Magnate (16 page)

Her mouth flattened into an unhappy line as she pushed away from the wall. “Are you always this crude and hurtful?”

A dry, brittle laugh escaped him. “Well, I sure as hell didn't get to where I am by being polite and nice. But you shouldn't worry,” he said, turning toward the hall. “You won't have to put up with me much longer.”

* * *

Graham opened the front door to the Cavanaugh mansion, his demeanor polite and professional. If the servant was surprised to see the master and mistress of the house a full ten days sooner than expected, he gave no hint. “Good afternoon, sir. Madam. Welcome home.”

It was the day after their explosive encounter in Newport. Before she'd even had breakfast, Emmett had demanded they return to the city. Though Lizzie didn't care to be ordered around by an overbearing husband, she had been anxious to return to New York. So she'd hurried to assist Pauline with the packing, ready to put this disastrous honeymoon behind her.

Emmett dropped her arm the instant they crossed the threshold. “I'll be in my office. Send Colin along when he arrives.” Without removing his long black overcoat, her husband strode through the entrance hall and into the depths of the mansion.

“Your things, madam,” Graham said gently, and Lizzie realized she'd been staring at the corridor long after Emmett disappeared.

“Thank you, Graham.” She removed her gloves and began to unbutton her heavy coat.

“Did I hear—?”

Lizzie looked up and saw Brendan, Emmett's brother, at the top of the steps. His wide eyes met hers, his frown visible from across the expanse of the impressive entryway.

Brendan started down the steps, leaning heavily on the rail due to his leg. Lizzie wondered what had caused the injury, and whether it was recent. He was a handsome man, affable and intelligent. Dedicated to helping the lives of others. So different from his brother, who could be so cold and distant.
Except when he's kissing you.

“Hello, Lizzie.” Brendan reached the bottom step as Lizzie finished handing her things to Graham. Lines creased his forehead. “You've returned early.”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, Graham,” Brendan said, excusing the butler. When they were alone, Brendan asked, “What happened?”

She lifted a shoulder. “We were both anxious to return home. Newport is dreadfully boring in the winter.”

His shrewd gaze narrowed. “Boring? Your honeymoon was boring?” He sighed and shook his head. “That would be amusing if I wasn't so fond of you both. What did he do?”

“Nothing. I promise.”

“Well, that explains why you were bored,” he said dryly, and she chuckled despite herself.

“Brendan, you shouldn't worry. Things are . . . complicated between us.” Did he know about the blackmail? Very likely, she supposed. Nevertheless, she didn't want to discuss the annulment. The world would learn of the separation in due time.

His frown deepened. “I grew worried when he summoned Colin to join the two of you. And now, I can see it's even worse than I feared.”

“No, it's—”

“You'll give him a chance, won't you? I know he can be . . . intense. He's always been that way, and he tends to work too much. But he's loyal, Lizzie, and smart. He—”

She held up her hand. “Please, stop. I know you love him and you want him to be happy. But we need to work this out on our own.”

“Of course,” Brendan said, dragging a hand through his light brown hair. “Forgive me.”

“I'll forgive you if you agree to give me a tour of this monstrosity.”

He grinned. “You're trying to distract me, but I happen to love giving tours. So the answer is yes.” He held out his arm, which Lizzie accepted.

They went slowly to allow for Brendan's limp. “Why do you not use a cane?” she asked him when they finished a tour of the third floor.

“You sound like Emmett,” he groused, holding onto the rail as they came down the stairs. “And I do when I leave the house. But it's a nuisance inside.”

“Does it pain you? I have no idea how recently you were injured.”

“Oh, this happened ages ago. I was six.”

Her chest tightened. Lord, he'd been only a small boy. “I am sorry. It's none of my business, really.”

“We're family now, Lizzie. There are no secrets, especially about my injury. I was run over by a wagon.” She let out a small gasp, and he threw her a rueful half smile. “I'd been out stealing food, so some would say I got what I deserved.”

A six-year-old, out stealing food? Where had his parents been? Or Emmett, for that matter? An uncomfortable lump settled in her throat. “I hardly think a serious injury suitable punishment for a young boy trying to keep from starving.”

They reached the bottom of the staircase. She took his arm once more, and he said, “I survived. Perhaps if my medical care had been better . . .” He sighed. “But without my injury, who knows what would have happened to me.”

“What do you mean?”

“My father was not a nice man, Lizzie. He liked to drink, and when he did, he turned violent. He would hit anything and anyone who caught his notice. Mostly Emmett, until he was old enough to join the Popes. Then it was my mother.”

Mostly Emmett.
Lizzie's stomach clenched at those words. This tale was breaking her heart, and she feared she hadn't yet heard the worst.

“When I was injured, I had to stay in bed, and so my father stopped noticing me. I'd rest and read whatever I could get my hands on. Emmett used to bring me books, though I have no idea where he got them. I learned everything I could from those books. I never would have made it to Columbia, let alone medical school, if it hadn't been for my injury. Instead, I likely would have joined the Popes as well.”

“And what of your mother? What happened to her?”

“She left once I came home from the hospital. I think the injury was too much for her, you know, the guilt. And my father was an outright bastard. I don't blame her for leaving. She ran off to California, we were told. Died a few years later.”

Because everyone's always left him.
Lizzie recalled Brendan's words before the honeymoon.
And that's exactly what you're planning to do,
she reminded herself. Rubbing her brow, she swallowed the regret. What choice did she have? Yes, she enjoyed his kisses, but staying married to Emmett was pure madness. Her pride would not allow her to acquire a husband through blackmail.

“Come on,” Brendan said. “Let's go all the way down, and I'll show you the indoor pool.”

* * *

The March winds were particularly fierce along Fifth Avenue on Thursday evening as Emmett traveled to his monthly meeting with Cabot, Sloane, and Harper. He flexed his fingers and wondered how he'd get through the night without punching Sloane for manipulating him into this farce of a marriage.

Emmett hadn't seen his wife since returning from Newport. More often than not, he slept in his office on Beaver Street. The distance made things easier. She certainly didn't want him around, and Emmett had no intention of begging for her attentions.

Kelly kept pace at Emmett's side. His friend wasn't happy that Emmett had decided to walk to the Knickerbocker Club after dining at the Fifth Avenue Hotel. But Emmett needed the bracing cold right now, to be outside, moving around. Not sitting in a damn carriage.

“You goin' home tonight, or back down to the office?” Kelly asked him.

“Office.”

“Spendin' a lot of time away from home, aren't you, Bish?”

“I was just there this afternoon to bathe and change.”

“Yeah, and you spent five minutes with Brendan and fifteen minutes with your sisters. Don't you think—”

“Whatever you are prepared to say, stop right there.” Emmett had seen his family, checked in on their welfare. For his wife, he'd left a perfunctory note. Her office would be finished next week, after which she could move in and start her investment firm. After all, wasn't that what she wanted from him?

No doubt annulment proceedings would shortly follow.

“Anything else on Sloane's finances?” Kelly asked. “Does it look like he's hurting for cash?”

“We haven't been able to find out. He's guarding things closely, but it doesn't seem as if he's flush. Some assets have been liquidated and a few of the household staff let go, but we don't know anything concrete.” They dodged a carriage and started across the street. “There must be a problem, though. Why else would Elizabeth have gone to such lengths to secure funding?”

“You could just ask her, you know.”

Emmett frowned at that. Leave it to a boxer to dance around and then come back to his real purpose. “Yes, I could. But hiring an investigator is so much more fun.”

Kelly snorted. “You've always been too stubborn for your own good.”

“Add it to my list of faults, then. No doubt you've got a running total of them somewhere.”

“'Course I do. Count's up to three hundred and fifty-seven.”

Emmett muttered a very descriptive curse at his friend, who only chuckled in response, and turned into an alley. He left Kelly at the back door and traveled through the club's kitchen to the inner stairs. He'd purposely arrived late to avoid any idle talk. Business was what mattered in this world, something he wouldn't let himself ever forget.

When he stepped into the room, three pairs of wide eyes tracked him to the table. “Good evening,” he said, and took his usual chair between Cabot and Harper. He avoided looking in Sloane's direction.

“Evening, Cavanaugh. We weren't expecting to see you tonight,” Harper started.

“Aren't you supposed to be on your honeymoon?” Cabot said with all the subtlety of a blunt hammer.

“I came back early.” Emmett's usual glass of cold gin appeared before the waiter departed.

“What do you mean, you came back early?” Sloane leaned forward, his voice low and angry. “What the hell have you done to my sister?”

Chapter Eleven

Emmett kept his expression deceptively calm as he faced his brother-in-law. “My
wife
is no concern of yours, not any longer.”

Something flashed in Sloane's eyes. “Wrong. Lizzie will always be my concern. What did you do to her?”

Not nearly everything I'd hoped.
“She's fine, Sloane. I had work to finish. And Elizabeth is anxious to get started on her investment firm.”

“Her
what?
” Sloane bellowed, his fair skin turning a deep red. “Do not tell me you're allowing her to go through with that insane idea. Her reputation will be destroyed.”

Savage satisfaction flooded Emmett's veins. He gave Sloane a cold smile. “Not only am I allowing her to go through with it, I'm financing the whole venture. And I'm designing an office for her in my building near the exchange.”

Cabot let out a low whistle, but Emmett kept his eyes locked on Sloane, who appeared almost apoplectic. “You . . . you are financing it? She is a Sloane, by God. You are going to turn her into a laughingstock.”

“She is not a Sloane, not any longer. She is a Cavanaugh.” At least for now—and he'd bring this goddamn city to its knees before he allowed anyone to laugh at her. “And you're wrong. They'll be lining up around the block to hire her.”

“You have no idea what you're talking about. She'll be ostracized. No woman can run a successful firm like that.”

“Woodhull and her sister did it a few years back,” Harper put in.

“Until their mother blackmailed the Commodore and he withdrew his backing.” Cabot cracked a grin. “God, what a great story.”

“Exactly,” Sloane exclaimed, pointing at Cabot. “Both women were trollops and flimflammers, not of Lizzie's social caliber at all. No decent woman should go into business for herself.”

“Your sister will be the first, then.” Emmett lifted his gin and took a large swallow. “Prepare yourself, Sloane. If I were you, I would support her.”

Sloane pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is terrible timing for me. And you're enjoying the hell out of this.”

“Yes, I am,” Emmett said without hesitation. Sloane had no idea of the trouble Emmett planned to rain down on him. The investment firm was merely the start of Emmett's efforts to get even with her brother. “Not to mention that your sister won a wager with me. I won't go back on my word.”

“You have no idea what you're starting, Cavanaugh,” Sloane said. “You'll regret this. Mark my words.”

Emmett couldn't argue with that. With Elizabeth already plotting an annulment, he had nothing but regrets. Not that he'd admit as much to Sloane.

Instead, he leaned back and lifted his glass in a toast. “I know exactly what I'm starting, Sloane, and I mean to finish it, too.”

* * *

Mood blacker than coal, Emmett stomped down the back stairs of the club. The meeting had concluded quickly, each man wasting no time negotiating demands once Sloane had finished his tirade. Unfortunately, the satisfaction Emmett had experienced over Sloane's reaction hadn't lasted long. The darkness rooted in his chest since Newport persisted, an ache he began to fear might be permanent.

He stepped out of the kitchens and into the alley. Before he could reach the walk, a voice slid out of the gloom, stopping him.

“Cavanaugh.”

Emmett twisted to find Henry Rutlidge loitering amongst the refuse. “Slumming, Rutlidge? I wouldn't think you'd risk dirtying your shoes.”

“Whereas you're completely comfortable, no doubt. God knows you are no stranger to squalor.”

The damned fool. Did Rutlidge honestly think reminders of Emmett's past would prove hurtful? Those wounds had long healed over. Nothing this spoiled prick could ever say would damage Emmett. “You know what else I'm familiar with? The noises my wife gives when—”

“You bastard.” Rutlidge advanced, his eyes flashing fire. “How dare you discuss a lady in such a manner!”

Emmett wanted to laugh. The boy was so transparent. “Give over, Rutlidge. You can't fight me with either your fists or your money, and I've already married her. You've lost, no matter what you tried in Newport.”

Confusion flickered over Rutlidge's features before he masked it, which confirmed Elizabeth's claims that nothing had happened between them on the honeymoon. A flicker of guilt worked through Emmett, but he squashed it. He'd deal with an apology when the time came.

“Yes, let's discuss Newport,” Rutlidge said. “Like how your trip was cut short. Lizzie must've come to her senses and realized the kind of man she married.”

The barb cut deeper than Emmett would have thought, becoming a sharp ache in his gut even as he maintained a cool mask of indifference. “The reason behind her actions no longer concerns you, nor do mine. You'd best forget about her and return to your parties and spending your father's money.”

Rutlidge's lip curled into a sneer as he leaned in. “I'll find a way, Cavanaugh. No matter how long it takes or what I need to do. I'll win her—”

“Bish, everything tip-top back there?” Kelly appeared a few feet away, a hulking menace in the near darkness.

“Perfectly fine,” Emmett replied, and started for the mouth of the alley. “Nothing here but the vermin, anyway.”

* * *

“I still think the desk should rest on the other wall,” Edith said as they surveyed the furniture in Lizzie's new office. “You'll turn as pink as a berry in the sun.”

“That is what the curtains are for,” Lizzie reminded her. “And I think the desk should stay where it is.” While she appreciated her friend's help, it was obvious Edith did not fully understand Lizzie's desire to go into business. There had been a litany of doubt and contradicting opinions today from the other woman.

“Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you when you sprout freckles. When will you open for business?”

“Monday,” Lizzie said, a wide grin splitting her face. “I hired a secretary this morning.”

“You did? What is she like?”

Lizzie recalled the interview with Miss Grayson and how efficient the young woman had seemed. “She's young but smart. She has office experience and appears quite capable. I think I'm going to like her.”

“Well, I hope you can trust her. You'll be dealing with a lot of money, Lizzie.”

“Yes, hopefully I will. I plan to cable her references before I leave for the day, so you may rest easy.”

Edith twisted the locket she wore around her neck. “I am worried about you. What happens if you fail?”

“I won't fail. You know how long I've been doing this on paper. It's time I use this ability for something other than a way to pass the time between balls and masquerades.” Not to mention for rescuing her family's finances. “I'll be fine. Everyone will believe this is my husband's firm, not mine.”

“I hope so, for your sake. In the meantime, we shouldn't tell anyone of your involvement.”

The comment bothered Lizzie, yet she knew Edith was right. Lizzie needed to establish herself before revealing her skills to society. Still, it sounded as if Edith was embarrassed of her. Before she could question her friend, the office door opened and her brother appeared, his tall form wrapped in a long black overcoat.

“Will,” Lizzie said in surprise. “What are you doing here?” On weekdays, he never left the Northeast Railroad offices before nightfall—and often stayed later. She had long given up sharing dinners with him back in Washington Square, with the only meal they regularly ate together being breakfast.

He removed his derby and closed the door. “Hello, Lizzie. Miss Rutlidge.”

Edith held out her hand and Will bowed over it, then he leaned in to kiss Lizzie's cheek. “Miss Rutlidge, may I have a moment alone with my sister?”

Edith nodded. “Of course, but only if you agree to call me Edith. We've known each other for years, after all.”

“It still wouldn't be—”

“Proper,” Edith finished dryly. “Yes, I know. Lizzie, I'll take a walk around the building. When I come back, we'll decide where to hang your pictures.”

“Thank you, Edith.” Her friend departed, and the sound of the latch echoed in the cavernous space. Silently, Will tugged off his gloves and shrugged out of his overcoat. He carefully placed the items over a chair.

“Will, you're scaring me.”

He heaved a sigh and gestured to the room. “I cannot believe this. I cannot believe you are doing this against my wishes. We've discussed this, Lizzie.”

She had no idea how he'd learned of her office, but that hardly mattered now. She drew herself up. “No, you told me what you wanted and ignored everything I said. I repeatedly mentioned how badly I wanted to run my own investment firm, and you wouldn't listen.”

“I did listen!” He dragged a hand through his flattened hair. “This is a terrible idea. You have no idea how it will make you appear. Do you care nothing for your name?”

The nerve of him. Heat raced through her blood, and she folded her arms across her chest. “I assume by that, you mean the Sloane name. Odd, I'm no longer a Sloane, thanks to you.”

“Believe me, runt, if there had been any other way . . .”

Not even the use of her childhood nickname could stem the rising tide of her anger. “There were other ways to sort the situation without resorting to blackmail!”

“How did you . . . ?” He grimaced, and regret swam in gray eyes so like her own. “I knew he would walk away otherwise, and you wouldn't marry him unless you believed it was real.” He hung his head and rubbed his eyes. “What was I supposed to do, Lizzie?”

“Not manipulate everyone to get what you want. You should have let Emmett and I figure it out. Now it's too late.”

Something in her voice must have caught his attention because his head snapped up. “What happened? What has he done to you? Did he hurt—”

“Will, calm down. He hasn't hurt me.” Not physically, anyway. Her heart was another matter altogether. “We just don't . . . know one another. It hasn't been easy.”

That seemed to mollify her brother. His shoulders relaxed. “Well, you cannot divorce him, so you'll need to make the best of it. You won't be the first married couple to live separate lives.”

Yes,
she wanted to say,
but I never wanted such a cold arrangement for my own marriage.

“I realize that. And he has agreed to give me the capital to start my investment firm. As well, he'll serve as my backer. So it's not all doom and gloom.”
Especially since the marriage will soon be annulled.

“You're too practical for doom and gloom,” he said, a half smile lifting the edges of his mouth. “It's one of the qualities I like best about you.”

“Thank you, but you are not forgiven.”

“I didn't expect I would be,” he said with a chuckle, then sobered. “If you're bound and determined to do this, you should know I cannot hire you to trade for Northeast.”

“Why not? I could help—”

He held up a hand to stop her. “I'm working on some new deals. Perhaps when things are settled, if you're still in business.”

“Oh, what faith from my only brother,” she drawled. “You don't think I can do it, do you? I've been speculating on paper for years, and I always come out ahead. Why shouldn't I do it for clients?”

“Because it's common, Lizzie. You don't see any of the other girls of the smart set going into business.”

“I don't care what anyone else is doing. I never have, Will. It's you who cares, not me.”

“You need to care. I've done everything to protect you up until now, but I cannot do anything more. Cavanaugh has money, but he does not have a place in society. Be careful you do not lose yours, because you won't be able to win it back.”

“I'm not worried over my social standing. But if it eases your mind, Emmett and I agreed to let him be the face of the business, at least up front. Still, should everyone discover my secret, I won't cry if the invitations dry up.”

“Say that now, but what of Emmett's half sisters? As of this moment, you are their only hope for a successful debut within the bosom of New York society.”

She clenched her jaw. He was right, of course. Katie and Claire made no secret of how much they looked forward to their debuts, with all the pomp and circumstance that accompanied the tradition. And Lizzie wanted that experience for them. Even after her marriage was annulled Lizzie had planned to help them—which she couldn't do if she lost her social standing. “I hate when you are reasonable.”

He smiled and walked over, his arms enfolding her in a tight hug. “I know. Some days I feel like the last sane man in New York. And if I cannot talk you out of this foolish venture, just promise me you'll keep this small and respectable. Let people assume it's Cavanaugh's.”

“If I agree, do you promise not to blackmail anyone else?”

He waited a beat. “I won't blackmail
you
. . . .”

She pulled back and patted his cheek. “Then please stop telling me how to run my business, dear brother, and I won't tell you how to run yours.”

* * *

A few days later, Lizzie bounded out of bed before dawn and rang for Pauline. Too much excitement had prevented her from sleeping well last night, so she might as well get dressed. Today, she would officially start her own investment firm—well, Emmett's firm, if one wanted to be precise.