Magnate (13 page)

Sloane's nostrils flared, and he closed his eyes briefly. “You are crude and disgusting, Cavanaugh.” He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets, possibly to keep from hitting Emmett. “You don't deserve her.”

No argument there,
Emmett thought. The differences between him and his new wife were glaringly apparent to everyone. The two of them had, however, stood before man and God today to pledge until death do they part, so Sloane could shove his opinion up his own ass.

“I might not deserve her, but I have her, Sloane. And there's not a damn thing you can do about it.” Brushing past the other man, Emmett stalked to the ballroom. The time had come to retrieve his bride and get the hell out of here.

* * *

Lizzie could no longer feel her toes. Whether the numbness resulted from the champagne or her tight wedding shoes, she could not say.

The entire day had been surreal. First the wedding, then the ride uptown with Emmett—who had been unnaturally subdued after the ceremony—to this extravagant reception that paraded both the wealth and power of Emmett Cavanaugh.

Her
husband
.

She had married him. The idea hadn't yet sunk in, but one glance at her wedding gown confirmed the event had transpired. What happened now? Lizzie hardly knew what to say, how to act. What did he expect from her? No one had prepared her for the wedding day, let alone the wedding
night
. Women of her class never talked about what happened in the bedroom. She had a vague understanding, but the hot, intense stare Emmett leveled at her as she moved about the ballroom made her even more nervous. The best course of action had seemed to avoid him.

“Hello, Mrs. Cavanaugh.”

A handsome man and a young red-haired woman suddenly stood in front of her. She searched her muzzy brain for a name. “Mr. Harper. And Mrs. Harper. Thank you both so much for coming.” Mr. Harper was one of Emmett and Will's business acquaintances and the owner of the New American Bank. He'd recently married himself, having met Mrs. Harper on a train. The two were a strikingly adorable couple.

Mrs. Harper boldly grabbed Lizzie's hand, pumped it a few times. “I know we met in the receiving line, Mrs. Cavanaugh, but that wasn't anything substantial. Certainly not enough to get a feel for a person. I told Ted that we must have you and Mr. Cavanaugh over for dinner soon. I can't believe he decided to get married—and to someone from such an impressive family!”

She paused for a breath, and her husband smiled at her indulgently. He must be used to the way his wife talked, as if she had to get everything out as quickly as possible. “What Mrs. Harper means,” he said, “is that we're very happy for the both of you. From what I've seen today, I think you will bring some much needed joy to Emmett's world.”

Lizzie certainly hoped so. Before she could answer, Mrs. Harper blurted, “And that kiss at the church!” She fanned herself. “Oh, my. I thought half the ladies in attendance would faint.”

Heat engulfed Lizzie. Embarrassment aside, she decided she liked Mrs. Harper. Hard to hate a woman who said exactly what she was thinking, with no filter of any kind. Mrs. Harper reminded Lizzie of Edith. “Thank you both for the kind words. I would love to come to dinner.”

“Oh, excellent.” Mrs. Harper beamed. “Maybe you'd call one afternoon, as well? Ted's house is so big, and I'm not used to having that much space. I lived in a boardinghouse before I married him. Did you know that?”

“No,” Lizzie answered honestly. “I didn't.”

“Come visit me, and I'll tell you the entire story,” Mrs. Harper said.

“I'd like that,” Lizzie said. “And please, call me Lizzie.”

Mrs. Harper blinked a few times, and Lizzie thought the woman might cry. “Thank you. And you must call me Clara.”

“It was lovely to meet you, Clara, Mr. Harper. I do hope you enjoy the rest of the afternoon.”

“Before we go,” Mr. Harper said, “Emmett has told me of your new venture. If you ever need help or credit, please don't hesitate to contact me at the bank.”

The offer was unexpected and extremely generous. Moreover, he hadn't belittled or discouraged her. “Thank you, Mr. Harper. I just may do that.”

The couple said their good-byes and moved back into the crowd. As Lizzie turned, she glimpsed Emmett rising from their table and striding toward the exit. His long-legged, confident gait ate up the ground beneath him. Heads turned as he passed—remarkable when one considered the room was stuffed with dignitaries, industrialists, and the crème of society—and she wondered if they saw what she did: Power. Intelligence. Unrelenting drive. Combining these qualities with his all-too handsome face, she could hardly stand to look away.

Then she noticed someone else headed in the same direction, and her stomach knotted.
Will
. And the expression on her brother's face did not bode well. Was he following Emmett?

Lizzie hurried after her brother, intent on discovering the problem and possibly preventing a brawl. Her dress hindered her a bit, and by the time she stepped into the corridor, she heard two angry male voices.

“. . . and if you don't make her happy, there will be hell to pay, Cavanaugh.”

Lizzie nearly smiled. Will had always been protective of her, oftentimes too much so. She opened her mouth to intervene, but her husband's furious words stopped her cold.

“Spare me your sack of shit. If you were concerned at all with her happiness, you wouldn't have forced this marriage. You wouldn't have blackmailed me by threatening to ruin my sisters unless I married yours.”

Lizzie jerked as if the words were blows.
Blackmailed
. Will had . . . blackmailed Emmett into marrying her? By threatening Emmett's sweet, young half sisters? She pressed a fist to her middle, surprise and shock nearly doubling her over.

He hadn't wanted to marry me.
Will had lied. This was all a
lie
.

Oh, God. She was such a
fool
. Will had claimed Emmett wanted to marry her, and Emmett had shown up with the ring, saying this was a real marriage. How could she have believed either of them?

She could not breathe, her corset digging painfully into her ribs. There wasn't . . . enough air. She put a hand to the wall to keep from falling over.

“You left me no goddamn choice,” Will was saying. “You attacked her in a private dining salon with half of New York society one floor below you.”

Emmett laughed, though the sound came off as cold to Lizzie's ears. “
I
attacked
her
? Is that what you've told yourself in order to sleep at night? Your sister practically begged me to kiss her.”

Her mouth fell open in silent horror. Had he truly said . . . To her brother? Humiliation scorched her insides, and bile burned the back of her throat. She had to escape. Pivoting, she had no choice but to return to the ballroom. Where hundreds of people were celebrating a marriage that was a sham. A hoax.

A complete fraud.

The brilliance of the white ballroom nearly blinded her, an atmosphere that had seemed romantic only moments ago. The idea of Emmett's laboring over every detail, ensuring the day would be perfect for her, had comforted her earlier. Obviously she'd been deluding herself. This had nothing to do with her.

Guests smiled at her as she passed, murmured their congratulations. People she recognized, all familiar faces from the world in which she had lived her entire life.
I'll only marry for love
, she'd sworn.
Do not marry because you're forced to, because society expects it.

Failure had never tasted so bitter.

Grabbing a glass of champagne off a passing tray, she downed the sweet bubbly in one swallow. Unfortunately, the bitterness remained. Pressure built behind her eyes, but she fought the tears. No good would come of crying. The deed was done; they were married. She'd wanted the money to open an investment firm, and she had succeeded. Unless . . .

Had Emmett lied about that as well?

No, he hadn't lied about wanting to marry her, she recalled.
I am prepared to marry you,
he'd said. Told her he would not go back on his
word
. It had been Will who had proclaimed that Emmett wanted to marry her, not Emmett. If only she had known of Will's machinations, the level her brother had lowered himself to, she would have called off the wedding.

Too late,
she thought. And New York had the strictest divorce laws in the country. Acquiring one would be impossible. An annulment, however, would be much easier.

And really, why wouldn't Emmett agree? He hadn't wanted to marry her. With an annulment, it would be as if the marriage had never taken place. Will certainly couldn't quibble over that. She would save her reputation, and Emmett's sisters would be protected. An annulment meant they could both walk away, forgetting the whole thing.

Resolved, she straightened her shoulders. Yes, an annulment was the answer. But would he still back her investment firm? He'd promised, but all would be lost if he reneged. She'd be right back where she had started.

“Lizzie!” Edith Rutlidge arrived with two other girls at her side. “There you are. Come, we want to show your dress to Lucinda Van Cortland. She's marrying an English duke in the fall, and I told her that your dress had considerable dash, and she had to see it up close.”

Lizzie nodded woodenly as another waiter passed by with a tray of champagne. She stopped him, ready to swap out her empty glass for a fresh one, but the waiter started to pull the tray out of her reach. She was quicker, however, and had a full glass before he could get away. Was there some unwritten rule about how much champagne a bride could imbibe on her wedding day?

If so, Lizzie planned to break that particular one.

* * *

“I know you're cold, Mrs. Cavanaugh, but please, try and remain still,” her maid said, tediously unfastening the long row of buttons on Lizzie's wedding gown.

Lizzie was having trouble remaining still, but the reason had nothing to do with her temperature. She was drunk, so drunk that the remaining time at the reception had proved bearable. She'd been able to smile and laugh, as any bride should on her wedding day, despite the hurt and anger inside her chest.

And when her husband had cornered her with instructions to change for their journey, she'd managed to nod instead of shouting at him like a Bowery hot corn girl.

“There,” Pauline said. “Let's get it off, then.”

“Are you accompanying me on the honeymoon?” she asked her maid as they worked the luxurious gown over Lizzie's head.

“I am, ma'am. Your husband asked me himself. Newport will be mighty cold this time of year.”

Newport? Strange that he'd informed Pauline of their plans, but not Lizzie. Didn't he even care to consult with her, to ascertain her wishes on their honeymoon?

But then, why would he, when he'd never wanted to marry her in the first place?

Once she was dressed in a smart traveling ensemble there was no reason to stay behind. Still, she dawdled. “Did you pack the blue gown, the one with the—”

The adjoining door burst open, and her husband strode in. He'd changed into a striped dark blue coat and matching trousers. Lizzie blinked, struck by his handsomeness. Then she remembered his words from the hall:
Your sister practically begged me to kiss her.

All the loathing and fury she'd been suppressing rose to the surface, causing her to snap, “Don't you knock?”

Calm as could be, Emmett turned to Pauline. “That will be all. Go and ready yourself for the journey.”

“Of course, Mr. Cavanaugh.” With a curtsy, she hurried from the room.

Lizzie ignored him, instead busying herself with putting on her gloves. It proved a difficult task, considering the champagne in her system.

Heavy footfalls signaled his approach, and then the tips of his black shoes appeared in her vision. He took her wrist, and long fingers began to slide the tiny pearl buttons of her glove through the matching holes. Her breath picked up, his nearness surrounding her, causing her head to swim. He was gentle, treating her as if she were fragile and precious. She wasn't fooled. This was still the crude man from the hall who'd discussed bedding her with her brother.

When he finished with both gloves, a large hand lifted her chin. His eyes were hard, glittering with an emotion she couldn't decipher. “I never need knock, wife. You'll do well to remember that.”

Champagne and heartache made her brave. She jerked away from his touch. “I am not one of your actresses. I'm your wife, and if you confuse the two, I'll do more than lock my door.”

His lips twisted in amusement, lines bracketing the sides of his mouth. “If you think I could ever confuse you for one of those women, you're drunker than I thought.”

“I am not drunk,” she snapped. “And it wasn't as if you were abstaining at the reception. I saw you down more than one glass of gin.”

“Watching me, were you?”

She gritted her teeth. “Hardly. I think we both know where this ridiculous marriage stands.”

Fury flashed before he could hide it. But the satisfaction didn't last because his cool, impenetrable mask soon slipped back into place. “Let's go.” He stalked to the door and yanked it open. “The train's waiting.”

They descended the pink marble staircase in silence. The guests were still enjoying the reception, the revelry of the ballroom a dull hum throughout the giant house. What was Emmett's hurry to leave? Not that Lizzie minded. She'd had enough of pretending to be a blushing bride. Moreover, the sooner they arrived in Newport, the sooner she could discuss the annulment with him.