Magnate (14 page)

When they reached the front entry, Katie, Claire, and Brendan stood at the door, while Graham, the butler, waited with their coats. The girls looked nervous, their fingers twisting in the ribbons on their fancy dresses made especially for the wedding. Brendan leaned down and whispered something to them. Katie stepped forward first and gave a proper curtsy. “Welcome to the family, Elizabeth.”

Claire glanced up at Brendan, who nodded. Emmett's littlest sister also curtsied. “We are glad you married our brother,” she said in careful, measured words. Brendan had obviously been coaching them.

Lizzie's throat closed, her heart melting. No matter how she felt about the eldest Cavanaugh, she could not resist these two adorable girls. She went to hug Katie. “Thank you, Katie. I hope we'll become good friends.” Then she hugged Claire. “Thank you, my dear.”

“May I touch your collar?” Claire asked.

“Of course,” Lizzie answered, and the girl ran her small hand over the fur on Lizzie's jacket lapel.

“It's so soft,” Claire marveled. “I have a coat that feels just like that. Emmett bought it for me.”

Emmett stepped forward. “That's enough. Give Elizabeth room to breathe,” he said gently. “Girls, come here.” He drew his half sisters aside and dropped to one knee. He held their hands and spoke softly to them, too low for Lizzie to overhear.

They nodded and smiled, and he hugged them both, wrapping his big arms around their tiny bodies.

“He does that every time he travels,” Brendan said quietly at her side. “He reassures them that, no matter what, he'll always come back.”

She didn't want to care, but curiosity won out. “Why?”

“Because everyone's always left him.”

While she struggled with that revelation, Brendan took her coat from Graham and held it out for her. Lizzie slid her arms inside, and he drew the garment over her shoulders. “Give him a chance,” Brendan murmured. “He's not nearly as hard as people assume him to be.”

A host of comments came to mind, mostly all the reasons she did not want to give Emmett a chance. Brendan seemed to sense her reticence, so he leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Welcome to the family, Elizabeth.”

“Please,” she told him, “call me Lizzie.” She liked Brendan. He'd been perfectly polite and charming since she'd met him at the reception today. Decidedly different from the dark and brooding man she'd married.

Brendan grinned. “All right, Lizzie.”

Emmett slid into his heavy woolen coat and then offered his arm to Lizzie. “Shall we, Mrs. Cavanaugh?”

The name shocked her, as it had each time she'd heard it since the wedding. Thankfully, she would not be Mrs. Cavanaugh for long.

Chapter Nine

Elizabeth was certainly doing a damn fine job of pretending he didn't exist, Emmett thought as they waited in his private Pullman car. Was his new wife planning to ignore him for the entire journey to Rhode Island, or merely the beginning?

He tried not to stare at her trim waist or lush curves. Tried and failed. Her traveling costume hugged her frame, and the vision left Emmett simmering in anticipation. He hadn't looked forward to the wedding, but the wedding night had definitely inspired some creative fantasies over the past weeks.

“Drink?” he asked her, standing at the small bar positioned at one end of the car.

“Yes, please,” she said, continuing her pattern of one-and two-word answers since leaving the house.

He poured a glass of water and brought it to where she sat, her posture perfectly rigid. “Thank you,” she said, and took the glass from his hand. Their fingers, now both gloveless, brushed, and the slight contact made him edgy. Christ, how he desired this woman.

“Water?” she remarked coolly.

Cradling a crystal goblet full of wine in his hand, Emmett lowered himself down next to her. He stretched his arm along the back of the sofa. “I think you've had enough champagne, don't you?”

She reached to set the glass on the side table. Then she folded her hands in her lap and stared out the window.

He waited for her to speak. When she didn't, he asked, “Are you planning to ignore me for two weeks, then?”

Her head swiveled toward him. “I am not ignoring you. I merely have nothing to say.”

“That is a surprise,” he murmured, and then chuckled at the glare she leveled at him. “You must admit, you are not shy about sharing your opinions.”

“If you are intimating that I am some harpy—”

“Of course not. Though time will tell on that, I suppose. We've only been married a few hours.”

She pressed her lips together, tiny creases forming around the edges. “And what sort of husband do
you
plan to be, Emmett? A faithful one?”

He hadn't even thought about it, to be honest, but the way she sneered the last question, as if he couldn't possibly remain faithful, rankled. “Are you saying you'll satisfy all my needs, Elizabeth?”

Her porcelain cheeks bloomed a pretty pink, and something that felt a lot like longing wound its way through his guts. This incredibly lovely woman—his wife—was more beautiful than he deserved, certainly.

“You know that's not what I meant. We know absolutely nothing about one another.”

Wrong, he wanted to tell her. He knew of her intelligence, her determination. Her kindness, not only from seeing her with his sisters but from watching her speak to the guests today, ensuring each one felt welcomed. She also had a playful sense of humor and a tendency to bite her lower lip. And he knew how well she kissed.

He also knew that he was dying to have her, to possess her in every way. The thought caused his groin to grow heavy, so he put sleeping with her firmly out of his mind. He did not want their first time together to be on a train.

A door in the rear of the car opened, and Kelly leaned in. “We're hitched and everything's loaded. You need anything?”

Emmett shook his head. “No. Thank you, Kelly.”

The door closed, and Emmett noticed Elizabeth staring at it, her brow lowered in confusion. Perhaps this was a good time to address her earlier complaint. “What would you like to know?”

Her gaze flew to his. “About Kelly?”

He lifted a shoulder and took a sip of his wine. “About anything. We have to pass the journey somehow.”

“How do you know him?”

“We grew up together in Five Points. Kelly was . . . an enforcer of sorts in the group we ran with.”

“And what was your role?”

“No. That's not something I discuss. Ever.”

“But how—”

He held up a hand. “Ask me about anything else, Elizabeth. I won't answer questions about my childhood.”

She tapped her fingernails on the edge of the sofa. She'd removed her gloves when they first entered the car, revealing her slim, graceful fingers and smooth, white skin. He imagined those hands on him later, teasing and stroking, and he began to harden. Damn it.

The train lurched as the wheels started turning. Elizabeth fell toward him, and he caught her shoulder with his free hand. When she reached out to stabilize herself, her palm landed on his thigh, face dangerously close to his. If he shifted forward a few inches, he could kiss her.

Neither one of them moved, eyes locked, and he waited to see what she would do. The warmth of her hand burned through the fabric covering his leg. Then her fingers shifted ever so slightly on his thigh, as if testing the feel of him, and Emmett stopped breathing as more blood rushed to his groin. He would give everything he owned if she would slide those digits a mere six inches higher.

A few more hours, he told himself.

She suddenly dropped her gaze and retreated, righting herself. “I apologize.”

Emmett took a healthy swallow of wine, glad to have a moment to regain his composure. He hadn't been this worked up over a woman since his first visit to a brothel at the age of twelve.

After a moment, she said, “So I can ask you anything?”

“Yes, as long as it's nothing to do with Five Points.”

“Do you still plan to back my brokerage firm?”

He frowned. “Why wouldn't I? You won the wager.” She looked vastly relieved by that statement. Had she thought he would renege on their deal? While he might be many things, most of them unpleasant, he was a man of his word.

“I wasn't sure you would still . . .”

“Still, what? Live up to my agreements?”

She didn't answer, and his lip curled in annoyance. Before he could tell her how wrong she was about that, she asked, “Did you send the note to my brother? The one that caused him to discover us at Sherry's?”

“No,” he bit out, jerking in surprise. “Why in God's name would I have done that?”

“Well,
someone
did. And it was convenient, wouldn't you say, that Will arrived just when things . . . appeared the worst?”

“And you believe I would orchestrate that
?
Do you honestly think so little of me?”

Her frigid gray gaze met his, her lips compressed into a thin, disapproving line. An answer all unto itself, really.
Fuck me.
Anger lit him up, like coal shoved into a blast furnace. What did he need to do in order to prove himself to this woman? Would she always presume the worst?

He shot to his feet, determined to get away before he did or said something he regretted.

“Where are you going?”

“Outside,” he snapped, stalking toward the door. “It's a hell of a lot warmer out there.”

* * *

Founded in the middle of the seventeenth century, Newport, Rhode Island, had been best known for its colonial architecture until William Shepard Wetmore constructed the giant Chateau-sur-Mer cottage on Bellevue Avenue. New York society took notice and swiftly turned the tiny town into
the
place for the summer.

Lizzie had been traveling to Newport all her life. The Sloanes owned a fourteen-room, Gothic-style “cottage” on Wellington Avenue, used exclusively for the eight weeks of the summer social season. She loved it here; from lazy afternoons at Easton's Beach to ambling along the Cliff Walk, the seaside town had always been her favorite place to visit.

But winter cast the surroundings in a much different light, she thought as the carriage ambled toward the center of town. Austere. Forbidding. A description that applied to the man sitting across from her as well.

Emmett had not returned to his car during the remainder of their journey. And since disembarking, he'd hardly spoken, seemingly content to watch the landscape roll by. The fading light played across his profile, highlighting the rigid jaw and strong cheekbones.

Mercy, she could nearly die recalling those mortifying words, mostly because they were true. She'd prefer her brother didn't know of her wantonness, however. Unlikely she'd ever forgive Emmett for revealing it, either. One thing she knew for certain, she would never, ever beg Emmett Cavanaugh for another dratted thing.

The carriage turned off Bellevue and rolled toward the water. Soon a three-story, white Italianate-style mansion came into view, the property set back on a sweeping lawn. There were large windows with black shutters and a porch that ran along the entire south side. A wide staircase curved up to the front entrance, and she counted five—no, six chimneys. The house seemed to go on for miles.

“I remember this one,” she said. “I've never been inside. Hasn't it been empty for the last two years?”

“Three,” Emmett answered. “I acquired Oceancrest last month as part of a business deal. The man who built it five years ago died unexpectedly. The interior has not been remodeled, but it's been cleaned and aired out. I had a small amount of furniture delivered as well. You should, of course, feel free to redecorate as you wish.”

She should correct him, take the opportunity to explain she had no intentions of redecorating anything since the two of them would soon procure an annulment, but she held off. Better to have the conversation inside, once they both settled in and where the driver would not overhear.

The interior was even more impressive than the exterior. Two massive chandeliers hung over the two-story entryway, which had to be at least forty, perhaps fifty feet high, all carved, white marble. Archways flanked by Doric columns had been cut out to lead deeper into the house, including one over the dramatic sweeping staircase. Designed like an Italian palazzo, the open-air second floor overlooked the great hall from surrounding balconies.

But there was hardly time to gawk. An army of servants had lined up to greet the new master and mistress of the house, and so she came forward. Emmett surprised her, warmly greeting each staff member and talking at length, smiling broadly, and she attempted to do the same.

After he thanked and dismissed them all, he turned to her. “Would you like a tour?”

“No. I'm exhausted. I'll wait until tomorrow to explore.”
Alone
.

He inclined his head and led her up the stairs. The maze of corridors astounded her, but her husband navigated them easily. Finally they stopped at a door, and he turned the latch, motioning her inside. The bedroom was elaborate, even more so than her new room in Emmett's Fifth Avenue home. Pale green walls accented by stark white crown molding, with three elegantly curtained Palladian windows that faced out to an expansive back lawn. She recognized the furniture as Louis XVI and wondered how Emmett had managed to accomplish all this—buying, updating, and furnishing—in one month.

“Thank you,” she told him sincerely. He might not have wanted to marry her, but he had moved mountains between the reception and this house. Not to mention her new office on Beaver Street. So why had he done it all, when he'd been blackmailed into marrying her? His actions made no sense.

He seemed taken aback by her gratitude. “My pleasure,” he said. “You have three closets. The panels are flush to the wall.” He pushed on the plaster, which unlatched a clever door. “You can store all the clothes you need here—”

“Emmett, wait,” she blurted before he could explain anything further. The thoughtfulness, the care, was too much. If she hadn't overheard the conversation between Emmett and her brother, she'd likely be a puddle at the man's feet.

But she had heard the truth, and there was no erasing it from her memory.

He thrust his hands in his trouser pockets. “Yes?”

“I—I wanted to talk about this evening. About later.”

“From the way you are blushing, I assume you mean the wedding night.” He stared at her, calm as could be, while Lizzie wished for the ground to open up and let her disappear.

Still, she had to forge ahead. Sloanes were not quitters. “Yes. I do not wish to have one. A wedding night, that is.”

“You do not want a wedding night?” She nodded, and he continued, “Are you, by chance, hoping to rush that particular event, or to postpone it indefinitely?”

“Postpone. Indefinitely.”

His brows lowered menacingly, the divot in his chin deepening with his frown. “Dare I ask why? We are married, after all.”

“I plan to petition for an annulment once we return to New York.”

Emmett threw his head back and let out a bark of laughter. “You've got to be joking.”

Lizzie drew up taller, determined to face him down, no matter his reaction. “I happen to be serious.”

“An annulment? On what goddamned grounds?” he said, his voice rising. “I can assure you, not a soul will buy impotence.”

“Consent obtained by force.”

He stared at her, his eyes dark and hard, the walls closing in as the moment stretched. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “So you plan,” he said, his tone laced with menace, “to say in a court of law that you were forced to marry me.”

“Yes. I will say my brother forced me.”

No relief crossed his face. Instead, he snarled, “Do you have any idea how that makes me look?”

“Emmett, I know the true circumstances behind our wedding.” The anger drained from his expression, leaving him looking confused, so she told him the rest. “I overheard your argument with my brother today. I know he blackmailed you into marrying me.”