Magnate (26 page)

Elizabeth slid off the table and pulled her dressing gown closed. “Do not be ridiculous. He is the brother of my best friend. There is no way to avoid him, Emmett.”

“I do not want you alone with him.”

“Why?” she asked, genuinely perplexed. Then a bitter laugh escaped her. “Because you don't trust me. Of course, how could I have forgotten?”

He said nothing, just watched as a myriad of emotions traveled over her face. Finally, she asked, “Tell me, how am I supposed to win back your precious trust?”

No answer came to mind, other than that he wanted her to admit what she'd done. It was the only way he could ever be sure. But trust or not, he still wanted her. Ached for her. And he had no intention of allowing another man to lay claim to her.

“For starters, stay the hell away from Henry Rutlidge.”

Chapter Eighteen

“Good morning, Lizzie,” Brendan said as he entered the breakfast room. “I'm pleased to see you looking so well today.”

Lizzie ducked her head, avoiding her brother-in-law's assessing gaze. Did everyone know of last night's argument and . . . afterward? “Good morning,” she said into her cup, just before taking a long sip of coffee.

Brendan must have noticed her reaction because he held up a hand. “All I know was that Emmett was livid. When he is stomping about the house, it's like a horde of invaders storming the castle gates. He'd never hurt you, but I also know how unforgiving he can be.”

That was an understatement. Brendan couldn't have learned of the particulars regarding the East Coast stock purchase, only that Lizzie and Emmett had disagreed over something. And though she'd confided her misery to Edith, complaining to Emmett's brother seemed disloyal. “Yes, he was certainly worked up.”

Brendan set a china plate full of food on the linen tablecloth, then lowered carefully into a chair. “Will you stay and have coffee with me?” He nodded toward her empty cup.

She agreed and poured coffee for them both. They made idle conversation for a moment or two before Brendan dismissed the footman hovering nearby. When they were alone, he said, “My brother is making you unhappy, isn't he?”

“Yes, he is.” No use pretending.

“I had such high hopes after the storm. I thought . . . well, I thought he'd changed.”

“As did I.” Thoughts of last evening came back to her, starting with Emmett's anger and accusations. Henry's pleading. The women who had ignored her because she'd dared to use her brain for something more than planning parties. Was Will right? Was she a fool to risk everything she had on this idea?

“Brendan, what will happen if my investment firm causes me to lose my standing in society? Will Katie and Claire be terribly disappointed?”

“Terribly disappointed that you can no longer guarantee their success?”

“Yes.”

“Lizzie, there are few guarantees in this life. No one expects you to put aside your happiness for Claire and Katie. Besides, Emmett claims their fat dowries will be enough.” Brendan chuckled and picked up his knife and fork. “Though I admit I didn't believe him, which is why I stupidly meddled in your dinner at Sherry's that night.”

“What do you mean, meddled?”

An odd look passed over his face. “He never told you?”

“Told me what?”

“No, nothing.” He focused hard on his plate and carefully cut into his sausage.

Brendan was a terrible liar. “What didn't Emmett tell me?”

Grimacing, Brendan placed his knife and fork on the plate. “He's going to kill me,” he muttered.

“
Brendan
.”

“About that second dinner, the one at Sherry's.” She stared at him blankly, and he continued, “About how I tricked him into showing up.”

Her ears began to ring, but she forced out, “Tricked him, how?”

“I thought you knew. That I told him he was meeting his mi—” Brendan cleared his throat. “Someone else in that dining room.”

“But he asked me to have dinner that night. We had planned to meet.”

Brendan winced and said nothing.

Her mind turned this over, and she added up the facts. “He wanted to cancel, but you never passed the message along,” she guessed, and Brendan's heavy exhale confirmed it.

She slumped in her seat. Emmett had . . . tried to cancel on her. Instead, he'd planned to meet his mistress for dinner, which was why the room had been set up in such a way. So intimate. For someone else. Embarrassment and misery wedged in her throat. Was anything between them
not
a lie? First the blackmail to marry her, and now this....

“Lizzie, I am sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I thought the association would do Emmett some good. But I never thought that he would try to seduce you there, or that your brother would catch the two of you together.”

Lizzie rubbed her forehead. Emmett had been tricked into meeting her. Emmett Cavanaugh and his society wife, a woman from one of the oldest families in New York but naïve enough to believe he'd truly wanted her. Even after she'd learned of the blackmail, that night at Sherry's had always comforted her. The knowledge that he had seduced her, had pursued her.

But he hadn't been pursuing her. He'd been trying to avoid her.

A fist-sized lump settled behind her breastbone. No doubt she'd been a convenient outlet during the storm, a warm, willing body to replace the many mistresses he still entertained.

Pushing away from the table, she rose quickly. She had no idea where she was going, but she had to move, to leave. To get somewhere private where she could try to make sense of everything she'd learned.

“Lizzie, wait!” Brendan clutched her arm. “Please. I know your marriage may have started under less than ideal conditions, but it's clear the two of you have feelings for one another. Do not let what I've told you make you think less of him. He cares for you, I know it.”

Lizzie knew no such thing. No wonder Emmett fought her at every turn. She could hardly fault him, considering she served as a reminder of everything he hadn't wished for. Everything he'd been blackmailed into accepting. Ice settled around her heart, a frozen hopelessness gifted by the stark reality of her marriage.

“Do not worry,” she told her brother-in-law. “I do not blame you. I blame myself.”

* * *

While trains were convenient they were also messy and loud. They spewed ash and burning cinders into the air. The wheels rattled as they churned, the undercarriage jostling and pinging in an unholy racket. Still, they carried you away from places—places in which you'd rather not stay.

Lizzie watched the countryside fly past the train window. She'd needed to escape the house, escape New York, as quickly as possible. The destination hadn't much mattered. This train was headed west, away from a mansion full of distrust and lies, and that was all she cared about. Of course, she could disembark and catch an eastbound train whenever she was ready . . . but would she ever be ready to face Emmett again?

She sighed and settled deeper into the plush velvet bench. Trains were comforting to her, a reminder of her family legacy. Her father and brother had overseen the construction of these cars, these rails. Over the years, she had attended ceremonies for station openings, helped to christen new railcars, even weighed in on carpet and fabric choices for the interiors. Northeast Railroad was in her blood, too.

Today, however, she was not traveling as Mrs. Elizabeth Cavanaugh, née Sloane, in a private Pullman car, as her brother always insisted. She was plain Lizzie, riding with the rest of the passengers, just one lost soul amongst hundreds of strangers. Perhaps the journey could give her the time and space to find herself once more.

“It's almost time for lunch, madam,” Pauline said from the other end of the small bench, breaking into Lizzie's reverie. “Shall I go and secure us seats in the dining saloon?”

Food did not sound appealing in the least, but Lizzie knew her maid had been increasingly concerned on the journey over her employer's silence. Not to mention that the poor woman hadn't blinked when Lizzie told her they were leaving for an indefinite amount of time. Therefore, it seemed cruel to refuse small courtesies. “Yes, thank you, Pauline. Did you send the telegram to Miss Grayson, telling her I would be away?”

“Yes, I did. I didn't say when you was to return, however.”

The fishing expedition was not lost on Lizzie. “Excellent, thank you. I don't expect it will be long. Just enough time to think, Pauline.”

The other woman nodded and rose from the bench, leaving Lizzie to stare out the window. A few minutes later, she felt a presence next to her. “Did you get us seats?” she asked, but received no answer. She glanced over and found a man there—

“Henry!” She straightened, blinking at him. “Good heavens. What are you doing here?”

Removing his derby, Henry Rutlidge slid closer. “I came to find you, of course.”

“I don't understand. How did you know I would be here, on this train?”

Reaching out, he clasped her hand. “I know you're running away from him.” Lizzie immediately tried to withdraw her hand from his grasp, but Henry held fast. “No, wait,” he said, his eyes pleading with her. “Let me come with you. I'll help you. We can return to New York and I will use my influence to expedite your annulment.”

“Henry, I hadn't planned anything beyond getting on the train. Please do not force me to make decisions right now.”

“Lizzie, in your heart you know what you are doing. You're leaving him. For good. And about time, I might add.”

“Stop.” She jerked her hand back, and this time he let her go. “You've made it clear you do not approve of my marriage, but you cannot make assumptions. How can you think to know my mind when I hardly know it myself?”

He shot to his feet. “If that were true, then you would not have left in such a hurry. You would also know when you plan to return. Why do you bother lying to me? You forget how well I know you.”

On the contrary, in the past few weeks she'd realized how utterly mismatched the two of them would have been. “You do not know me nearly as well as you think. If you did, you would see why your presence on this train is pure madness, Henry.”

“Wrong.” He paced as much as one could in the small sitting area of the car. “I've known you since we were children
,
Lizzie. Cavanaugh's known you for what, three months? You and I are so much alike. We make sense. Cavanaugh is nothing but a lowborn laborer. He's—”

“That's enough,” she snapped, then glanced around. Thankfully, the car was not crowded, the other passengers far enough away that they would not overhear. Still, she lowered her voice. “Do not say any more. You sound like an aristocratic snob, Henry. My husband is hardworking and a good man.”

The train swayed, and Henry had to reach out to steady himself on a chair. “Do not tell me you actually have feelings for the big ape.”

“If you call him another name, I shall switch trains at the next stop—after I throw your baggage into the wilds of Pennsylvania.”

“Touching, but you should know that your husband doesn't reciprocate your tender feelings. If he did, then he certainly wouldn't have told me where to find you. How else did I learn which train you had taken?”

Lizzie lost her breath. “He did
what?
”

Henry shrugged. “Even he realizes I am the man you should be married to. So do not think he is at home, pining for you. He's probably trolling the vaudeville houses as we speak, looking for an actress to—”

“Do not say it,” she gritted out, though there was every possibility Henry was correct. How could Emmett have thrown Henry at her like this? Only last night, he'd forbidden her to even be alone with the other man. She closed her eyes, hurt and confusion now strangling her insides.

A terrible pressure built behind her lids, a signal that her emotions were about to crash. She bit her lip, trying to hold back until she could be alone.

Henry shifted closer. “Fine. But you should also know that Cavanaugh's planning to take over your brother's company. I have it on good authority that he's trying to bribe the Northeast board to gain a majority share.”

She blinked at Henry. “
What?
Why would Emmett want to take over Will's company?”

“As revenge for forcing the marriage between you, obviously.”

Her chest burned, a bitter hurt mixed with fury. Damn Emmett Cavanaugh. She knew he hated Will, but would he really try to take away her family legacy? Granted, there had been some financial difficulty of late—

Oh, heavens. The balance sheets from the storm . . . It had obviously been a railroad company. Had Lizzie been looking at Northeast Railroad's books? If so, then Will had been bilking investors by selling more stock than he should, which meant he could be investigated. Possibly prosecuted for fraud.

Only one person could answer these questions, and he was not aboard the train. And all this speculation produced nothing but an ache in her temples.

“Henry, you need to stop.”

“Fine, but let me ask you: Who is here now? Who has rushed to your side to help you? I have wanted you for years.”

“Yet you did nothing. That is not the way I wish to be wanted by my husband.”

His expression clouded. She knew he didn't understand, but how could she begin to describe the desperation that overcame her every time Emmett touched her? The need for him was essential, as necessary as air and water.

She didn't prefer to be worshipped from afar while a man bided his time. She would rather be ravished and devoured by a man who took what he wanted, damn the consequences.

“I do want you, Lizzie. I swear it.”

“Then why did you leave for Maine instead of attending my birthday party last year? Why did you escort other women to dinner? Or take them sailing?”

“Because I needed to
live
first, before settling down. I was not ready to marry you then.”

“But you are now?” she asked with a skeptical tone.

“Yes!” he nearly shouted. “And if my doing those things upset you, why did you not mention them before now?”

“They didn't upset me. I was never jealous, only surprised.” Which was true. She'd never cared about what Henry did or who he was with. Not like with Emmett, when the mere thought of him with another woman caused bile to rise in her throat.