Tycoon (10 page)

Then she remembered how Ted had given her story to the newspaper without asking her. “If I agree to marry you, I expect to be treated like an equal. You cannot decide things for me. I'm your partner, not your obligation.”

His expression softened. “Yes, of course.”

“And,” she said, “I won't quit my job. I want to keep working.”

The idea seemed to surprise him, if his raised brows were any indication. “That is up for debate. I—”

“It's not up for debate. You either will let me be my own person or you won't.”

“Fine, but you're taking a lengthy vacation first.”

“Only if you take one as well,” she countered, happiness beginning to flutter in her stomach like wings. Marriage. She would be
marrying
this man. Life could not be sweeter.

“I already have,” he said. “I cabled the office this morning and told them I'm not coming in for the next three weeks.”

“You did? But how did you know I would agree to marry you?”

He gave her an adorable half smile that transformed him into the most handsome man she'd ever seen. “I didn't, not with any certainty. By my calculations, the odds were 65 percent in my favor. But I had faith in you, Clara.”

She remembered telling him he needed to have faith in others, and learning he'd taken her advice to heart had her flying straight into his chest. Her arms went around his waist just as he wrapped her up and held tight. His familiar scent filled her head, one she'd missed terribly, and she pressed her lips to the bare skin just above his shirt collar.

“Is this a yes?”

She laughed into his throat. “Yes, I'll marry you.”

“Thank God,” he breathed. “Now will you please tell me you love me?”

“I love you. You're the smartest, most generous, handsomest man I've ever met.”

“Is that so? What if I told you your family is traveling to New York with us?”

She leaned away and met his gaze. “They are? All of them?”

“Almost all of them. One of your brothers is staying to mind the farm with your cousins, but everyone else is coming East for a vacation—and to attend a wedding.”

Her family . . . in New York. They'd never traveled east of the Mississippi River. “Where will they all stay?”

“Well, my house has seventeen bedrooms. I think we can fit them all in.”

“Seventeen bedrooms! Why in the world would one man buy such a big house with all that space?”

He swept a loose curl behind her ear then slowly drew his thumb down her jaw. “Because I was waiting for you.”

Keep reading for a special sneak preview of the next book in the Knickerbocker Club series,
Magnate
, coming in May 2016 . . .

 

 

Born in the slums of Five Points, Emmett Cavanaugh climbed his way to the top of a booming steel empire and now holds court in an opulent Fifth Avenue mansion. His rise in station, however, has done little to elevate his taste in women. He loathes the city's “high society” types, but a rebellious and beautiful blue blood just might change all that . . .

Elizabeth Sloane's mind is filled with more than the latest parlor room gossip. Lizzie can play the Stock Exchange as deftly as New York's most accomplished brokers—but she needs a man to put her skills to use. Emmett reluctantly agrees when the stunning socialite asks him to back her trades and split the profits. But love and business make strange bedfellows, and as their fragile partnership begins to crack, they'll discover a passion more frenzied than the trading room floor. . . .

 

If given the choice between bears and bulls, Miss Elizabeth Sloane would take the bull every time. Bears were tentative and sluggish, whereas bulls charged forward and made things happen. She considered herself a bull, unafraid of going after what she wanted.

Right now, however, the immense man in front of her made her want to lift her skirts and flee.

“Miss Sloane.”

She'd heard rumors about Emmett Cavanaugh, owner of East Coast Steel and friend of her brother, Will. But nothing had prepared her for the shock of first seeing him.

He was
huge
—and not polished or sophisticated like Will. No, this man was all rough edges and hard angles. Dark hair was swept back from his clean-shaven face, and she could see a small indent on the tip of his chin. She hadn't expected him to be handsome. Her heart began picking up steam, thumping hard in her chest.

He came forward with an easy grace, one remarkable for a man so big. The bespoke tailoring and fine wool of his dark blue suit showed off his wide shoulders and long limbs, a hint of the power beneath.

The breadth of his chest . . . Good heavens
.
Her skin grew hot and itchy as he drew closer, causing Lizzie to feel more and more unsure of herself. How was he doing it, making her head swim like she was standing on the deck of a yacht? Without thinking, she took a step back.

That brought Cavanaugh to a halt. He cocked his head and studied her, and she got the impression from the tightening of his lips that she'd disappointed him somehow. Ridiculous. They didn't know one another, so how could she have disappointed him?

Still, no reason to feel intimidated, for heaven's sake. She had a solid business idea and a talent for the stock exchange. Though her brother did not believe upper-class women should work, surely not all his friends were as closed-minded.

“Mr. Cavanaugh,” she returned, straightening her shoulders. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“Of course, though I'm a bit unclear on the rules. I don't normally entertain unmarried ladies in my home. Am I supposed to offer you refreshment?”

Yes, she'd heard of the types of ladies he entertained. All actresses, and the liaison never lasted long. “That is not necessary. I do not plan to take up much of your time.”

“Then by all means, please sit.” Lizzie lowered onto the edge of a chair. Cavanaugh assumed the chair opposite, crossed an ankle over a knee, and leaned back. He clasped his hands together. Waited.

She cleared her throat. “I have a business proposition for you.”

One dark eyebrow shot up. “A business proposition? Interesting, though I'm curious as to why you have not taken this idea to your brother. He does own one of the biggest railroads in the country.”

“I have, but he has proven difficult to convince. I'm hopeful you will be more open-minded.”

Her older brother's voice still rang in her ears.
“Stick to your parties and theater, Lizzie,”
Will had told her.
“Leave the business side of things to me.”

That precise attitude—that women were lesser creatures incapable of understanding financial matters—had convinced her to do this on her own.

“Well, that does intrigue me. But what about the Rutlidge boy, the one to whom you're nearly engaged?”

Hardly a surprise Cavanaugh had heard about her and Henry Rutlidge. Will was keen on the match, as was Edith Rutlidge, Lizzie's good friend and Henry's sister. But Lizzie hadn't yet made up her mind. Henry's views on women in business were far from progressive, and Lizzie feared losing her independence if she married him. “For now, I think it best to keep my plans to myself.”

“Such an unexpected show of defiance. You must tell me this radical idea.”

Cavanaugh moved not a muscle, his focus unwavering. She hoped that was a sign of interest on his part. “I want to open a brokerage firm. I am seeking a partner, one to provide working capital to get started. Also someone high profile enough to help me lure other clients.”

No sign of amusement or horror showed on his face. His expression remained unreadable. “Like Vanderbilt provided the Woodhull sisters a few years back?”

“Precisely.” She relaxed a bit.
He understood
.

“And who will be doing the advising?”

“Me. I will be doing the work, at least at the outset.”

He tilted his head and stroked his jaw thoughtfully. “Will you, now?”

She nodded. “Indeed, sir. I plan to hire a young man to complete my trades for me on the exchange floor.”

He gave her a long, indecipherable look. She couldn't tell if he was considering her plan or preparing to laugh. Finally, he said, “You are from one of the oldest and wealthiest families in New York, Miss Sloane. Surely you can finance whatever scheme you're dreaming up. Sell a bracelet or two to raise the money. Why bring someone in from the outside?”

This was sticky. She couldn't tell Cavanaugh the truth, that she suspected the worst of the Sloane finances. Her brother would not discuss it, but she knew they were having trouble. Paintings disappearing, servants let go, stock sold . . . Did Will think she wouldn't notice? Did he honestly believe she did not pay attention? Yet he'd refused her offer of help.

For Cavanaugh, she went with the answer she'd prepared, one that was not a lie. “I do not come into possession of my trust until my twenty-fifth birthday. Even still, I will draw more wealthy clients if they know I already have one. Male clients, that is.”

“And I am supposed to believe you know what you're talking about, entrust you with my money?”

She picked up the ledger she'd been keeping for four years, the proof that she wasn't some silly female with unrealistic aspirations. No, in here lay her undeniable ability in ink. “These are records of the transactions I would have made, had I been allowed.” He held out his large hand and she slipped the volume into his grip. “I read the reports, Mr. Cavanaugh. I follow the markets. You'll see I have a healthy balance in the black.”

“A fictional balance,” he noted before studying the most recent entries. “Most of these are obvious, sure bets any trader would make.” He paused. “What's this, a short sale on Pennington? Did you truly see that coming, when no one else did?”

Not easy to keep the smugness out of her voice but she managed it. “Over the past three years, I've noticed their second quarter earnings are always delayed. The Pennington stock drops 10 percent like clockwork as a result.”

“How do I know you didn't write these entries the next day, once you read the papers?”

Heat washed over her skin, like she'd been dipped in anger. “Are you saying I am lying?”

His lips twitched as if he found the answer amusing and he handed the ledger back. “Why me?”

She lifted a shoulder, trying to appear relaxed when she felt the opposite. “I know about your meetings with my brother each month, the ones with Calvin Cabot and Theodore Harper.” She cleared her throat. “And Mr. Cabot and Mr. Harper were both unavailable this afternoon.”

“Well, at least you're honest about my being your last choice,” he said dryly.

Cavanaugh's reputation for ruthlessness had factored into her decision, not that she would tell him that. It was whispered he'd grown up on the streets of Five Points, fought his way out of the slums to a steel mill, which he later purchased to start his empire.

“Follow me,” he said and rose in one fluid motion.

Drawing a breath for courage, she trailed him out the door, into the corridor, deeper into the garishly decorated house, past the two-story entry hall with its sleek pink marble staircase and gold railing. Next came a long gallery, with paintings from Dutch and Italian masters adorning walls that rose to an impressively carved ceiling decorated with frescoes and rimmed with gold leaf.

Cavanaugh walked fast and Lizzie had to lift up the hem of her skirts in order to keep up. Not very loquacious, was he? Or polite, for that matter.

They ended up in a large room with a massive desk, rows of books on shelves, and a collection of modern-day conveniences—telephone, telegraph machine, stock ticker. It smelled of cigar, lemon polish, and big business. A thrill went through her.

“Colin, leave us,” Cavanaugh said, and a young man emerged from a smaller desk in the corner of the room. He wore round glasses, his eyes curious behind the frames as he hurried to the hall. Cavanaugh continued to the stock ticker behind the desk, the machine churning and spitting out a long white strip. He ripped off the paper and returned to her side.

He held out the tape. “Read it. The last five updates.”

Taking a deep breath, she lowered into a chair, set down her ledger, and smoothed the thin strip of paper between her fingers. Cavanaugh sat as well, thankfully saving her from craning her neck to see him. She cleared her throat. “Deere and Company down seven and three-eighths. State Street Corporation up two points. Seneca Textiles down twelve points. PPG Industries up six and one-eighth point. Kimberly-Clark up three and five-eighths.”

“Very good,” he said, though he hardly sounded impressed. “But interpreting the tape is the skill. So tell me, based on what you read, what would you advise your clients to do?”

She didn't even need to think on it. “I would advise them to buy Seneca Textiles.”

“Why, when they've been down steadily since September?”

“Because Easter is three months away, and in a few days, the ladies will begin ordering their bonnets, dresses, gloves, and the like. I also know that Seneca will soon announce an exclusive agreement to import the same Honiton lace as is supplied to Queen Victoria.”

Cavanaugh glanced away, his brow furrowed. She held utterly still, watching and awaiting his decision. Blunt fingers stroked the rough skin of his jaw, and her attention was drawn to the small indentation in his chin. She imagined tracing it with her finger. . . .

“Not bad, Miss Sloane. Not bad at all. But my answer must still be no.”

* * *

Emmett studied her carefully as the news sank in. Christ, she was beautiful. How did a bastard like Will Sloane have such a breathtaking sister?

In a high-necked, blue-and-white striped shirtwaist and matching skirt, Elizabeth Sloane possessed a cool, untouchable beauty, the kind far removed from the type of women he usually fraternized with. She had the flawless skin found only in the top tier of society, those who had never worked, toiled in a field, or sweat in the heat of a steel mill. Emmett felt dirty just sitting across from her.

Still, his blood stirred all the same. How could it not? Blond hair, perfect poise, slate-gray eyes, the fair Miss Sloane would cause a dead man to sit up and take notice.

And the way she'd read that ticker tape, with such confidence and skill, almost knocked him on his ass. He hadn't met a woman that quick with numbers since Fannie Reid, owner of the most successful bordello in Five Points.

“I'm sorry, you said no?” Her blond brows pinched, and he had the ridiculous urge to smooth his thumb over the tiny creases that dared mar her immaculate forehead. “Why?”

He forced his gaze to hers. “I did say no. First, I already employ an investment firm. And second, while it seems you have a knack for high finance, I cannot see how this is a good idea. I wish you luck, however.”