Magnate (8 page)

As they passed the small group of women still chatting inside the dressing room, Lizzie stopped. “Excuse me, Mrs. Connors?”

The older woman looked up. “Hello, Miss Sloane. Miss Rutlidge.”

“I wanted to say thank you,” Lizzie told her.

Confusion marred Mrs. Connors's weathered face, and she clutched her long strand of pearls. “Whatever for?”

“For coming to the opera tonight.” The comment would make no sense to anyone other than Lizzie . . . but few people ever understood her anyway. What were three more? “And I would be honored if you and Mr. Connors would join my brother and me for dinner one evening. Perhaps I could invite Mrs. Astor as well, to introduce you.”

Mrs. Connors appeared shocked, but rushed out, “How kind of you to offer, Miss Sloane. I would quite enjoy that.”

“As would I. I'll speak to my brother and call on you soon. Good evening, ladies.”

As they walked to the boxes, Edith murmured, “I didn't know you were so fond of Mr. and Mrs. Connors.”

“After tonight, I am their biggest champion.”

Chapter Five

The front door swung open, and Graham, Emmett's butler, stepped into view. “Welcome back, sir.” A footman dashed by on his way to collect the bags from the hack as Emmett came up the walk. “I trust you had a pleasant trip.”

Emmett had spent the past few days in Pittsburgh. The expansion project on his largest mill had lagged this winter, construction not happening nearly as fast as it should—and Emmett soon learned why. The foreman had accepted a bribe from a Pittsburgh city official in order to stall, which he'd admitted after some creative coercion on Emmett's part. Then Emmett had tracked down said corrupt official, who quickly came around to Emmett's way of thinking. Dangling out of a fourth-story window tended to do that to a man.

“
Pleasant
is not the word I would use, Graham.” Emmett crossed the threshold and came inside the entryway. He handed over his derby and stick, then shrugged out of his coat. “Have Rogers bring a fresh shirt to my office,” he told the butler, and started down the hall.

“Very good, sir. Mr. Colin is waiting for you.”

When Emmett traveled short distances, he preferred to do so alone, which meant Colin remained behind to deal with matters in Emmett's absence. The young man was efficient and direct, two qualities Emmett respected in an employee.

His secretary waited inside the study, a stack of cables in his hands. “I have at least ten items that need your immediate attention,” Colin said without preamble.

Emmett held out his right hand, and Colin obediently placed the stack of messages in Emmett's palm. Emmett was flipping through them, reading and prioritizing, when Rogers, his valet, appeared with a fresh shirt.

Emmett slipped out of his coat, placed it on the back of a chair, and continued reading through the cables. “Colin, any success with getting those Northeast P&Ls?”

“Is that blood on your silk vest again?” Rogers asked sharply as he removed Emmett's gold pocket watch and chain.

“No lectures, Rogers. If you can't get it out, then just purchase a new one, for hell's sake.”

Frowning disapprovingly, the valet busied himself with collecting the soiled clothing.

“No, sir,” Colin responded to Emmett's earlier question. “I am still working on getting those for you.”

“Work harder,” Emmett told him. “Or let's hire a Pinkerton to see it done.”

Colin nodded just as Brendan sauntered inside. “Welcome back, Em,” his brother said. “We expected you this morning. Did you run into trouble leaving Pittsburgh?”

“I didn't realize you were so anxious to see me. But yes, there was a delay on the track. Cows, I believe.”

Brendan dropped into a chair and propped his cane against the edge of the desk. “Then I fear you have an even longer night ahead of you. Mrs. Rose called from the theater this morning to confirm you're still taking her to dinner tonight.”

Fresh shirt in place, Emmett held out his wrist so Rogers could affix cuff links. “Dinner? Did I make dinner plans for this evening?”

Colin appeared equally perplexed. “No, sir. I don't show any dinner on your schedule tonight.”

Brendan held up his hands. “I'm merely the messenger. She said it was very important you meet her at Sherry's at nine.”

“Fine.” He hadn't seen Mae in three weeks, and perhaps a night in her bed would finally erase the memory of Elizabeth Sloane. Mae preferred to dine at Sherry's, which was fast becoming the most popular restaurant in town. A small space at Thirty-Eighth Street and Sixth Avenue, they had decent food and spectacular service. Louis Sherry went to great lengths to accommodate his customers' requests, and Mae loved the attention.

“Send her flowers and tell her I'll be there,” he told Colin and pulled up his suspenders. Rogers slipped a green patterned vest over Emmett's shoulders and came around to do the buttons.

“No need,” Brendan said easily. “I already confirmed for you.”

Emmett started to tell Brendan to mind his own damn business, but he was suddenly reminded of something. Today was Tuesday, the last day of the bet. Emmett reached for his pocket watch and then remembered he was changing clothes. “What time is it, Colin?”

“Just after four.”

Trading had closed an hour ago. Had she succeeded?

The two of them had planned to dine together this evening. At least, he'd asked Elizabeth to meet him again, and she had agreed. It was entirely probable, however, that she'd forgotten.

He shouldn't see her. It was a fool's errand. She wasn't the type of woman he preferred. Actresses, whores, singers . . . those he could handle. Women up for a good fuck, who never wanted anything serious.

Elizabeth Sloane screamed
serious.
She was not the type to bounce between the sheets and then go along her merry way. Christ, he'd probably scare her the first time he whipped his cock out—never mind his scarred back.

“Colin, send a cable to Miss Elizabeth Sloane on Washington Square. ‘Unable to meet you tonight. Cable your results tomorrow. Yours, etcetera, etcetera.'” His secretary nodded, furiously writing on his pad.

“I'll send it,” Brendan said, rising smoothly to his feet with the help of his cane. “You both have a lot to catch up on, and I have nothing else to do.” He plucked the paper from Colin's hands.

“You are uncharacteristically helpful today.” Emmett scrutinized his brother. “Did something happen that I should know about?”

“Nope. Just trying to earn my keep around here.”

Rogers held up a brown frock coat, and Emmett waved him away. “No need for that. I'll be up to bathe and change for dinner around seven thirty.” He rolled his shoulders, relieved to feel marginally human again.

Just as he was about to sit, Katie and Claire exploded into the room in a blur of churning legs and petticoats. “Emmett!” they called as they charged his desk. “You're back!”

He grinned and thrust his hands into his trouser pockets. “Hello, girls. I see you've slipped Mrs. Thomas again.”

“We had to see if you brought us anything,” Katie said, now shifting impatiently in front of him. “Did you?”

“We want candy!” Claire announced at her sister's side. “You promised us candy.”

“Yes, I did. But only if you were very good for Mrs. Thomas.”

“We were!” both of them said loudly.

He began to slowly pull his hands out of his trouser pockets, the girls' eyes growing wider by the second. “I went to a new place this time, the Clark Company. They make something called”—he withdrew his hands and opened his fists—“the Clark Bar.” The candy was wrapped in a dull red package with the name in yellow letters. “I think you'll like them.”

“I'm sorry, sir,” said a winded voice by the door. Mrs. Thomas, the governess, gripped the doorframe, her hair askew from chasing after the girls. “They promised me they would wait until dinner.”

Emmett lifted his arms—and the candy—out of the girls' reach. “Katie. Claire. Did you lie to Mrs. Thomas?”

Katie avoided his eyes, and Claire's lip began to quiver. “We couldn't wait,” she whined. “Don't take our candy away!”

“You may have the candy, but you both will do one extra hour of music lessons for lying. Do we have a deal?”

“Deal!” they both shouted, and he handed over the candy. The girls scooped up the red packages and darted out into the corridor.

“You are such an easy mark,” Brendan said with a chuckle.

“Don't you have somewhere to be?” Emmett snapped at his brother. “Saving lives, perhaps?”

Brendan raised his hands in surrender. “I'll leave you to it. Have fun tonight.”

* * *

Lizzie tapped her fingers on the linen-covered tabletop, unable to sit still. She had arrived at Sherry's early, too excited to wait. Even her trepidation over dining in a small private suite could not dim her joy.

She'd succeeded. She'd won Cavanaugh's wager, doubled his money, and would soon be starting her own brokerage firm. Her chest seemed ready to burst with sheer happiness.

Filled with giddiness, she'd placed a call to Emmett this morning to confirm their dinner. She wanted to deliver the news in person. Emmett had been unavailable, but his brother, Brendan, had been very helpful.

“Oh, yes,”
Brendan had said over the line.
“Emmett told me himself that he plans on meeting you at nine o'clock, Miss Sloane. Said he's looking forward to it.”

Apparently Emmett had arranged for the private dining room as well. What did that gesture mean? Heaven knew she'd contemplated the near-kiss in the carriage a hundred times since that night, wondered over what it would feel like to have his mouth on hers. And now they would spend the evening here, together, all alone. Her brother would be furious, of course, but Lizzie didn't care about her reputation. Nothing could ruin this evening for her.

The red velvet curtain swept aside, and Emmett strode in. He drew up short, almost as if surprised, but then continued toward her. Lizzie sucked in a breath. He looked huge in his black evening clothes, larger than life. Chiseled jaw, stark cheekbones, long eyelashes, and the bedeviling dip in his chin . . . Her skin grew hot, her stomach jumping. The man was hazardous to female kind.

Lizzie stood and smoothed her violet silk Worth evening gown. She tried to contain her wide smile, her face aching with the effort. It would be silly, but she had the strangest desire to run and throw herself into his arms, to share the euphoria exploding within her.

“Miss Sloane.”

“Mr. Cavanaugh.”

He clasped his hands behind his back then studied her, his obsidian gaze dark and intense. “Your eyes are dancing. Can I assume you've good news?”

The grin broke free, and she clapped her gloved hands. “I did it! As of yesterday, your investment stands at twenty-two thousand, twenty-nine dollars and sixty-three cents!”

“And a day early. I am impressed, Elizabeth.” The lines of his rugged face softened, making him impossibly handsome. “This is cause for a celebration.”

He strode back to the curtain and spoke to a waiter in the hall. She resumed her seat and busied herself with peeling off her purple gloves. Emmett returned and took his place, the setting dangerously close to hers. In fact, along with the candles, the entire atmosphere screamed
intimate
.

She did not care. Tonight was for gaiety. Worries were for tomorrow.

“You must tell me how you did it,” he said, shifting toward her. A strong thigh slid close to her knee, and Lizzie felt her mouth go dry.

Thankfully, the waiter arrived and began pouring champagne, allowing Lizzie a chance to compose herself. Emmett affected her in the strangest way.

When they were alone again, he plucked a full glass off the table, handed it to her, then lifted his own in a toast. “To partnership.”

Lizzie beamed. Hard to believe she would soon own her brokerage firm—well, half own. Regardless, she would have the opportunity to use her gifts in a practical sense, not merely as an exercise by herself. Financial security was close at hand. “To partnership.”

They drank, and then Emmett said, “Will you tell me how?”

“Gotham Telegraph.”

His eyes widened. “The rumored sale to Astor. Impressive. No one saw that coming.”

“I know. I was in the right place to overhear a relevant piece of information.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. Sometimes women share innocent things from their home life that can be used to gauge a company's stock value.”

He studied her, stared with such fierce concentration, that she nearly squirmed. She couldn't guess what he was thinking. Just as she was about to ask, he said quietly, “You are entirely unexpected, Elizabeth.”

From his flat tone and serious expression, she couldn't comprehend his meaning. “Is that good or bad?”

“I haven't decided yet.”

The moment stretched, their gazes locked, and her breath came faster, the air suddenly in short supply. Their faces were so close she could see every one of the dark lashes framing his eyes, the hint of whiskers along his jaw. She sensed a strange tension emanating from him, a barely leashed energy that filled the room.

A waiter returned, this time with the first course, and she reached for her champagne, downing it. Oysters again, she noted in an effort to focus on something other than the inscrutable man next to her. The plates were arranged, and Emmett murmured something to the waiter, who promised to return momentarily.

The next few moments were dedicated to the food. Lizzie enjoyed the oysters and tried not to dwell on Emmett's nearness, or the way their arms nearly brushed with each movement.
More champagne should help
, she thought and reached for her flute.

“Have you considered where you will set up an office?” he asked.

Surprised, she put down her glass. She hadn't yet contemplated the practicalities, like an office or hiring a staff. Winning the bet had consumed her thoughts. No doubt her brother had space to spare in the Northeast Railroad offices, but she couldn't fathom having Will a few feet away each day. He would interfere, try to take over.

“No, I haven't. Silly, I suppose, but I've been so focused on the wager. I'll need to lease an office near the exchange.”

“I have plenty of available space in my new building on Beaver Street.”