Magnate (27 page)

Henry frowned, his boyishly handsome face unhappy. “I don't understand why you are arguing with me. Your husband has turned his back on you, but I'm here. I love you and I want to marry you.”

Suddenly, all became clear. Everything Henry had ever wanted had been handed to him. He'd never had to work, struggle, or fight for anything. Women, money, friends . . . it was all so easy for him. And he couldn't comprehend why she was denying him what he assumed was his due.

How could she make him understand?

“Henry, you should return to New York. We shall always be friends, but that is all.”

His lips thinned in displeasure, and she could see by the stubborn set of his chin that he didn't believe her. “You do not mean that. The travel has obviously overset you, and you're not thinking clearly. I'll let you rest and then see you for dinner.”

Taking several strides, he reached the door. Before turning the latch, he shot a look over his shoulder. “I care about you, Lizzie. I only want to see you happy.” With that, he disappeared into the vestibule leading to another car.

* * *

Emmett paced the length of his bedroom, uncertainty gnawing at his gut as his feet chewed up the distance. Walk, walk, turn, walk. And back again. That damned letter. He couldn't get it out of his head. He'd read the thing so many times, the words were committed to memory.

The note was as cold and impersonal as he'd ever seen, but he knew what she meant. Brendan had sworn Emmett was wrong, that she planned to return. But Emmett had been through this before. Another woman, another note . . . and their mother had never returned, either.

Brendan had confessed about his conversation with Elizabeth, that he'd spilled the real reason Emmett had attended the dinner at Sherry's. Guilt weighed heavily on Brendan, and he'd apologized profusely. Yet Emmett could not be angry with his brother. Emmett alone was the reason his wife had left.

Gone. She was
gone.

Even in all the turmoil since the stock purchase, he had never thought she would up and leave. He'd been angry, yes, but he'd assumed she would stand up to him. Yell at him. Poke and prod him until he relented. He had
wanted
her to prove him wrong. But she hadn't done any of those things, and now she'd walked away.

He had no intention of letting her go, however.

As soon as he'd finished reading her brief letter, he'd started packing. In the meantime, he'd ordered Kelly to Grand Central Depot to discern her destination. That had been over an hour ago. So where in the hell was Kelly with answers?

With the packing now complete, the wait was intolerable. Emmett strode to the bed and closed his small bag. He'd go to the train station and find her train himself.

Just as he reached to open his door, Kelly burst in, out of breath, his cheeks dry and red from the cold.

“About damned time,” Emmett snapped, stepping around him and into the corridor. He hurried toward the stairs, and Kelly fell into step at his side. “What did you learn?”

“She took the 10:49 Cuyahoga Express.”

“That's a Northeast train, isn't it?”

“Yes,” Kelly replied as they started down the staircase. “But there's more.” Kelly put a hand on Emmett's shoulder to stop him. Emmett saw the uneasiness on his friend's face, the trepidation.

“What is it?”

“There was another person on the train.”

A moment passed as Emmett tried to understand what Kelly was saying. Another person, one whose identity made Kelly uneasy. The pieces fell into place, and Emmett's free hand clutched at the bannister. Rutlidge.
“Son of a bitch.”

Emmett's teeth ground together, a paltry outlet for the rage currently coursing through him. She'd run off with her ex-beau. Jesus Christ. How could he not have seen this coming? Stupid, so fucking stupid. Emmett wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. Here he was, ready to charge after her and bring her back . . . when she'd left him for another man.

Emmett shoved his bag into Kelly's arms. “Take that back to my room.” He thumped down the steps, trying to keep from hitting something.

“Bish, wait up. Where are you going?” Kelly called from behind. “I'll come with—”

“Leave me alone. I'm going to swim,” Emmett snapped. “I don't need a damn nursemaid.”

Several of the footmen and maids visibly shrank from Emmett as he stomped through the house. No doubt his face conveyed precisely what he was feeling, that the tightly held leash on his control was slipping. By the time he stripped down and dove into the heated water of the swimming pool, he could barely breathe. He hadn't felt this way in a long, long time, so vulnerable and raw. So empty.

Cool silence enveloped him as his arms cut through the water, his legs kicking hard. He did this often for exercise, mostly as a way to keep his head clear. The solitude and the quiet helped him think. He had taught himself to swim years ago, as a boy. It had been either that or drown, considering he'd been tossed into the East River by rival gangs one too many times. More proof that he need not rely on anyone else. The only person you could count on was yourself.

When he returned to the end, he noticed his brother's boots planted on the tile. Emmett didn't acknowledge him, just kept going, arms churning and legs pounding. Brendan would try and reason with him, and Emmett felt entirely unreasonable at this moment. There was nothing to say. Nothing he wanted to hear, at least.

So he ignored Brendan and swam until his muscles gave out. When he could no longer lift his arms, he clung to the side of the pool. His lungs bellowed as he struggled for air, and he figured he might as well get it over with. “Well?”

“You've got to go after her.”

Emmett made a noise. “The hell I do.”

“Don't be a fool.” Brendan huffed in annoyance. “You did not see her face this morning, Em. That woman cares about you. She was crushed to learn that you hadn't met her of your own free will.”

“Yes, crushed enough to run away with Rutlidge,” Emmett muttered.

“That's just it. I don't think she ran away with him. The note she left for the girls said she wanted to take some time for herself—”

“Not that she could tell the girls about Rutlidge.” Brendan started to argue, so Emmett held up a hand. “Why would I bother? Give me one good reason to chase her down.”

“Because you love her. And because I suspect she loves you, but you're both too stubborn to admit it.”

Emmett said nothing, just stared at the far wall. Did he love her?

“At the very least, you must give her a chance to explain. Em, think. For once, pretend this is a company you're thinking about buying—not your wife. She had years to merge with Rutlidge and resisted him. You know her. This is the woman who walked in off the street and asked you to back her investment company. If she had wanted Rutlidge, she would have married him long before now.”

That did make some sense, he supposed. Elizabeth was nothing if not resourceful.
Elizabeth sounds like a woman strong enough to change history, to chart any course she chooses.
His own words went through his mind, bringing doubt along with them.

He pushed off from the wall and floated on his back, Hades and Persephone directly above him. He'd always sympathized with Hades, the misunderstood brute who had to resort to trickery to keep a woman.
And wasn't that precisely what you did to Elizabeth by never telling her the truth?

“Also,” Brendan continued, “if she didn't love you, she never would've been so upset over what I said.”

Emmett didn't know if that was true or not. Women were complicated creatures, which was why he'd avoided anything emotional before now.

“I know it's easier to believe the worst in people, Em. Less chance of someone's letting you down that way. But you have to trust her. If she were my wife, I'd be halfway to Ohio by now.”

There was that word again,
trust.
Hadn't Elizabeth accused him of the very same thing, of not ever trusting anyone?

“So what would you have me do?” Emmett asked up at Hades. “Chase after her and steal her away from Rutlidge?”

“Well, for starters, get out of the swimming pool, get dressed, and then find a way to stop her train.”

“I can accomplish that with one telegram. The question is, why would I bother?”

Brendan stayed quiet for a long minute. When he spoke, his voice cracked with emotion. “We were too young to chase after her, Emmett. Neither of us had the ability to stop her, and then she was gone.” Emmett heard him swallow, and a sudden tightness lodged in his own throat as well. “Do not squander this opportunity. There may be no getting it back. Even if you fail, at least you'll have tried. Isn't Lizzie worth the fight?”

Brendan's footsteps faded and Emmett remained in the pool, floating. Was his brother right? Did Elizabeth love him? If so, then why did she leave?

“Harvard's called it, you know.”

Kelly's voice rang out from the other end of the room, where he'd clearly been eavesdropping.

“I wondered when you'd show yourself,” Emmett said. “You couldn't leave it alone, could you?”

“Did you leave it alone that time I was knifed by the Dead Rabbits? Did you leave it alone when Rebecca died, and I nearly drown in a bottle? Or when I started fightin' again, takin' risks in back alleys?”

Emmett said nothing. He'd done those things for the same reason his friend had followed Emmett down to the pool: because they were family.

“Bish, I know why you keep pushin' her away. You think you ain't worthy of her, that you don't deserve happiness. Do you remember what you said to me when Rebecca died?”

Kelly had nearly been destroyed by his wife's illness and slow demise. When Rebecca had finally died, Emmett had stayed with Kelly for weeks, afraid to leave his friend's side for fear of what Kelly might do.

“I never hid my past from Rebecca. She knew where I came from, what I'd done in Five Points. Said she loved me all the more for my past because I overcame it. But when she died . . .” Kelly's voice trailed off and then he cleared his throat.

“You said it was punishment for your sins,” Emmett said gently. “That it was your fault she became ill and died.”

“And you told me I was wrong. That my time with Rebecca, no matter how short, was my reward for makin' it out of the slums.”

“What's your point?”

Kelly came to stand at the pool's edge and stared down at Emmett. “You hate to admit you're wrong, always have. But your wife is nobody's fool. If you think she doesn't know you, doesn't know the kind of man you are, you're wrong. She knows, and she loves you anyway.”

“She doesn't know everything. Not about Five Points.”

“Wrong. Brendan has been fillin' her in on a lot of it. She knows more than you think, and she was still willing to put up with you.”

Emmett frowned. Brendan had no right to tell Elizabeth any of it, not without discussing it with Emmett first. How much had his brother told her?

“She left because she believes you never wanted her—not because she doesn't want you,” Kelly said. “You need to get out of the pool, Emmett. Get dressed and go after your reward before it's too late.”

Chapter Nineteen

“May I join you for breakfast?”

Lizzie glanced up to find a well-dressed Henry Rutlidge by her table. With the dining car near full, it would be rude to refuse, though she truly did not want company. Especially Henry.

Manners won out. “Of course.” She gestured to the opposite seat. Henry dropped down, a wide smile on his face.

“Good morning,” he said brightly, and then turned to the waiter to order.

She did not feel nearly so chirk this morning. Though she had skipped dinner in an effort to avoid Henry, sleep had not come until the wee hours. Instead she'd lain in her berth and stared out the window, wondering why Emmett had instructed Henry on where to find her. Why hadn't Emmett just been honest with her? And why, despite everything that had happened, did she still miss her husband?

“I thought for certain the train had broken down last night,” Henry remarked after the waiter left, interrupting her thoughts.

“Broken down? Why?”

His brow creased. “Didn't you notice how long we stopped in Martinsburg? It was a few hours, at least.”

She hadn't noticed. Misery tended to obliterate one's surroundings. “Was there something wrong?”

“No one would tell me. We just stopped and waited. And when the train did finally start up, the wheels creeped over into Ohio.”

Now that he mentioned it, the train did seem to be going rather slowly. Lizzie had never traveled this far west, so she had assumed this to be the normal cross-continental pace. But at least they were moving.

“Have you ridden this direction before?” she asked Henry.

“No. The accommodations leave much to be desired, in my opinion. And where is my breakfast?” He glanced over his shoulder, eyeing the length of the car. “Why anyone would choose to travel in a public car is beyond me. It's barbaric.”

He was an even bigger snob than her brother. “I don't mind it. I like the anonymity and the sense of adventure.”

Henry gazed at her as if she'd advised him to buy high and sell low. “I suppose,” he muttered. “But once you've been granted your annulment, we'll be staying in New York.”

Her eyes grew wide. That had sounded proprietary, as if Henry had a right to make decisions on her behalf—which he definitely did not.

“Henry—”

The waiter set a china plate in front of Henry along with a matching cup filled with coffee, cutting off what she'd been about to say. Henry took a bite of food and grimaced. “This is worse than what they attempted to call a dinner last night.”

“You may get off the train at any stop. Return back to New York. No one is forcing you to accompany me.” No one had even asked, in fact.

“Lizzie.” He gave her a patronizing, crooked smile. “I cannot let you face this alone. We're friends. Besides, this journey is not safe for a woman alone, especially not one such as yourself.”

“What does that mean, a woman such as myself?”

He scratched his sideburns. “You know, one with your upbringing. With
our
upbringing. This is dangerous for a gentle woman like you.”

Gentle? She nearly snorted. If Emmett heard that word used to describe her, he'd laugh. Further proof she and Henry were mismatched. He didn't know her at all if he really believed she was “gentle.”

“And that investment firm idea of yours . . . I'm afraid you'll need to put our family first, Lizzie.”

“It's more than an ‘idea,' and I plan to pursue it, Henry.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw, his nostrils flaring, before he forced out, “Of course, my dear.”

Though his insincerity was obvious, she dropped the issue and attended to her breakfast. She and Henry had no future together, not one in which he would have any control over her life.

Once breakfast had concluded, they returned to the first-class parlor, where she noticed that the train was pulling into a station. Good. Perhaps she could step out for a bit of fresh air and space from unwanted companions. And most bizarrely, she missed Emmett. Spending time with Henry had only served to remind her how much.

Obviously, she needed to clear her head.

“I think I'll walk around a bit on the platform, Henry. Perhaps we'll see one another this afternoon.”

She started for the vestibule, but his hand stopped her. “Wait, Lizzie. I want to talk to you.”

“Isn't that what we've been doing all morning?” she asked him pointedly. “I need some air, Henry.”

“Please, Lizzie. For me?”

Why was he pushing so hard? She would much rather be alone. Sighing, she resigned herself. Maybe if she heard him out, he'd give her some space. She nodded, and he led her to the sofa, where they both sat on the plush cushions.

“Have you thought any more about what I said yesterday?”

“Which part, exactly?”

“About how I want to marry you.” He searched her face before leaning in closer than was proper. “Do you believe me?”

She edged away slightly. “It hardly matters whether I believe you or not, Henry. I think you have made assumptions based on our friendship, assumptions I do not share.”

“They are not assumptions. But I realized the reason you doubt me is because I've been too tentative with you. I should have shown you long before now how I felt.”

The back of her neck prickled. She didn't care for the strange light in his eyes. “No, that's not why—”

“Of course it is.” He reached out to clasp her upper arm in a firm grip. “Let me show you. Let me prove to you how much I want you.”

“That's not necessary,” she said quickly, trying to pull her arm free and glancing wildly around the car. There was no one else about, no one to help her. The other first-class passengers must be outside on the platform or still in the dining saloon. Where were the porters? “Really, Henry. You do not need to demonstrate—”

Without warning, he jerked her toward him and slammed his mouth down on hers. Surprise rooted her to the spot, frozen, as his lips, cold and determined, moved forcefully on hers. They had kissed once or twice before, but the exchanges had held no passion. No excitement. This time was no different—and she was
married.

Using all her strength, she pushed him away. “Henry, stop. We should not be doing this. I'm married.”

“Your husband is not here,” Henry said. “He doesn't want you like I do.”

“That does not change the fact that I am married to him. I cannot do this.”

“Of course you can.” His brows flattened into a disbelieving line. “Let me show you how much I want you.”

He leaned in, and she arched away, attempting to scramble to her feet, but he grabbed her shoulders with both hands. He pushed her into the corner of the sofa, blocking her with his body. A sliver of fear worked its way down her spine. How far would Henry go to “prove” his feelings to her?

“You need to let go. This is not right, Henry.”

“You're wrong.” He bent his head and pressed his face into her throat. “This is exactly right. You need me, Lizzie.”

A hand cupped her breast, and she began to struggle in earnest. “Stop, Henry!”

“Shh,” he told her. “I'm a very generous lover. Everyone says so. Let's depart here, and I'll find us a hotel room. Allow me to pleasure you. You'll enjoy it, I swear.”

She continued to push against him, trying to get up. When that didn't work, her foot connected with his shin. He didn't flinch. “Stop! Let me go. Stop, Henry.”

He didn't even acknowledge he'd heard her. Panic seized her, and she did the only thing she could think of: she balled up her fist and landed a swift uppercut to his jaw. His teeth clacked shut, and surprise loosened his grip enough for her to slide away.

She lunged for the vestibule, intent on escape or calling for a porter. Throwing the heavy panel open, she opened her mouth to scream, then promptly closed it.

Emmett Cavanaugh was rushing toward her, his face full of murderous rage.

* * *

Emmett's gaze raked his wife, who stood quaking with fear in the doorway, her hair and clothing disheveled. He'd heard her cries as he approached, the panic in her tone causing his blood to run cold. Thank God she appeared unharmed, at least physically.

So Rutlidge would live. Barely.

“Emmett,” she breathed, blinking up at him.

“Hello, Elizabeth.” He wanted to take her into his arms, crush her to him. Kiss her senseless. Drop to his knees and beg her forgiveness. But he did none of those things, just stared at her instead. Once the surprise wore off, how would she react to his presence?

Emmett suspected Brendan might have been correct. Based on what he had overheard a few minutes ago, Rutlidge was not Elizabeth's lover. So what was he, then?

“What are
you
doing here?” Rutlidge stood in the middle of the first-class parlor, a deep scowl on his face.

“I've come after my
wife
,” Emmett said slowly, with a heavy measure of menace he hadn't exuded in years.

Elizabeth stiffened, which he hoped was caused by surprise and not disappointment. Still, he would deal with her after he divested Rutlidge of a limb or two.

Two porters appeared at the opposite end of the car, passengers directly behind them, so Emmett called, “This car is closed for the next fifteen minutes.”

“Yes, sir,” one of the porters said, before hurrying everyone out of the car.

Grasping his wife's shoulders, Emmett turned her to him. His thumbs lingered to stroke the delicate bones beneath her clothing as he studied her face. Luminous gray eyes shone up at him, and a stab of emotion hit him square in the chest. Damn, he loved this woman. “I have a lot to say to you, but first I need to know, did he hurt you?”

“I'm fine. But what are you—?”

“All in good time, Elizabeth.” He took her arm and led her to a chair. “Wait here.”

Like a curtain falling into place, all the relief and tenderness inside him was locked firmly away, replaced by cold, hard resolve as he advanced on Rutlidge. The younger man at least had the sense to start backing away once he saw the look Emmett wore. “Did I hear that you were touching my wife against her wishes, Rutlidge?”

The man held up his hands, his face draining of color as he hit the wall. “Listen, Cavanaugh. There was no harm. We were merely talking.”

“Even if I hadn't heard her protests with my own ears, I still wouldn't believe you.” He wrapped one hand around Rutlidge's throat and squeezed. “Kelly!”

“Yeah, Bish?” Kelly strode into the car, tipped his hat to Elizabeth. “Mrs. Cavanaugh.”

“Hello, Kelly,” she said with a smile.

“Kelly, take Mrs. Cavanaugh back to my private car.”

“Right.” He held out his hand. “Come with me, ma'am. I'll get you settled.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Emmett, I think I should stay.”

“Absolutely not. Go with Kelly.” He shot her a look over his shoulder, gentling his tone. “Please, Elizabeth.”

She stared at him for a beat, her expression unreadable. Things were unsettled between them, and he didn't blame her for hesitating. He did, however, need her gone.

“I'm staying. I think you've misunderstood—”

He held up his free hand. “Was he touching you without your permission?”

She bit her bottom lip. “Yes.”

“Did you ask him to stop?”

“Now, wait—” Rutlidge started, and Emmett flexed his fingers to cut off the man's air supply.

“Elizabeth?” Emmett said. “Did you ask him to stop?”

She nodded carefully. “I did, but—”

“Then I did not misunderstand. You and I will speak after I'm through with Rutlidge.” He jerked his chin at Kelly.

“Come now, Mrs. Cavanaugh. He'll be worryin' if you don't go peacefully.” Kelly took her elbow and towed her out of the car and into the vestibule. She appeared concerned, but did not argue further.

When the wooden door clicked closed, Emmett relaxed his fingers to allow Rutlidge to breathe. The other man slumped against the side of the car, air wheezing in and out of his lungs.

Emmett dropped into a seat, brushed a piece of lint from his trousers. “You get one chance to explain yourself, Rutlidge, and it best be good.”

“She left you,” Rutlidge panted. “Anyone can see you make her miserable. She's headed to California for a migratory divorce.”

The news shredded the inside of Emmett's chest with the precision of a straight razor, but he kept his face impassive. Could Rutlidge be lying? “I am still uncertain how that involves
you
.”

Rutlidge straightened off the wall, vibrating with anger. “She is too good for you. Everyone says so. I belong with her; I've always belonged with her.”

Emmett folded his hands in his lap. “Is that so? Then remind me why she married me and not you?”

“Because her fool brother didn't forbid her to see you as I'd hoped!”

As he'd hoped? “Ah, so you sent Sloane the note, the one telling him Elizabeth and I were dining in the private room at Sherry's.”

“Yes! I was trying to get him to intervene, to put a stop to the ridiculous idea of you and Lizzie together.”

“And how did that plan work out?” Emmett asked dryly.

“It should have succeeded,” Rutlidge snarled. “Lizzie is mine.”