned to her. “Would you like a tour?”

  “No. I’m exhausted. I’ll wait until tomorrow to explore.” Alone.

  He inclined his head and led her up the stairs. The maze of corridors astounded her, but her husband navigated them easily. Finally they stopped at a door, and he turned the latch, motioning her inside. The bedroom was elaborate, even more so than her new room in Emmett’s Fifth Avenue home. Pale green walls accented by stark white crown molding, with three elegantly curtained Palladian windows that faced out to an expansive back lawn. She recognized the furniture as Louis XVI and wondered how Emmett had managed to accomplish all this—buying, updating, and furnishing—in one month.

  “Thank you,” she told him sincerely. He might not have wanted to marry her, but he had moved mountains between the reception and this house. Not to mention her new office on Beaver Street. So why had he done it all, when he’d been blackmailed into marrying her? His actions made no sense.

  He seemed taken aback by her gratitude. “My pleasure,” he said. “You have three closets. The panels are flush to the wall.” He pushed on the plaster, which unlatched a clever door. “You can store all the clothes you need here—”

  “Emmett, wait,” she blurted before he could explain anything further. The thoughtfulness, the care, was too much. If she hadn’t overheard the conversation between Emmett and her brother, she’d likely be a puddle at the man’s feet.

  But she had heard the truth, and there was no erasing it from her memory.

  He thrust his hands in his trouser pockets. “Yes?”

  “I—I wanted to talk about this evening. About later.”

  “From the way you are blushing, I assume you mean the wedding night.” He stared at her, calm as could be, while Lizzie wished for the ground to open up and let her disappear.

  Still, she had to forge ahead. Sloanes were not quitters. “Yes. I do not wish to have one. A wedding night, that is.”

  “You do not want a wedding night?” She nodded, and he continued, “Are you, by chance, hoping to rush that particular event, or to postpone it indefinitely?”

  “Postpone. Indefinitely.”

  His brows lowered menacingly, the divot in his chin deepening with his frown. “Dare I ask why? We are married, after all.”

  “I plan to petition for an annulment once we return to New York.”

  Emmett threw his head back and let out a bark of laughter. “You’ve got to be joking.”

  Lizzie drew up taller, determined to face him down, no matter his reaction. “I happen to be serious.”

  “An annulment? On what goddamned grounds?” he said, his voice rising. “I can assure you, not a soul will buy impotence.”

  “Consent obtained by force.”

  He stared at her, his eyes dark and hard, the walls closing in as the moment stretched. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “So you plan,” he said, his tone laced with menace, “to say in a court of law that you were forced to marry me.”

  “Yes. I will say my brother forced me.”

  No relief crossed his face. Instead, he snarled, “Do you have any idea how that makes me look?”

  “Emmett, I know the true circumstances behind our wedding.” The anger drained from his expression, leaving him looking confused, so she told him the rest. “I overheard your argument with my brother today. I know he blackmailed you into marrying me.”

  Emmett spun to the window, his outline as still as that of a statue. When he spoke, his gaze remained on the view. “I regret that you overheard that conversation, Elizabeth. I would have preferred you never learn of my arrangement with your brother. However, I am prepared to live up to my responsibility toward you.”

  There was that word again, responsibility. She did not want to be a chore, something in his life to be borne. To be dealt with, like a sore tooth. She wanted passion. Love. To be needed more than his next breath.

  And his response was even more proof of the mistake they had made today. She would not back down.

  “When you’ve had a chance to think on the idea, I’m sure you’ll come round to my way of thinking,” she said. “With an annulment, it’s as if the marriage never happened.”

  “We stood in front of God and four hundred people. Pledged ourselves until death do us part. And you think everyone will just forget?” He turned and put his hands on his hips. “Is that how it works in Knickerbocker society, where it means nothing to go back on your word?”

  She rubbed her temples. What did any of that mean when the rest of their lives were at stake? They would make each other miserable until they died. Was that really what he wanted?

  He drew close, stopping mere inches from her. “Is the idea of marriage to me so abhorrent that you would lie and embarrass us both to get out of it?”

  She craned her neck to see his face, a face now etched with disgust and fury. The question confused her, when he hadn’t wanted to marry her in the first place. What answer could she possibly give? And really, masculine pride aside, he would come to realize she was right. So she said noth
ing.

  In the silence, his expression changed from a mix of disbelief and vulnerability to the indifference to which she’d grown accustomed. “I wondered what was wrong at the reception, why you were avoiding me. And convenient that you waited to tell me of this until after we’d arrived here, and not when we were in New York. Tell me, had the house been completed, full of fancy furnishings, would you still be asking for the annulment? Or perhaps the location doesn’t meet your blue-blooded standards?”

  Anger rushed through her, strangling her insides. “You think this is about your wealth, or what you can buy me?”

  “Everything is about wealth, Elizabeth. Anyone who tells you otherwise is either a liar or very rich.”

  “I don’t want your money. I never wanted anything—” But you, she’d almost said. Pride held her back, however. No sense in arming him with that information for his next argument with Will.

  “Never wanted anything to do with me,” he finished incorrectly, then gave a hollow laugh. A lump had formed in her throat, and she couldn’t bring herself to correct him, even though she knew he was hurt. He didn’t want to marry you, she told herself. He’ll eventually thank you for releasing him from the marriage.

  “So I was good enough when you wanted your precious investment firm, but I’m not good enough for your bed.” She hated the words, hated the implication, but did not speak. In the end, what did it matter what he believed?

  His jaw like granite, he stalked toward the door. “An annulment sounds like a fine plan, Mrs. Cavanaugh. God knows my cock would fall off if I stuck it inside you, you’re so damn cold. Don’t worry, I’ll have no trouble finding a woman who wants me to fuck her every way I know how.”

  He stopped with his hand on the knob. Looking over his shoulder, he said darkly, “And I know plenty of ways how.”

  * * *

  Emmett tossed the angel figurine into the air and swung the short drapery rod he’d taken down from the window. Wood met porcelain to cause an unholy crash all over the empty ballroom. He grabbed the gin bottle at his feet and took another swig, wondered when the alcohol would kick in. Whole damn bottle was nearly gone.

  The rabbit figurine was next. Toss. Swing. A satisfying burst of tiny bunny fragments rained down on him. He’d already cut his face twice, and his hands had scratches all along the exposed skin. Not that he noticed. He felt nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  “That’s all of ’em. At least the ones I could find,” Kelly said as he dropped a few more figurines on the side table Emmett had dragged to the center of the room. “Are you ready to tell me what happened?”

  “No. Feel like pitching?”

  “Not particularly. You do know you’re bleedin’?”

  Yes, Emmett knew it. And couldn’t find enough energy to care. “I need another bottle of gin.” He held the bottle to his lips and took several long pulls.

  Kelly’s eyes went wide as Emmett swallowed. “I wouldn’t recommend that.”

  “No one asked you,” Emmett responded when he got his breath back. Then he exchanged the bottle for a figurine, stepped away, and let her rip.

  “Your swing’s improved since those days on Mulberry Bend.” Kelly brushed porcelain dust off his shoulders. “So I guess you’re not having dinner with your wife.”

  Emmett said nothing. The fact that he was in his shirtsleeves, in the ballroom, swinging at ceramic bric-a-brac seemed enough of an answer. Trouble was, the smashing wasn’t making him feel better. The center of his chest still felt as if it had been hollowed out with a dull spoon. A familiar feeling, one he hadn’t felt in a long time. But one he never forgot.

  She doesn’t want you. So what? Not like it’s a surprise.

  The room spun as he reached for another figurine, and he stumbled. Kelly’s hand landed on his shoulder, steadying him. “Whoa there, Bish. Careful.”

  Emmett straightened and snatched a tiny bowl. Moving into the room, he tossed and swung. The bowl smashed on the floor. Emmett stared intently at the broken pieces. How had he missed?

  “All right, that’s enough,” Kelly said as he removed the stick from Emmett’s hands. “Let’s sit down and tell Uncle Kelly all about it.”

  “Don’t coddle me,” Emmett growled. “I’m not a child. Wasn’t a child even when I was a child.”

  “Yeah, I know. You were full of piss even then.”

  Kelly led him to a chair. Lucky for Emmett, he nabbed the gin bottle before Kelly did. “How many bottles before I pass out?”

  “Usually three,” Kelly answered as he dragged another chair over. “But you’re hell on wheels the next day.”

  Who gave a fuck about tomorrow? Emmett took a long drink. “I’m a bastard. Yelled at my wife. Cursed at her, even. Used words I doubt she’s ever heard in her privileged life.”

  Kelly sat, his big, hulking frame almost ridiculous in the fancy furniture. “So did you have a reason for cursin’, or did you just want to shock her?”

  “Both, I think.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “She plans to get an annulment once we return.”

  Kelly winced. “On what grounds?”

  “Coercion.”

  “Christ.”

  “’xactly.” Emmett poured more gin down his throat. The liquid burned a path to his stomach. “Overheard her brother and me arguin’ at the reception, when we talked about the blackmail.”

  Kelly winced again, which made Emmett feel a hundred times worse. “Can’t imagine she appreciated that.”

  “No, she did not. What a goddamn disaster.”

  “You don’t plan to give up, do you?”

  Emmett frowned at his friend. “Not a matter of givin’ up. This ain’t a business deal. The woman hates everything about me.”

  “Not true. I saw the way she was lookin’ at you. When you wasn’t paying attention, of course. It’s the same way all of ’em look at ya, like they’re dyin’ to get you between the sheets.”

  Emmett was shaking his head before Kelly finished. “You’re insane. Elizabeth don’t feel that way ’bout me.” God, if only she did.

  “Then why’d she let you kiss her at Sherry’s?”

  “Same reason any of those society women throw not-so-veiled invitations my way. Slumming.”

  Kelly thought about that while Emmett busied himself with drinking. “I still say you could convince her, if you wanted,” the other man said.

  Convince her? Emmett didn’t want a wife he had to convince or cajole into bedding him. If he’d had any idea she planned to get an annulment, he wouldn’t have shown up at the church this morning. Fuck Will Sloane and his threats.

  “Hardly matters when one woman’s just as good as ’nother,” Emmett replied. His tongue was starting to thicken with drink. Good.

  “If you believe that, then why’d you cut Mae loose?”

  Yes, the beautiful Mrs. Rose. He’d broken it off with her as soon as the engagement had been announced, much to her disappointment. He tried to bring to mind her lush curves and dark, exotic looks . . . but all he could see were gray eyes and blond hair. Damn it.

  “Doesn’t matter. I’ll find another. Actresses love me.”

  “They love your deep pockets,” Kelly muttered.

  “At least they’re honest.” The two sat in companionable silence for a few moments, while Emmett finished the rest of the bottle.

  “What do you plan to do about the annulment?” Kelly finally asked.

  Emmett rose, swayed a bit, and got his balance. He picked up a ceramic figurine off the table and threw it as hard as he could against the far wall. It shattered in a cloud of porcelain. “Nothin’. That’s what I plan to do.”

  “Ain’t like you. Never seen you beat before, not even when One-eyed Jackson and his boys found you alone in that alley.”

  Emmett’s lips twisted at the memory. “Three weeks it took me to recover.”

  “And I’ll never forget when you returned the favor, the sight of those three kneeling at your feet, beggin’ the Bishop for mercy.”

&
nbsp; He dragged a hand through his hair. “It’s not the same. And this isn’t Five Points.”

  “Indeed, it ain’t,” Kelly said. “Sometimes, I think it’s worse. At least there, we never gave up. There was a time you wouldn’t have let a little thing like ‘no’ stop you from taking what you wanted.”

  “You don’t understand, you stubborn shit-sack.” Emmett snatched another small bowl and hurled it against the wall. Then another. Two weeks he would be trapped here. Fourteen nights of wanting something he’d never have. There wasn’t enough alcohol or knickknacks in the world to keep him from going crazy. But he wouldn’t scurry back to New York to expose his failure, where everyone would discover it had only taken a day—not even one fucking day—for his marriage to be revealed for what it really was: a sham.

  “Cable Colin. I want him here first thing tomorrow morning. Tell him to bring as much work as he can carry.”

  Kelly sighed. “Does that mean . . .”

  “What it means,” Emmett snarled as he reached for another figurine, “is that the goddamn honeymoon is over.”

  Chapter Ten

  Every young lady or gentleman should cultivate a love for society—not as an end, but as a means.

  —American Etiquette and Rules of Politeness, 1883

  Over the next four days, the atmosphere in the house grew colder than the brisk winter winds now blowing in off the Atlantic Ocean. Lizzie closed her eyes, enjoying the sting against her cheeks, as she stood on the back lawn, facing the water.

  She’d hardly seen Emmett since the exchange in his bedroom, when she’d announced her plan for an annulment. Instead, he spent all his time in the office with the door firmly closed. She had passed him on the main stairs once, and they had shared an incredibly awkward breakfast with his secretary, Colin, who’d appeared ready to flee at a moment’s notice. Emmett’s flat, dark eyes had barely spared her a glance, his attention firmly on either his food or his secretary. It was as if she had ceased to exist to him.

  She tried not to be hurt. After all, she’d asked for the annulment. Wasn’t this distance for the best, especially since her brother had blackmailed him into the wedding?