Magnate (18 page)

But that didn't explain why her hands had trembled when she'd unbuttoned his shirt.

He quickly changed into dry clothing. The brutal weather showed no signs of abating, and he doubted they would be leaving the building any time soon. Even traveling the few blocks he'd managed had not been easy. He wasn't sure how Elizabeth would take that news, but she had little choice in the matter. In another hour or so, snowdrifts would completely cover the outer door of the building.

When he returned to the office, he found her at the windows, where she was bathed in the light streaming in from outside. Her pale hair looked like spun gold. A gilded angel, beautiful yet untouchable. He shook his head at that fanciful idea and headed for the stove. He saw that she'd unpacked all the supplies he'd managed to acquire, and had set his wet clothing by the heat to dry.

He dropped into a chair before the fire, exhausted, and he heard Elizabeth come toward him in a cloud of rustling silk. A glass of brandy emerged before his eyes.

“Here, drink this,” she said softly.

He accepted the crystal gratefully and finished the spirits in two swallows. The liquor burned his throat and belly, a pleasant distraction from the heat he felt in other parts of his body.

She lowered into the other chair, bottle of brandy in her hand. “More?”

He nodded, and she refilled the crystal tumbler. He took a more reasonable sip this time and then held the glass out to her. “You should have some as well, before I tell you what I learned.”

Gray eyes widened. “Was it so terrible?”

“Worse,” he replied truthfully, and her hand snaked out to grasp the brandy. She swallowed some, coughed, and then exhaled.

“The drifts are piling higher than the doorways. And even if we could get out, the roads and walkways are impossible. We're stuck here until it stops snowing and I can dig us out.”

Shock lined her face before she lifted the heavy crystal back to her lips for a longer drink. “How long do you think that will be?”

“No way of telling. But we won't starve or die of thirst. We have plenty of coal. As long as we remain indoors, we'll be fine.”

“Where did you find the food and supplies?”

“A rum-hole four blocks over. Everyone else is shut up tight.” And the amount the owner had charged him was pure robbery, but Emmett hadn't quibbled. He'd pay any amount to keep Elizabeth as comfortable as possible.

She handed him back the tumbler, which he accepted, and then settled deeper into her chair. “Good thing you have lots of books.”

“Yes, but we have to conserve the lamp oil as best we can. I might have some candles about, but I can't be sure. Once it gets dark, we should try to keep to the light of the stove.”

“Oh dear,” he heard her mutter before she rubbed her brow.

Yes, he was of the same mind—but not because he didn't want to spend time with her. Quite the opposite. He wanted to spend a lot of time with her, alone. Without clothing. Just being so near her was hell on his overactive imagination.

“Where is Kelly?” she asked.

“He returned home last night. Said he wanted to get the horses out of the rain, but I think he's tired of sleeping on the cot in the dressing room.”

“Does he ever leave your side?”

“Rarely. Not since his wife died, anyway.”

“Kelly was married?”

“Yes, for a little over a year. She died of consumption.”

“Oh, that's terrible.”

“It was, yes. She worked in a factory, sewing buttons, in Hell's Kitchen. They lived in the roughest part of the Tenderloin district, despite the fact that I offered to rent him an apartment in a better part of town.” Emmett shook his head, remembering Kelly's stubbornness over not taking Emmett's money in those days. Granted, there hadn't been as much of it, but he'd always been glad to share whatever he had with Kelly. The man had certainly saved Emmett on more than one occasion.

“What did Kelly do? Did he work for you?”

Emmett shook his head. “He wouldn't. Was too proud. So he used to fight for money.”

“Fight, as in boxing?”

“Yes. In alleys. It can be lucrative, if you win.”

“And if you lose?”

“You can be killed. But Kelly never lost. He's the best boxer I've ever seen.”

Tilting her head, she studied him. “Did you ever fight?”

“Only when I had to. But not like Kelly, in organized fights. Mine were more survival than anything else.”

“Why don't you ever talk about your boyhood?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Not much I can say in polite company. Why would you want to hear about it, anyway?”

“Because I'm curious about it. About you, how you grew up.”

“Let's just say it was a far cry from how I imagine your upbringing, with a big house in a fancy neighborhood. Servants. Plenty of food and heat. Parents who worshipped the ground beneath your feet and never—” He snapped his jaw shut to stem the tide of words rushing out of his mouth.

“Parents who never what?” she asked gently, her brow furrowed in concern. When he didn't answer, she said, “Come now, there's little else to occupy our time. We might as well talk to one another.”

He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the idea. The two of them had been ignoring each other since Newport. Even if they were stuck together for however long the storm lasted, he had no intention of confessing all his deep, dark secrets. No, those were buried for good.

“You don't like talking, do you?” she asked, interrupting his thoughts.

Though he didn't plan them, the words tumbled out of his mouth naturally. “Seems when I'm with you, there are other things I like to do more.”

* * *

Lizzie sucked in a breath, both shocked and suddenly aroused by his words, not to mention the wicked light in his near-black irises. She wasn't precisely sure to what things he referred, but just recalling the way he'd embraced her in Newport, pressing her into the wall, had her skin prickling with excitement.

Not that she wanted to kiss him again. Kissing led to cravings and longings. Yearnings. All things she needed to avoid.

She cleared her throat. “Are you attempting to distract me?”

“It's possible. Is it working, Mrs. Cavanaugh?”

The name generally irritated her, but hearing it in his low, husky rasp turned her blood thick and slow, like warm honey. Her husband was a hundred times more potent than the brandy she'd imbibed. “No, but I'll stop pestering you about your past.”
For now.
“What are you working on?” She gestured to his desk, artfully covered in papers.

He finished his brandy and rose. “You might be able to help me, actually. Come,” he said, and held out his hand.

She slid her fingers into his palm, ignoring the jolt that coursed through her system at the contact. He pulled out the enormous desk chair and gestured for her to sit. Once she was comfortable, he shuffled some of the papers on the surface and withdrew a thick stack. He placed those, as well as a ledger, in front of her.

“This is a company I am thinking of acquiring. As I do with any company I might purchase, I obtained a copy of their books—”

“How?” she asked. To do so would be nearly impossible, unless the company wanted to be sold, which she doubted was the case in this circumstance.

The side of his mouth hitched. “I have my methods. How I got the books is immaterial; what they say is another matter.” He tapped his fingers on the ledger. “I suspected a weakness, so I had Colin work up the stock transactions going back for the last two years. He said there are a number of inconsistencies, but I haven't yet had the time to sort them out. Perhaps you can see if everything's aboveboard?”

“I'd be happy to,” she said, nearly bouncing in the chair. Not only was this a chance to use her skills, this endeavor would keep her mind off his wickedly powerful presence. “May I have some blank paper and something to write with?”

Emmett reached into a drawer and produced the items. “I'll leave you to it, then.” He picked up what appeared to be a contract and went to sit by the fire.

Lizzie delved into the numbers, comparing and studying. Time passed, but she hardly noticed. It didn't take long to arrive at the same conclusion her husband had, that something wasn't quite right. But the error was well hidden, deep in the stock transactions. Her brain buzzed with the compulsion to find the solution, to make sense of what she could feel in her gut.

Emmett placed a lamp at her elbow, and she was surprised to see that dusk had fallen. Snow still pelted the ground, giant flakes falling fast and furious past the windows, as the storm showed no signs of abating. “I thought you said we should conserve the oil,” she told him as he strode back to his chair.

He shrugged. “You seem to be making progress. We'll survive if we run out.”

Back at her task, she began adding up her findings. Not long after, the answer hit her. “I found it!” She smacked the ledger. “I found what's wrong.”

His head lifted. “Did you? Allow me to see.”

When he arrived at her side, she started explaining. “I added up the stock sold over the last three years, and compared that to the amounts recorded.” Her hand accidentally brushed his as she pointed at the ledger, yet she stuck to the task at hand, ignoring the giddy rush she received from the innocent contact. “The company has sold more stock than they're actually worth.”

“To water down the stock price?”

“I can't say for certain why, but they definitely sold more shares than they should have.”

“That is remarkable,” he said, his lips curving into a satisfied smile. “You have no idea how much work you've saved me. This information is very valuable. Very valuable, indeed.” He rubbed his jaw, lost in thought, as he stared at the ledger.

She grew hot under his praise. “My pleasure.” Excitement thrummed through her body from the discovery. “I feel as though we should celebrate.”

“I agree. And I can definitely assist in that endeavor. How does champagne and dinner sound?”

“Champagne? Do you have an icebox somewhere I cannot see?”

“Just you wait,” he told her before he disappeared into his dressing room. He returned a few seconds later with a bottle of Moët and continued toward the window. In a blink, he unlocked the latch, lifted the sash, and placed the bottle in the snow that had collected on the stone ledge outside. Quickly, he lowered the window.

“Clever,” she said as he brushed snow from his sleeves. “You are surprisingly resourceful for a steel tycoon.”

“Thank you. If I'd known this would impress you, I would have conjured up a blizzard weeks ago.”

No doubt he probably could, if he so wished. The man seemed unstoppable. “Well, I haven't yet had this dinner you promised, so I'll reserve judgment.”

He smiled, a real, genuine grin, revealing two dimples that would have knocked her down had she been on her feet. “You are a tough woman. I would hate to negotiate against you. I don't think you'd give an inch.”

“Not to you,” she threw back. “You're a locomotive, rolling over everything in your path to get your way.”

“Because I have to be.” He leaned against the window. “I learned very early that no one gives you a damned thing in this world.”

She remembered the story he'd told her, about working in the steel mill, and knew he meant that. And while she admired his single-minded focus and drive, she didn't want to be a casualty, either.

“But,” he continued as he rubbed his jaw, “I do try to weigh the advantages and disadvantages to a situation. It's merely that, once I decide I want something, nothing will stop me from having it.” His dark gaze held hers, the intensity of his stare setting her insides aflame.

Was he talking about her? Or were they talking about business?

She rose and smoothed the fabric of her dress while avoiding his eyes. “Perhaps we should eat. I wouldn't want the champagne to freeze.”

Chapter Thirteen

Something had shifted between them. Emmett could feel the change, a truce of some kind. Elizabeth smiled at him often, the mood decidedly lighthearted—and he hadn't even poured the champagne.

He set out their provisions of salami, cheese, and bread on a blanket he'd spread over the carpet. Night had fallen, and the snow continued outside, but the room was comfortable. He popped the cork on the bottle and filled both of their glasses.

Indeed, this was a celebration—though his wife would hardly agree if she knew the stock transactions she'd just evaluated belonged to Northeast Railroad. Turned out her brother had been selling too many shares of the company's stock. While this wasn't entirely unheard of—Fisk and Gould had watered down the Erie Railroad stock to keep the company out of Vanderbilt's hands—it was fraudulent. The shares would be worth absolutely nothing, no matter what the investors had paid for them.

So how would Emmett use this information against Sloane?

The water closet door opened, and Elizabeth emerged. “I removed my bustle. All things considered, I thought I should be comfortable.”

He closed his eyes briefly. The idea of her removing clothing, even something so innocuous as a horsehair bustle, was embarrassingly tantalizing. “Of course. I agree wholeheartedly.”

She turned to show her profile. “It ruins the line of my dress.”

He gestured to the empty room. “I think formalities can be bent in these desperate times. Of course I am happy to loan you some of my clothing, if you'd rather.”

She snorted and came toward him. “Not even in desperate times, I think. Oh, that looks delicious. I am starving.”

“Come, sit.” He held out his hand and helped her down to the floor. “It's not much, but—”

“Emmett, it's wonderful.” Her gray eyes sparkled in the firelight, gratitude shining up at him. “Thank you. For everything. If it weren't for you, I'd be downstairs, freezing and hungry.”

No, you wouldn't,
he wanted to tell her. Nothing would have prevented him from reaching her today. Not snow or wind, or even ice. He would have found a way to get to her. But he couldn't imagine admitting that aloud, so he merely said, “You are welcome.”

The next several minutes were spent attacking the food and the champagne. They ate in companionable silence, reminding him of the first time he'd taken her to dinner.

“Why are you smiling?” she asked him.

“I was just thinking we get along remarkably well when food is involved. It's the other times . . .”

“Do you plan to carry a hunk of cheese in your pocket every time you wish to speak with me?”

A brief noise escaped his throat, the sound rusty and hoarse.

“Was that a laugh?” She peered at him with exaggerated seriousness. “Oh, I cannot believe it. I actually made you laugh.”

“Do not get ahead of yourself. I didn't exactly guffaw.”

“Still, I shall treasure it always. The time I made the perpetually serious Emmett Cavanaugh laugh.”

He shook his head at her foolishness. “I'm not always serious. Just ask Kelly or Brendan.”

“Is that so? Your sisters say they hardly ever see you, that all your time is spent working.”

True. He didn't spend enough time with them, but they were surrounded with tutors and governesses, learning how to be proper young ladies, as they should, befitting the status that Emmett's wealth gave them. Claire and Katie would not scrounge and grasp for a husband when the time came. “And your point is?”

“Perhaps you need a bit more fun in your life.” She popped a piece of cheese in her mouth and chewed.

He leaned down and cut another small piece of cheese. Lifting it between his thumb and forefinger, he held the morsel in front of her lips. The teasing light in her gray gaze faded, only to be replaced by a dark curiosity that never failed to make him hard. Her lips parted on a breathy sigh, acquiescing, and he slipped the bite of cheese inside. “Perhaps you and I have a difference of opinion on what constitutes fun. Shall I show you my version?”

Bold as brass, she closed her lush mouth around the tips of his fingers. Her lips were soft and smooth against his rough skin, and he wanted nothing more than to feel them on other parts of his body. She held his stare, not shy in the least, and a fierce hunger that had nothing to do with food swept through him.

How could an innocent woman be so brazen? How could a sheltered heiress be so intelligent? How could one woman force him to feel things that none other had even dared?

He slid his hand over her jaw. “You are unlike any woman I've ever met,” he said quietly.

Her eyes fell, and she drew back. Reluctantly, he let her go and watched as she reached for her glass. Her hand trembled, and satisfaction tore through him. He'd unnerved her. Good.

He plucked his own glass off the rug and decided to ease his conscience a bit. “I owe you an apology.”

“For?”

“What I said in Newport. I was deliberately crude and cruel. I know it doesn't absolve me of what I said, but I didn't care for the idea of you and Henry together.”

“Henry and I are not together. We never were.”

“I realized as much, and I'm sorry.”

She blinked a few times, her mouth working before she said, “Thank you.” She sipped more champagne. “Why actresses?”

He was growing used to her knack for abrupt changes in topic. “Why not actresses? They're beautiful and talented. Self-sufficient.”

“So you want a woman who will leave you alone?”

“At times. Or I merely want to spend the evening with a pretty woman. I buy them whatever they want, and their names appear in the newspaper. Both parties benefit from the arrangement.” He finished his drink then reached to refill both their glasses.

“That sounds . . . cold.”

He flashed her a leer. “I promise you, it is not.”

She threw her head back and laughed, a rich, joyful sound that stole through his entire body. “You are shameless. How did I never suspect it?”

Probably for the same reason he'd come to realize countless things about her over the past few hours. Like how she tapped her foot when she was concentrating. Or how her hair shined like wheat in the lamplight. “Because we hardly know one another. Isn't that what you once said, when you were trying to finagle out of the wedding?”

Pink bloomed on her cheeks as she reached for the bread. “And it was true.”

“But no longer?”

She opened her mouth to take a bite and anticipation slid through his gut, tightening his muscles. Is this what he'd become, a man desperate for the mere sight of a woman's tongue? Then the pink flesh emerged to lick her lips in an innocent-yet-provocative gesture, and Emmett nearly groaned.

At that moment, a decision settled over him with steely resolve. Annulment be damned.

He would seduce his wife in this room before the storm ended. Let her worry over that ridiculous annulment. He no longer cared.

“I am developing an . . . understanding that I did not have before.” She cradled her glass of champagne, clutching the flute in front of her chest like a talisman.

Too late, he wanted to tell her. The devil would not be dissuaded, not tonight.

Tonight, she was his.

* * *

Lizzie strongly suspected her husband intended to seduce her.

He'd inched closer and closer on the rug, his long limbs and brawny shoulders entirely too distracting. His dark gaze followed her every movement, tracking her like a hunter on the African plains. He seemed especially fascinated by her mouth and lips while she ate. Heat lurked in his eyes—heat, and a promise.

Perhaps the fault of the champagne, but she was coming to like the idea. Quite a bit.

Selecting another small piece of cheese, she slowly placed the morsel in her mouth. Emmett watched intently, saying nothing. All masculine grace, he was reclined back on an elbow, one knee propped up. A thrill skated down her spine, a heady rush of something wicked and mysterious, as she waited to see what he would do.

“My brother likes you,” Emmett said casually. “Claire and Katie, as well. They said you promised to take them ice skating.”

“I did.” She smiled. The girls were curious about her, constantly peppering her with questions about her life, her clothes, the people she knew. Had she been to the Patriarchs' Ball? What had it been like to debut? How many marriage proposals had she received? Lizzie didn't mind. She could talk to the two adorable girls for hours. They were clearly starved for a female presence in their lives. “You should come as well.”

He glanced away, a muscle twitching in his jaw. She asked, “Have you ever been skating?”

“No. Never had the time for that sort of nonsense.”

“Ice skating is not nonsense. Having fun and spending time with your family is not nonsense.” He didn't say anything, so she pushed on his shoulder playfully. “What if I teach you how to skate? I promise I'll only laugh at you once or twice.”

“Oh, is that all?” he said dryly. “Let me guess, your brother took you ice skating.”

“Yes, he did. Many times, in fact. No, do not roll your eyes, Emmett Cavanaugh. Manipulations and blackmail aside, he was a good older brother.”

“So you're saying I'm a terrible older brother?”

“Not at all, but the girls can use more of your time and attention. Beyond dinners and occasional swimming lessons.”

“Sounds as if you've been giving them your time and attention recently. I'm grateful, Elizabeth. They can benefit from a woman's perspective, especially one as sophisticated as yours.”

“I adore Katie and Claire. You've done a marvelous job in raising them.” She picked at a thread on the blanket, unsure of how to broach something during this newfound détente between them.

“But?” he asked, picking up on her struggle.

“You should know the girls have been asking me about you. I do worry the distance between us will upset them.”

“What have you told them?”

“That you are busy. That Newport was cold and boring, that I was anxious to start my investment firm.”

“All entirely true,” he pointed out. “And not all the honeymoon was cold and boring. I seem to recall a very passionate kiss in the salon. In fact, you almost scratched my back with your fingernails while—”

“Emmett!” Her face warm with embarrassment, she shoved at his shoulder once more—but this time he was ready for her. He sat up, caught her wrist, and did not let go.

“I liked it, Elizabeth,” he said quietly. “I liked it so much I've nearly driven myself mad with the memory.”

Her heart pounded, a steady pulse that seemed to center between her legs. Gently, he slid his hand up her arm and skimmed her throat to bring her closer. “Tell me you don't wonder,” he continued, gliding his thumb under her jaw. “Tell me you don't lie awake at night thinking of what it would feel like. What
I
would feel like. How good the two of us could be together.”

A denial sprang to mind, one that was a complete lie. Countless hours had been wasted contemplating exactly that—and more. Thoughts of the powerful attraction between them arose at the most inopportune times. Stock tables would swim before her eyes, she would lose track of conversations, and once she'd gotten so turned around in the mansion that a footman had to give her directions to her room.

“We should resist the temptation,” she said, her voice thin.

“If I were a better man, I would try. But I am not that man.” His gaze dropped to her mouth, where he brushed the rough pad of his thumb along the edges of her lips. Goose bumps erupted down the length of her body in the wake of his tender touch. “I've done many terrible things in my life and will no doubt commit hundreds more. But you are the first woman I've ever met who makes me ache to be worthy.”

She drew in a shaky breath. Her resolve to resist was rapidly melting along with her insides, need and desire building at an alarming rate. “Emmett—”

“Let me, Elizabeth. Let me show you.” He bent his head slowly and pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth. She sighed, and he shifted to repeat the gesture to the other side, his lips surprisingly soft for such a large, complicated man.

There was no point in denying that she wanted him, no benefit to running any longer. Lizzie had fought her physical reaction to Emmett for too long, weighing the emotional risks against the pleasurable rewards. Something about this man twisted her up, and perhaps he had been right: No one need know about their intimacies during the annulment proceedings.

Decision made, she tilted her head, let her lids fall, and found his mouth with her own. He gave a swift intake of breath at her surrender just before crushing her to him. His lips turned insistent, fevered, as they melded to hers, drawing and teasing until she clung to him.

Large hands traveled over her corseted ribs, and her breasts swelled. No man had ever touched her this intimately or kissed her with such vigor. Even through layers of clothing she could feel his touch, as sensitive as if he slid over her bare skin. Blood rushed through her veins, in her ears, along her scalp.

He pressed his tongue past the seam of her lips and she welcomed him, eager to explore the warm, lush recesses of his mouth. How could a person's tongue be so arousing? But, oh, it was . . . Lips open, their tongues twined and danced in a slick, urgent rhythm that stole her breath. He pulled back to sink his teeth into her bottom lip, causing the sweetest sting of pleasure and pain. “Such fire inside you. I am going to enjoy watching you burn, Elizabeth.”