Magnate (28 page)

Emmett sighed. Rutlidge was nothing but a spoiled, sheltered little prick, hardly even worth Emmett's time. If the man hadn't attacked Elizabeth, Emmett would almost have been tempted to let him go unscathed.

But he had attacked Elizabeth, which was absolutely unforgivable.

“Rutlidge,” Emmett started, “do you know why they called me the Bishop back when I ran with the Popes?”

Rutlidge swallowed, but did not cower. He raised his chin. “Why?”

Emmett stood to his full height, hands on his hips to take up as much space as possible. “Because it was my job to decide the punishments that were meted out. Anyone who wronged us, anyone who tried to cheat us or take over our territory, had to kneel before me and plead his case. Then I would give him two choices. After that, I'd ask one question before making my decision.”

“Wh-What was the question?” Rutlidge stammered, his eyes big and round.

“Perhaps you should hear your choices first. One is a broken arm because you dared to touch what is mine. The second is a toss off the train because you dared to follow her.” Emmett advanced, his hands curling into fists. “Now I'll ask you the question. What punishment do you think you deserve?”

“Neither!” Henry shrieked, backing away with his palms out. “You're insane. You can't do either of those things to me. Don't you know who I am?”

“I know precisely who you are, you snobbish, over-privileged sack of shit.” Emmett leaned in and snarled, “She's my goddamned wife, and you have no right to breathe her same air. Choose, Rutlidge. Either I'm breaking your arm or I'm throwing you off this train.”

With an unexpected burst of speed, Rutlidge slipped around Emmett and dashed to the door. Emmett turned to give chase and tripped over the leg of an armchair. Damned cramped cars.

He hurried toward the vestibule, intent on grabbing Rutlidge. He ran hard, grateful the car remained empty, his long legs eating up the distance. Rutlidge got into the enclosed vestibule, but Emmett was right behind. Just as Rutlidge opened the door to the next car, Emmett caught up, snatching the man's shirt collar.

Kelly emerged from the other car. “Tried to run, did you?” he said, shaking his head at Rutlidge. “That's a mistake. The Bishop may be big, but he's fast.”

Rutlidge struggled. “Let me go!”

Emmett drew his right arm back and let fly with a powerful hook—and Rutlidge bounced against the side of the small enclosure. “Kelly, tell them I'm ready for the train to start up. Rutlidge is going to decide whether he jumps off now or I throw him off with a broken arm when the wheels start moving.”

Rutlidge groaned, holding his cheek, as Kelly hurried back inside the train car. “You can't do that,” Rutlidge wheezed. “We're in the middle of nowhere. Some godforsaken little farmland—”

“Exactly. It'll do you some good to have to figure out how to get back to New York. That is, unless you're killed in the fall.”

“You're a thug,” Henry spat. “You're nothing more than the filth you were born in. She'll never stay with you.”

“That's too bad, because I have no intention of letting her go. She means everything to me.”

Rutlidge's lips twisted into a smug smile. “Wrong. Money is everything to you. Everyone knows that. And if I'd been able to take that away, she would have seen it, too.”

Emmett blinked. “Jesus. You started the fucking rumor. The one that drove down the East Coast Steel stock.”

A gasp sounded behind him. Elizabeth's beautiful, yet surprised face peeked out from the adjoining car. “Henry! How could you do such a thing?”

Chapter Twenty

At that moment, the train's whistle, long and shrill, pierced the air, and the wheels jolted forward. Emmett watched as his wife emerged, her eyes shooting fire at Henry Rutlidge. Figured she would not do as told.

Rutlidge tried to plead with her. “I wanted to show you, Lizzie. If he lost his money, you would leave him. Then I'd be able to take care of you.”

“I don't care about Emmett's money. His wealth had nothing to do with why I married him. How could you think me so shallow?”

“There has to be a reason you want him instead of me!”

Emmett had often wondered the same thing. He held his breath, waiting to see what Elizabeth would say.

Stature tall and straight, she put her hands on her hips, formidable as a queen. “Because he's a good man, one who has made his own way in this world. One who has ambition and does not begrudge a woman for sharing that same trait. He treats me like an equal, not like a silly little female who should sit at home and do nothing.”

The last remaining piece of ice surrounding Emmett's heart cracked and melted. He'd done nothing to deserve this woman, but he'd do everything in his power to keep her happy for the rest of his life.

“Yes, an equal,” Rutlidge sneered. “Just as he no doubt informed you of his plans to take over Northeast Railroad.”

Elizabeth's expression did not change, and Emmett realized this was not a shock to her.
Hell
. How had Rutlidge learned that piece of news?

“Yes, he has withheld certain information from me—and he has plenty of explaining and apologizing to do. But he is my husband, Henry.”

She hadn't looked at him, and Emmett's gut clenched at the idea that he might lose her for good. He wanted to explain things, tell her how he felt, but he couldn't do that in front of Rutlidge.

Still, Emmett had to say something. Bending, he put his lips near her ear. “I have never lied to you. No matter what else you believe, whatever lies this piece of filth has told you, believe that.” She dipped her chin in a barely perceptible nod, and the knot inside his chest eased slightly.

The wheels began picking up speed, the vestibule rocking as the train rolled faster along the track. “Don't listen to him, Lizzie!” Rutlidge screeched, grasping the wall for support. “He's—”

“About to toss you over the side of the train if you do not shut your trap,” Emmett said. “And considering you are the one who sent William Sloane the note that night at Sherry's, I wouldn't say another word about keeping secrets.”

“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.”

 

 

 

Emmett folded his newspaper when he saw his wife emerge from the front door, eager to drink her in from the confines 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?”