by Joanna Shupe
“No, not necessarily.” He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. “Whenever you like. Tonight, tomorrow. The offer is open.”
“Oh.”
He cocked his head and studied her. “I cannot tell whether you are relieved or disappointed.”
“I’m not certain myself.”
“I had many decisions taken away from me as a child. I don’t like to cajole or force others into doing what I want. It’s better if everyone agrees on a course of action.”
“Then no one may complain later on.”
“That’s right,” he said with a nod. “Balance. An eye for an eye.”
She squinted, certain she’d misunderstood, and waited for him to laugh. Only, he didn’t. “I’m lost. Are we discussing revenge or sexual congress?”
“Both.”
That reminded her of Clay’s plan to ruin her father. She had hoped, over time, during her association with Clay, to convince him that Duncan Greene was a good man. Could she sleep with a person determined to harm her family?
“If we do this, will you abandon your plans of revenge against my father?”
“No.”
One word, said with such finality that her stomach sank. There would be no changing his mind. “Then I cannot. I would never forgive myself for being intimate with someone intending to hurt my family.”
“One has nothing to do with the other.”
Did he honestly believe such nonsense? “That’s absurd. Of course they do.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, the black topcoat pulling across his shoulders and biceps. “If you think to push me into a corner, Florence, I have to tell you, I will not be pushed.”
“I am not pushing you. I am merely expressing my opinion. And I won’t sleep with a man attempting to ruin my family.”
“I am not trying to ruin your family. Only your father.”
“Now you’re splitting hairs.”
He growled deep in his throat and stalked to the fireplace, where he propped an elbow on the mantel. The fire popped and hissed as the moment stretched. They were at an impasse, and Florence had no intention of bending on this. How could she? While she might occasionally engage in reckless behavior, she loved her family.
“Does it help if I tell you that it’s not life threatening or physically harming? That I don’t plan on ruining him financially?”
Hmm. Yes, she did find that somewhat reassuring. Not enough to drop the subject, however. “So why not tell me what you’re planning?”
“Because I won’t. It’s a risk I am unwilling to take.”
She drew herself up. “Then sleeping with you is a risk I am unwilling to take.”
His eyes narrowed, the scars on his face twisting in his displeasure. “I don’t care for games, Florence.”
“Funny, coming from a man who owns a casino. And I am not playing a game. I am being honest with you, mister eye-for-an-eye.”
“Not entirely honest. You want to sleep with me.”
“I never denied that. But intimacy is about trust, which we do not yet have.”
“Don’t we?” He pushed away from the fireplace and thrust his hands on his hips. “Do you have any idea of the trust I’ve placed in you? I’ve told you and shown you things hardly anyone knows. People would kill for the knowledge you’ve gained in this club.”
She hadn’t thought of their lessons in such a way but she supposed he was right. “Fine. You trust me, but I do not trust you.”
His mouth tightened, his expression darkening into something fierce and ugly. “Then I believe our lessons are done for the night, Miss Greene. The door is behind you.”
Chapter Ten
Though his lips were still tingling from kissing her, Clay tried not to be hurt. He’d had much worse things said to him over the years, insults he’d hardly registered. Yet, this one sentence from an uptown debutante had twisted his insides and set them on fire.
You trust me, but I do not trust you.
Fucking ridiculous. He’d looked out for her since the moment she had crossed the threshold of this club. Had rescued her from that saloon when she’d been accused of cheating. Hid her during the raid. Christ, he’d done nothing but keep that woman safe and give her total honesty.
He’d even informed her of his hatred toward her father.
Yet, despite all that, she didn’t trust him.
He waited for her to say something, to apologize, anything. Yet, she merely stared at him with blazing eyes and stiff shoulders. “You cannot bully me into trusting you.”
“Kissing you is not bullying you.”
“No, I’m talking about the way you are scowling at me.”
Was he scowling?
“It’s my face, Florence. And unless you’re ready to admit you trust me, then we’re done for the night.”
Fury sparked in her eyes, her nostrils flaring ever so slightly as she stood taller. A warrior queen, a woman afraid of nothing. The sight impressed him, even if he was equally angry with her.
A quick rap on the door sounded before Jack poked his head inside. “Clay, you have a visitor. Are you free?”
“I was just leaving,” Florence said, her chin raised high. “Some people in this room are acting in an unreasonable manner.”
“I see,” Jack murmured, his gaze darting between Clay and Florence.
Clay didn’t try to stop her. She didn’t trust him. There wasn’t much more to say at the moment. “Come in, Jack.”
Jack pushed open the door and stepped aside to let the newcomer enter. Richard Crain appeared. Crain was a barrel-chested man who’d come up through the Tammany political ranks with their current mayor, Hugh Grant. As the city’s chamberlain, he held considerable power, serving basically as the mayor’s deputy. Clay had known him for years and Crain had proven invaluable on many occasions.
“Madden.” Crain entered the room then stopped as he noticed Florence. “Am I interrupting?”
“Not at all,” he said. “Have a seat.”
Florence gave Clay a smile that was all teeth before turning toward the door. “Yes, we are definitely finished here.” She sailed past Jack and out the door, disappearing into the corridor. Clay gave Jack a pointed look and his partner disappeared. Jack would follow Florence to ensure she was safely seen off in a hansom.
Clay forced himself to relax and shook Crain’s hand. “Welcome, Richard. This is unexpected. Would you care for a drink?”
“No, that’s not necessary.” Crain dropped into a chair and crossed one leg over his opposite knee. “I came to update you.”
And collect his fee, no doubt. “On?”
“Things are progressing on all fronts. Your architect’s plans have been approved.”
“That is excellent news.” He should feel elated at this, but he was still preoccupied with Florence. Why was she so difficult?
And why did he want her so desperately?
“You know I am personally looking out for your interests,” Crain said when Clay fell silent. “Come hell or high water you’ll get what you want.”
“Exactly what I wish to hear. Appreciate it, Crain.”
“Though I should point out that Duncan Greene has many powerful friends in this city. Are you prepared for the storm these plans will unleash?”
Clay ground his molars together and tried not to react. Goddamn Duncan Greene. Had those powerful friends any idea of how Greene had kicked several families out of their homes just to build an office building? That man deserved all the retribution Clay had planned, and then some.
Reclining in his chair, he said, “Thank you for the warning, but I will be ready for whatever storm is unleashed.”
Jack reappeared and came inside Clay’s office. He dipped his chin, reaffirming that Florence had been seen off. Clay was both relieved and enraged at her departure. More than anything, he wanted to be alone with his thoughts. And a bottle of bourbon.
He withdrew a fat package wrapped in brown paper from his desk drawer and handed it directly to Crain. “There you go
.”
Crain smiled, a slick grin of avarice and entitlement that would turn Clay’s stomach if he hadn’t seen it countless times on different men in this city. Unfortunately, success here meant playing by their rules, which meant paying out stacks of money to corrupt officials.
“Pleasure doing business with you, Madden.” The package disappeared inside Crain’s jacket pocket, then he patted the bulge in the cloth. “I’ll pass along your regards to our esteemed mayor.”
“Appreciate it, Crain. Would you like to stay and play downstairs? Jack can set you up with some chips.”
Crain rubbed his jaw, probably thinking about playing poker, his one true weakness. Clay knew this about the official but hadn’t yet used the information to his advantage. He merely filed the bit away, in case he needed it one day.
“I suppose I have a few minutes,” the chamberlain said as he rose. “Very generous of you, Madden.”
“I am always obliged to accommodate one of our city’s fine civil servants.” Clay stood, as well, and nodded at Jack, who led the other man out into the corridor. Jack would set up Crain with some house chips downstairs. As Crain was a terrible poker player, he’d undoubtedly lose that amount within the hour. Then he’d dip into that fat stack of cash Clay had just handed him . . . and the money would come right back into Clay’s pockets.
He’d smile if he wasn’t in such a shit mood.
Jack strolled inside the office a moment later, just as Clay was pouring a drink. “Why do I dislike that man so much?”
“He’s harmless, if you don’t mind gutter snakes who would rob their own mothers.”
Jack took the seat Crain had vacated. “Miss Greene got off safely.”
“Yes, I received that message before.” He dropped into his chair and cradled the glass of bourbon.
“Planning to drown your sorrows?” Jack asked.
“Fuck off.”
Jack merely laughed. “Would you care to discuss your lovers’ tiff with Florence Greene?”
“There was no tiff and we are not lovers,” he growled. “Furthermore, I don’t need managing, Jack. You should attend to the floor. We’re probably being robbed blind down there.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“God, no. Talking is the last thing I want to do. In fact, if you plan on making noise at any point in the next two hours then you may leave now.”
“There are other women.”
“I’m aware of that.” He took a long drink, enjoying the burn of the liquor as it traveled to his belly. Yes, there were other women, but they weren’t Florence Greene. She had captured his full attention.
“I do have a piece of good news, if you’re interested.”
“For God’s sake, please.”
Jack smirked and reached into the humidor on Clay’s desk to select a cigar. “Bill’s wife has kicked him out of the house. He’s now living with the mistress over on West Thirty-Seventh Street.”
“Good. Let’s call in the banknote on his house. I want to take away anything attached to his name. I want to destroy him.” That would teach men on Clay’s bankroll not to betray him.
Jack whistled. “You are in a mood. All right, if you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.” He downed the remaining whiskey in his glass. “We need to send a message to the Metropolitan Police Department. No one crosses me without paying a steep price.”
Florence sipped her coffee and stared at the flames jumping in the fireplace. The Greenes had gathered in the parlor for dessert and coffee, as was their usual habit when it was just the family for dinner. Justine sat at the piano, working on a new piece she was learning, while everyone else chatted. Voices carried on around her but Florence couldn’t stop thinking about three nights ago, when Clay had kicked her out of the Bronze House.
Do you have any idea of the trust I’ve placed in you? People would kill for the knowledge you’ve gained in this club.
Yet, he hadn’t trusted her enough to talk about why he hated her father. How could she consider sleeping with a man who kept such a secret?
Still, she missed him. Terribly. It was awful, wondering what he was doing, what was happening at the club. She had convinced herself that her frequent visits were only about learning as much as possible . . . but that was a lie. Clay was the reason she couldn’t stay away. He treated her like an equal, not like a silly woman. And she was wildly attracted to him, her heart fluttering every time he was in the vicinity. While his enterprise might be illegal, he was a good man. An honorable man who lived by his own code.
But must that code include revenge against Duncan Greene?
Her father sat on the other sofa next to their mother, smiling at something she was saying. Duncan doted on their mother. On all of them, really. Yes, he could be fearsome when angry—which was often with Florence—but he had a huge heart. Whatever he’d done to cross Clay couldn’t have been on purpose. There had to be some misunderstanding. If Clay would just confide in her—
“You have certainly been quiet tonight.” Mamie dropped onto the sofa next to Florence. “Is something bothering you?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“What kind of a question is that? Of course I want to know.”
“I didn’t mean it that way. Sometimes not knowing is better where I’m concerned.”
Mamie held her coffee cup in front of her mouth. “Is this about Clayton Madden?”
Florence did the same, shielding her lips from prying eyes. “Yes.”
“Have you slept with him?”
“Mamie!”
Their parents both looked over, concern on their faces. Florence waved her hand. “She ruined my new dress.”
Mama frowned. “The one with the green brocade skirt? Oh, Mamie, that’s just arrived from Paris.”
“I’m sorry, Mama. I’ll take the dress to a dressmaker and have it repaired.”
“Take it to Lord and Taylor. They do excellent work.”
“I will. I promise.”
When their mother’s attention returned to their father, Mamie murmured, “I swear, I don’t know how you think of lies so quickly.”
Florence lifted a shoulder. “It’s a gift.”
“Now, tell me what is going on with Mr. Madden.” When Florence didn’t immediately answer, Mamie added, “I know you’re fond of him. It’s written all over your face.”
That was a lie. Florence had played enough poker that she knew how to school her features. “Stop. You’re digging.”
“Fine, I am. But please tell me what’s troubling you. That will at least take my mind off my own troubles.”
She lifted her porcelain cup in front of her face again. “He wants to sleep with me.”
Mamie covered her mouth with her cup. “Of course he does. He’d be a fool not to. You’re stunning and smart.”
“Thank you,” Florence said honestly, flattered by her sister’s praise. They were normally sniping after one another, not complimenting. “I’ve told him no.”
“Good for you. So you’re not attracted to him.”
She thought about the night of the raid. “No, I am. Desperately so.”
“Oh. Then you’re worried about getting caught?”
“We’re often alone at the casino. I don’t think we’d have any problems with privacy.”
Mamie paused and refilled her coffee cup from the pot on the table. When she sat back, she lifted her cup to hide her mouth. “You told me you and Chester had already . . . you know, at the Astor Place. If you need me to explain how these things work, however—”
“No, no. Not that. It’s not the mechanics of it. I hardly know the man. How can I sleep with a man I don’t trust?”
“Don’t trust? Florence, you’re practically putting your life in his hands every single time you go in there.”
Hmm. She hadn’t thought of that. She must trust him a little. She decided to tell Mamie the rest. “He hates Daddy. He readily admits it and says he is plotting some revenge scheme against ou
r father. How can I sleep with a man who will do that?”
“Has he told you what this scheme involves?”
“He refuses.”
“Take it from me. You cannot let Daddy come between you and another man.”
Florence remembered about Mamie and Frank Tripp, Daddy’s attorney. Frank had resisted any relationship with Mamie in fear of risking their father’s wrath. “In this case, Clay is hoping to hurt Daddy.”
“Physically?”
“No, Madden says it’s nothing physical and won’t ruin him financially.”
“Embarrassment, do you think?”
“I cannot fathom how Madden could embarrass Daddy.”
Mamie took a sip of her coffee and kept the cup aloft. “Me either. Daddy has his share of enemies, yet no one has been able to touch him. Clayton Madden wouldn’t be the first to try and fail.”
“You think I’m concerned over nothing?”
“I think Daddy is capable of taking care of himself. Sleep with Clay—or don’t—but do it for the right reasons. It’s not as if you’re going to marry the man. We’re talking about a few hours of pleasure, not a wedding.”
Florence considered this. “I don’t know if I trust him.”
“Has he ever lied to you?”
“No.” Quite the opposite, actually. “He’s hard to read sometimes but he hasn’t lied that I know of.”
“Why not ask Daddy if he knows Clay? Perhaps you could get the story from the other end.”
“And how am I supposed to do that? ‘Daddy, I’ve been spending a lot of time with Clayton Madden down at the Bronze House and I’m wondering if you two have ever shared a cigar or brandy at the club?’ He’d disown me on the spot.”
“Give yourself a little more credit, Florence. I think you’ll come up with something. Just hint at it.”
“That is the stupidest idea you’ve—”
“What are you two whispering about over there?”
They both jerked slightly at the sound of their father’s voice. Coffee sloshed out of Mamie’s cup and onto her evening gown. “Dash it,” she said.
“Marion,” their mother exclaimed on a gasp. “Language, please.”
“I apologize, Mama. I had best go and take this off straightaway.” She put her cup down. “Perhaps you’d come and help me?”