by Joanna Shupe
“Henry!” she shrieked. “Why would you do something so cruel?”
“Your brother knows the right sort of people with whom to associate. I assumed he would forbid you from seeing Cavanaugh again.” Henry dragged a hand down his face. “I had no idea he’d force you to marry so beneath you.”
“All this time, I thought you were a friend. But, in truth, you are underhanded and deliberately malicious. It’s as if I do not even know you anymore.”
“Do not let him”—Rutlidge pointed at Emmett—“poison you against me. I love you, Lizzie. I’ve always loved you.”
“No, you don’t. You think you’ve lost something, but I was never yours to begin with. And I never will be.”
Fists curled, Henry took a menacing step toward Emmett, and Elizabeth surprised everyone by putting herself between the two men. “Don’t you dare, Henry. Leave my husband alone.”
Emmett fought a smile. He hadn’t needed protecting . . . ever. And yet his slip of a wife thought to stand up for him, which made him love and respect her all the more.
“You’re both disgusting,” Rutlidge spat. “I’ll see that everyone shuns you, Lizzie. Your invitations will dry—”
“Shut your mouth.” White-hot anger shot up Emmett’s spine, and he lunged for the other man, intent on ripping off Rutlidge’s perfectly styled head.
The other man paled, eyes going wide with fear. He grabbed the outside handle, the one that led to the tracks, and jerked the door open. Wind rushed in as the countryside swept by, the sound nearly deafening in the enclosed space. Rutlidge did not wait. Stepping into the air, he promptly jumped off the moving train.
Emmett reached the edge in time to see Rutlidge hit the ground and roll down an embankment.
Elizabeth peered over Emmett’s shoulder. “Will he be hurt?” she shouted.
Emmett yanked the door shut, sealing them in. “I don’t care about him any longer. Do you?”
“No, I don’t.” She stared at him with wary gray eyes. “You’re the reason the train stopped last night, so you could catch us. Why did you come after me, Emmett?”
He gave her the honest answer, the one on the tip of his tongue. “I had to. I couldn’t let you go.”
“Yes, but why? Allow me to guess. You learned Henry was on the train, and you didn’t trust me.”
Emmett swallowed, unnerved by how close she’d come to the truth. “I trusted you. It was Rutlidge I didn’t trust, and with good reason, apparently.” Her expression did not change, and he dragged a hand down his face. The time had come to be honest with her.
“It isn’t easy for me, trusting in people. Things were so perfect between us after the storm that I couldn’t believe it would last. So when I heard about the stock purchase, I assumed you had been fooling me, acting as if you enjoyed being my wife just to catch me off my guard. I’m very sorry, Elizabeth, for all of it. The mistrust, as well as everything I said.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, silently staring at the vestibule wall for a long moment. Emmett began to worry she would not accept his apology, that he’d ruined all between them for good. Sweat prickled his brow, and yet he forced himself to remain still, to give her a chance to think.
She finally locked her gaze with his. “Trusting others isn’t easy for me, either. My entire life, I’ve learned to bury my true self, to not reveal too much lest I face the wrath of society. You . . .” She sucked in a shaky breath. “You were the first person who saw all of me and never judged. You made everything I am, everything I want to be seem the most normal thing in the world, even for a woman. But you didn’t truly see me, because if you had, you would have known I could never hurt you.”
“I saw you,” he rasped, emotion lodging in his chest. “I saw a woman unlike any other, one who has looked into the darkest, deepest part of me and somehow managed to find something worthwhile.”
Unable to keep from touching her, he closed the distance between them and stroked the softness of her cheek with his fingertips.
“You hurt me, Emmett.”
“I know, sweetheart, and I’ll never quit apologizing for it.” He placed his hands on her shoulders, holding her in place. “I’ve done many terrible things in my life, Elizabeth. The stains on my soul are vast and permanent. I don’t deserve a woman like you—a smart, decent woman with honor and mettle—but I’ll be damned if I’ll give you up. Whatever I need to do or say, however you need me to change, I’m willing to do it. I just . . . I cannot lose you.”
Unshed tears swam in her eyes, and she bit her lip. “Why? You never wanted to marry me. You thought you were meeting your mistress that night at Sherry’s. My brother—”
“Did us both a favor.”
Her jaw fell open at his statement, and Emmett gave a wry chuckle. “I never thought I’d say it either, believe me. But Sloane could never force me into something against my wishes, Elizabeth, no matter who he threatened. I wanted you, and he knew it. I’ve wanted you from the very first moment you marched into my office.”
“Do you mean that?”
“Every word.” She swayed toward him slightly, her shoulders relaxing, and a flare of hope burst in his chest. Perhaps he was getting through to her. Might as well finish telling her all of it.
Cupping her jaw in his hands, he leaned in to whisper, “Do not leave me. Not now, not ever. I will make this up to you, I swear on my life. I’ll prove how much I love you.”
She let out a small gasp. “You love me?”
“More than I ever thought possible.” Then he kissed her, long and deep, drinking her soft sighs and warm breaths into his mouth. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”
“That’s reassuring, since I love you madly. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me as well.”
Happiness flooded Emmett’s chest, an unfamiliar sense of rightness he’d never experienced before. No one had ever loved him, not in any kind of lasting, real way. His mother had presumably loved him, but had left all the same. And his father . . . Emmett would hardly categorize that as love. The girls and Brendan were his family, his responsibilities, and they would all marry and start their own families one day. Elizabeth, however, belonged to Emmett because she wished to stay.
Which reminded him of Rutlidge’s words. “Does this mean you’re not going to California to procure a divorce?”
She pulled back, aghast. “Who in the world told you that? I was never going to California to divorce you.”
“That lying bastard.”
“I assume you mean Henry. Which likely means you didn’t tell him what train I was on, did you?”
“He told you that?” Jaw clenched, Emmett started for the vestibule door. God, he wanted to flatten Rutlidge all over again.
Elizabeth put a hand on Emmett’s shoulder to stop him. “Calm down. It’s obvious Henry lied about that as well.” She sighed. “I had no idea he would prove to be so difficult.”
“He lost you.” Emmett dipped his head and pressed his forehead to hers. “I can hardly blame Rutlidge for lying to get you back. But it’ll never happen. You’re mine now.”
“Does that mean you trust me?”
“Yes, I trust you—and I’m sorrier than you’ll ever know that I doubted you. The way I acted . . .” A pang of regret twisted in his gut. “I hope you’ll forgive me.”
She shifted to kiss him, an all-too-brief press of her lips. “I forgive you. No more doubts, for either of us. And I’m sorry I ran away.”
“I don’t blame you for running. I never should have suspected you of trying to sabotage my company.”
“No, you shouldn’t have.” She caught the lapels of Emmett’s coat in her fists and began dragging him toward the inside door to the train. “And you’re going to start making it up to me right now, naked, in the bedroom of your private car.”
Washington Square, New York City
Two Weeks Later
Emmett folded his newspaper when he saw his wife emerge from the front door, eager to drink her in from the confin
es of the enclosed carriage. Jesus, she was beautiful. Three days ago, they had returned from Chicago, where, other than showing Lizzie the Chicago Stock Exchange, he’d had her completely to himself for a week—yet even that had not been enough. He wanted to watch her for hours, learn every twitch, every nuance that crossed her face. She was the sun, air, water—everything essential in his life. And now, the mother of his child.
His chest pulled tight, pride welling up inside him. Thank God she’d shown up on his doorstep, had sold him instead of Cabot or Harper on the idea for her investment company. And he was even more grateful she’d forgiven him after the way he’d mistrusted her. Look at me now, you miserable bastard, he said silently to his long-departed father. You said I’d never amount to anything, that I’d die in the streets of Five Points. And look at how wrong you were.
Kelly jumped down and opened the door for her, which earned him a grateful smile that had the former bare-knuckled boxer blushing. Emmett could relate; he knew full well the power of that smile.
She slid onto the seat across from him, silk skirts rustling over his trouser legs. He wished they were already home, where he could undress her and touch her soft, creamy skin. Kiss every part of her body. Worship her.
He’d been cautious since learning she was carrying their child. But all three physicians he’d consulted—as well as Brendan—had assured him that intimacy during pregnancy was normal. That he would not harm her or the baby. So perhaps he could pull her in his lap now and—
“Emmett, stop. You must wait until we get home.”
His mouth hitched. “How did you know what I was thinking?”
“I recognize that particular look in your eye.” She slid the toe of her shoe up along his calf as the carriage started moving. “And I also happen to be thinking the same thing.”
He growled in the back of his throat, and she threw her head back and laughed, causing the lace on her small hat to bounce. She enjoyed tormenting him, he’d learned.
Well, he enjoyed tormenting her, too.
“What did your brother say?” Emmett asked as he picked up her leg and settled it atop his thigh. Then he began plucking at the laces of her half boot.
Her attention on his hands, she didn’t answer, so he prompted, “Well?”
“He said yes,” she murmured.
Emmett removed her boot and placed it on the seat next to him. Then he clasped her stocking-covered foot in his palms and began to knead the bottom of her foot.
She groaned, her fingers digging into the edge of the velvet seat. He smiled. “Yes to what, my dear?”
“Being a godfather. Good heavens, that feels tremendous.”
“And what of the rest?” He moved his fingers to the ball of her foot, the silk stocking smooth and slippery to the touch. “What of the stock?”
“His”—she cleared her throat—“former investment banker was stealing from him. Creating shares and pocketing the money. Will’s been strapping himself to buy back the outstanding shares.”
“That is unfortunate. But it’s what I suspected.”
“You did?” she breathed, her chest rising and falling quickly. “Why did you not say anything?”
“Because I wanted to be wrong. I had hoped your perfect brother had decided to turn to a life of crime.”
“That’s terrible.”
“Yes, it is. Indeed, I am a terrible, terrible man.” His fingers slid to her toes, pulling on each one to release the tension lodged in the joints. “You should know that by now.”
Her brow furrowed, her lips turning into a frown. “I know nothing of the sort. You merely want everyone to think you’re terrible.”
“Elizabeth, please. If people hear I’m not as coldhearted as they believe, I’ll never successfully negotiate another deal.” Shocking, but somehow his wife kept managing to spot a bit of good in him.
“Life is not all about business deals, Emmett. Oh, right there,” she groaned when he stroked her instep.
Since his wife was the smartest woman he’d ever met, he was learning not to question her. Through Elizabeth, he’d discovered laughter and love, how to enjoy the small moments—and he looked forward to a lifetime of them.
“You’ll be happy to know Will has also hired my investment firm. One more client added to the existing five.”
“Congratulations. I told you the article would be a wise idea.” The feature on Elizabeth’s brokerage firm had been published in the New York Mercury yesterday, and she’d been deluged with interest ever since. “So how did you get your precious brother to agree?” Her heel cradled in his palms, Emmett pressed his thumbs over the top of her foot.
She bit her lip, lids fluttering closed as she enjoyed his ministrations. He loved that expression, the one of unbridled pleasure. If he slid his fingers between her legs, no doubt she’d be soaked. His cock grew heavy at the idea. The carriage could not go fast enough.
“I promised to forbid you from doing anything with the information you’ve gathered against Northeast Railroad.”
His fingers stilled. “You’ll forbid me?”
She peeked through her lashes at him. “Yes. I am officially forbidding you from ruining Will’s company.”
The air thickened, and a long moment passed while they stared at one another in challenge, heat jumping between them like sparks on a wire. Her boldness had him longing for a bed, where he could have that sass and fire underneath him, surrounding him. With that, he went from semierect to completely hard, and he had to shift to ease the sudden discomfort.
Elizabeth’s mouth hitched. “You like when I’m assertive.”
Hell yes, he did. He began stroking her ankle, her shin. “To be clear, I never planned to ruin Northeast Railroad. I wanted to take it over and run it.”
“You know that would kill my brother.”
“I don’t think he’d mind very much. There’s rumblings he may try his hand at politics.”
She sat up straighter, her entire body stiffening. “What? Where did you hear that?”
“My dear, I cannot divulge all my tricks. Where would be the fun in that?”
Relaxing, she settled into the velvet cushions as they continued to roll up Fifth Avenue. “Perhaps when we get home, you’ll share one or two. Just to pass the time between deals and negotiations.”
His fingers trailed higher up her thigh. “I can think of no better way to spend an afternoon than with you, my lovely and demanding wife. The deals and negotiations can wait.”
Keep reading
for a special sneak preview of
BARON,
the next book in the Knickerbocker Club series,
coming in November 2016!
Atlantic Theater, New York City
May 1888
William Sloane did not believe in the ability to commune with the spirit world. Hell, he didn’t even believe there was a spirit world.
Yet he here sat, inside a ramshackle theater in the Tenderloin district, watching this audacious spectacle. Madam Zolikoff, she called herself. The mystifying medium who could communicate with spirits and perform extraordinary feats. The woman was the worst actress he’d ever seen—and Will had seen plenty.
Eyes closed, she swayed and waved her hands, all while chanting utter nonsense. A man sat across from her, one she’d pulled up onstage, his gaze rapt as Madam Zolikoff attempted to speak to his dead mother. The electric lights overhead flickered, and the audience tittered.
“Ah! I think we are close!” she announced loudly in an appalling Russian accent.
Will nearly rolled his eyes. Was anyone really buying this act?
Shifting in his uncomfortable seat, he glanced around at the meager audience. About twenty men and women, all average-looking, a far cry from the extravagant crowd he usually associated with. No diamond tiaras or swallowtail coats here, just derby hats and plain bonnets. But every pair of eyes was trained on the young woman working the stage.
She was attractive, he supposed, if one preferred liars and cheats
, which he most definitely did not. Still, her pale blond hair showed off striking brown eyes. A straight, delicate nose. High cheekbones. Arching brows. Full lips painted a scandalous red.
He liked those lips. Quite a lot, in fact. If he were dead, those lips alone might bring him back.
“I hear her!” A steady rapping sounded, reverberating around the room. An accomplice, no doubt, yet the audience gasped.
“Mr. Fox, your mother is here with us now. What would you like to ask her?”
The man onstage asked simple questions for the next fifteen minutes, with Madam Zolikoff “interpreting” the dead mother’s answers. Will absently rubbed his stomach, anger burning over this performance, that she would take advantage of someone’s grief in such a profoundly fraudulent way. When Will’s own mother had died, he’d fervently wished for something—anything—to bring her back. Nothing had, however, and he’d been left in a cold house with an even colder man.
Madam Zolikoff prattled on, regaining Will’s attention. Had this woman no shame? No empathy for the heartbreak that went along with losing a loved one? For the first time tonight, he looked forward to the confrontation with her.
He planned to shut the medium down. Run her out of Manhattan, if necessary, because she was standing in the way of something greater, a different sort of power than he possessed now, but one of equal import. One his bastard father had desperately craved, but fallen short of.
John Bennett, a former New York state senator and current gubernatorial candidate, had asked Will to partner on the ticket as lieutenant governor. It was something Will’s father had always wanted, to wield political influence, yet he’d died before his political career could take wings. Now, Will would be the Sloane achieving that goal—and dancing on his father’s grave after he and Bennett won.
But John Bennett had a weakness, one by the name of Madam Zolikoff. Seemed the madam had dug her hooks into Bennett, and the candidate would not listen to reason regarding the dangers this presented. But Will wasn’t about to allow her to jeopardize Bennett’s political career—or his own. They could not afford a scandal six months before the election.
