Magnate (15 page)

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 nothing.

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.

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.”

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

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?

So why, then, did his final statement the other night leave her chest aching?

Lizzie sighed and buried deeper into her cloak, kicking a pebble on the garden path with her boot. She had no hold over him, though they were married. If he wanted another woman, why should she care?

“Lizzie!”

She spun toward the house and discovered Edith Rutlidge racing down the back lawn, a wide smile on her friend's face.

“Edith!” Lizzie grinned, experiencing her first true burst of happiness since the wedding day. She ran toward her friend and embraced her fiercely. “I cannot believe you are here.”

“It's terribly rude, isn't it? I hope I am not interrupting your honeymoon. I just thought I would pay an afternoon call to check up on you.”

Lizzie took Edith's arm and guided them toward the dormant gardens. “You are not interrupting. I am always happy to see you. But what are you doing in Newport?”

“Father had business here, and I begged him to let me come along. I thought I might be able to see you, make sure you'd recovered.”

“Recovered from what?”

“The wedding night, silly,” Edith said with a laugh. When Lizzie didn't join in, Edith's gaze narrowed. “Oh, no. Tell me what that man did to you—”

“Calm down. Emmett didn't do anything.” Nothing Lizzie wanted to make public knowledge, anyhow. Her long exhale emerged as a white cloud. “And I don't want to talk about him.”

“I knew you shouldn't have married him. It was too soon, Lizzie. Henry was right.”

“Henry? What did Henry say?” Edith's brother hadn't spoken to Lizzie since the engagement announcement, nor had he attended the wedding.

The two women started down an arbor framed with vine-covered trellises on all sides. It would be stunning come springtime. Too bad Lizzie would never see the blooms.

“That you rushed into the marriage, yet no one can figure out why. Everyone is speculating on the reason you met him in that private dining room. I've heard everything from you are carrying his child to hypnotism.”

“Both of those are ridiculous.”
I met him because I wanted to. He's unlike anyone else in New York.
Of course she couldn't say that, not if she planned to argue coercion in a court of law. “You needn't worry. Everything will be fine.”

“I know you,” Edith said. “You're up to something. But I also know you won't tell me until you're ready.”

Lizzie did chuckle at that. “Yes, and yes. So be patient and try not to worry.”

“Well, we should get you inside. Your lips are blue, and you're shivering.”

Lizzie stopped to take in the huge stone structure. Oceancrest had one of the best views in Newport, right on the cliffs overlooking the ocean. The house was beautiful, a marvel of engineering and convenience. Water closets with hot and cold running water in every bedroom. Speaker phones to connect with the servants. There was an indoor fountain under the main stairs, for heaven's sake.

To Lizzie, however, the home held no warmth, no joy. It was a brittle, sterile shell of unhappiness.

“I don't want to go back in. Not just yet.”

“Then I'm taking you with me, to Poplar House,” Edith said, referring to her family's cottage here. “Come, spend the day with us and have dinner there.”

The offer of company, of laughing and forgetting for a while, appealed more than Lizzie wanted to admit. Being alone here day after day, with hardly anything to do and only the servants for company, was starting to take a toll on her. But how would she explain her husband's absence?

“I shouldn't. Your family will inevitably ask questions. What would I say?”

“That Emmett is working—which, I'm assuming, is the truth.”

Lizzie's shoulders relaxed. “Fine. But you won't mention anything to your family, will you?”

Edith turned an invisible key in front of her lips. “I won't say a word.”

* * *

Emmett struck a match and lit another cigar, his third in the last two hours. He'd been sitting here, in the salon off the main entry, drinking and smoking while waiting for his wife to return. The clock had struck twelve some time ago, and he began to fear she might not come home at all.

In which case, he would ride to the Rutlidge house and smash down every single door until he found her.

One more hour. He'd give her that much before he assumed the worst.

Earlier, when Edith Rutlidge had arrived, he'd thought nothing of the visit, not even when the two women departed. Then Elizabeth hadn't returned for dinner, and Emmett had grown concerned. Not that the two of them had planned to dine together, of course—any pretense of a honeymoon had ended on that first day—but a nagging suspicion told him there was more at play. And, sure enough, he'd learned that Henry Rutlidge had arrived in Newport as well.

Coincidence? Not on Emmett's fucking life.

So he'd sent the staff to bed and positioned himself by the door to wait, his anger mounting with each chime of the mantel clock.

Would she really just leave him without a word?

Yes,
a voice inside his head answered.
The real question is why she'd bother to stay.

God knew she'd be better off with Rutlidge, but until the annulment went through, Emmett would stop at nothing to prevent his wife from hopping into bed with another man.

The faint sound of carriage wheels caught his attention. He stamped out his cigar in the crystal dish at his side while trying to rein in his fury.

When the front door opened, his wife's silhouette appeared in the darkness. She crept in like a thief in the night, taking care to softly close the heavy wood behind her.

“Enjoy your evening?”

She jerked at the sound of his voice and put a hand to her chest. “Emmett? Heavens, you scared me.”

He reached over and turned up the lamp at his elbow. A soft glow illuminated the salon—along with the guilt on his wife's face.

A savage calm rushed through his blood, settling in his muscles to tighten them, as he watched her approach. He made no effort to stand.

“What are you doing?” She removed her gloves and then unpinned her hat. “Why are you waiting down here?”

“Did you have a nice visit with the Rutlidges?”

“How did you . . .” She lifted her chin and whipped off her cloak. “Yes, I did. It was nice to have someone to talk to again.”

A dark chuckle escaped his lips, and he slid out of his chair. “Why, Elizabeth, I had no idea you were lonely.” He stepped toward her, jealousy and righteous indignation propelling him forward. “If only you'd mentioned it earlier, I would have been more than willing to entertain you.”

He advanced, and her eyes grew wide. She began backing away from him. Good.
Run, little rabbit, because when I catch you . . .

“Emmett, stop.” Alarm flickered over her flawless features, and she held up her hands as if to ward him off. “I went for tea and stayed for dinner. That's all. Whatever else you're imagining—”

“And Rutlidge? Was your former beau there as well?”

Her back hit the wall, and she gave a little squeak of surprise. “Henry? He is in Newport, but—”

Emmett pressed in until he loomed over her, one hand braced on the wall above her head. “Did you cry on his shoulder, tell him of your misery?”

Elizabeth's brows flattened. “Absolutely not. I would never do something so disloyal, no matter where things stood between us.”

That surprised him, but the words did nothing to lessen his outrage. “Did he take you to his bed, wife? Did you allow him to slide between your creamy, soft, well-bred—”

Her hand shot up—to crack across his cheek, no doubt—but Emmett was faster. He snatched her wrist and pinned her hand against the wall, fitting his body tightly to hers. “You do not want to do that,” he told her in a low voice.

Her chest rose and fell swiftly, her skin flushed. She was so lovely, damn her. Despite everything, he felt his cock respond, hardening between them. She lifted her face to meet his eyes, her plump lips parted, and he struggled to keep from kissing her.

“I would never be unfaithful, annulment or not. If you knew me at all, you would never question me. Now let me go.” She struggled, but he held tight. He would have answers, by God.

“Do you expect me to believe you stayed there, well after midnight, talking? Do you think me that stupid?”

Her gaze flicked to his mouth, now hovering near hers. The air around them grew heavy and thick, like standing in front of a blast furnace. He could feel the sweet warmth of her rapid breath, could see the color staining her creamy skin. “I do not care what you believe,” she whispered, licking her lips. “I am telling the truth.”

He wasn't sure what to believe when it came to this woman. No one had ever put him so firmly off balance. Was she lying?

With her curves melding so perfectly into his body, he lost the ability to care. All he could focus on was the feel of her, the smell of her, the temptation of her full lips....

Before he could talk himself out of it, he dipped his head and sealed his mouth to hers. He'd last kissed her in the church, but this was nothing like that modest exchange. This was possession and anger. A kiss of raw desperation. He needed her complete surrender.

He didn't tease or coax a response from her like a Knickerbocker gentleman. Instead, he thrust his tongue past her teeth without warning. She opened for him eagerly, and he drove deep, tasted her relentlessly. Her tongue matched him stroke for stroke as they devoured one another, and soon he was drowning, falling, unable to break away from her luscious mouth.

When she whimpered in the back of her throat, he released his grip on her wrist so he could touch her. His hands skimmed over her curves, threaded through her hair, dragged her closer. . . .

Her small hand came up to rest on his shirtfront, fingers shifting—but not to push him away. Instead, she seemed to be exploring the planes of his chest. Angling his head, he gentled the kiss, trying to get nearer. He longed to seduce her, to hear that whimper from her throat once more . . . to worship her and remove the memory of every other man.

She was his
wife
. And he'd dreamed of having her far too often in the past few weeks. Had stroked his cock to the image nearly every morning, the ritual far from satisfying. What he needed was the real thing, this woman right here, the one grinding her hips into his thigh. His erection throbbed against her corset-covered abdomen, and he wanted nothing more than to lift her legs around his hips, throw up her skirts, and slide into her wetness.

Then he remembered.
The annulment
. He broke off from her mouth and stumbled back. Panting, he tried to catch his breath. She was beautifully disheveled from his hands, her lips rosy and swollen. Had Rutlidge witnessed the same thing earlier tonight?

Anger at his own stupidity flooded his veins, so much that he shook with it. “If you plan to entertain a lover while awaiting your annulment, you'd best think again. I'll not allow that to happen.”

She pushed a lock of hair off her forehead. “Why should you care about infidelity? You certainly do not plan to remain faithful, considering what you said the other night.”

Realization dawned. It had bothered her, him calling her cold and promising to fuck other women. “Merely say the word, Elizabeth. I'll carry you upstairs and show you things Henry Rutlidge wouldn't ever dare to try.”

She drew in a shuddering breath. “You know why that is impossible.”

Yes, he did. How could he forget when she threw it in his face at every turn? He ground his teeth together, his thoughts spinning. Perhaps this situation needed less emotion and more strategy on his part. She obviously responded to him physically, as he did to her. So what was the harm in enjoying themselves for the short period of time they'd be married? “We wouldn't be the first couple to lie about consummation.”

She lifted her chin. “I cannot lie about that. I won't lie about it.”

“Yet you'll lie about being coerced.”

“Because that happens to be true! We were both coerced.”

“Bull. No one twisted your arm to meet me for dinner. No one forced you to kiss me. I even tried to stop you, and what did you say?” He paused, then repeated, “‘
I've never been very good at doing what I am told.'
And two minutes ago, I could've had my hand up your skirts. So stop playing the goddamned martyr, Elizabeth.”