Mogul

by Joanna Shupe

  Chapter Six

  That night, Calvin left the Park Row offices shortly before midnight. A light rain had started, blanketing the streets with a cool mist as he strode to his waiting carriage. The late omnibus trundled past, the horses appearing every bit as tired as the passengers. The beaten-down workers were on their way home after a ten-, twelve-, or fourteen-hour shift. Perhaps even longer.

  Unless one had piles of money, New York could be brutal. Though he was wealthy now, Calvin well remembered living in poverty—a condition his parents had purposely selected for religious reasons. He’d grown up with nothing, no worldly possessions except a few books and a notepad. Slept on pallets in borrowed, ramshackle huts. Even Christmas had been depressing. His parents had celebrated the holiday, but not in the traditional sense, with feasts, laughter, and presents. No, Christmas for the Cabots had been providing a simple dinner along with Bible talk in hopes of converting the locals.

  Never again, he’d decided. When he struck out on his own, he’d saved and scrimped, made the most of every coin earned. Hugo liked to say that Calvin would wear the same clothing until the fabric disintegrated, but Calvin didn’t care. He would rather dress as a pauper and live modestly than ever be poor once more.

  Hugo jumped down from the driver’s seat as Calvin approached. “Good evening. Are we fixing to go home?”

  “No. Thought I’d swing by Kwan’s.”

  “Are you certain that’s wise, considering you were drugged and almost killed in Chinatown last night?”

  “When have you ever known me to be wise? Let’s go.” He turned the handle and opened the door for Hugo, but his friend pointed at the driver’s seat.

  “Think I’ll sit up there with George, if it’s all the same to you.”

  “You are aware it’s raining.”

  Hugo pulled his derby lower, grinned, and climbed atop the brougham, while Calvin threw himself into the dry, cozy interior. As soon as he hit the seat, however, he realized why Hugo had declined to ride inside with such relish.

  “What in the hell are you doing in here?”

  Layers of satin and cotton rustled as Lily sat forward, a cloud of lavender filling the carriage as the wheels began to turn. The familiar scent went straight to his cock, even all these years later.

  “Ensuring you keep your promises. Did I hear you’re off to Chinatown? No doubt you would’ve stopped to cable me first, because you promised you would do so. Isn’t that right, Calvin?”

  They both knew he had no intention of doing any such thing. “I’m going out for a late supper, not investigating,” he lied. “I’ll drop you at home on the way.”

  His arm shot out to rap on the ceiling, but Lily caught his wrist in a tight grip. “You’ll do no such thing. I’ll provide dinner conversation. Wouldn’t want you to eat alone, after all.”

  They both froze. The touch, performed in such an intimate, dark space, raised the fine hairs along the surface of his skin. Or maybe it was the way her gloved fingers pressed into his flesh. He didn’t know the reason, but memories of their brief time together suddenly assaulted him like today’s headlines.

  The bold hunger in her brown eyes as he removed his clothing . . . The first time he slid into the tight warmth of her body . . . The way her climax tasted on his tongue . . .

  Her gaze held his and, even in the low light, he caught a glimpse of the woman he’d known four years ago. Interest. Awareness. Heat. Lips parted, the swell of her breasts rose and fell rapidly. His heart began to beat a fierce rhythm in his chest. Clearly, whatever had been between them still lurked underneath, both of them fighting it just as hard.

  And if he stopped fighting? What would happen if he scratched the itch that had plagued him since the day he’d walked out of the Hotel Fauchère? He didn’t want to marry her—he didn’t want to marry anyone again, ever—but he did want to strip her naked and fuck her for as long as it took to get this out of his system.

  Would she ever agree? And if she did, could he live with himself afterward?

  Lily dropped her eyes and started to pull away. In a flash he switched their positions and caught her delicate wrist in his larger grip. He tugged her closer, until she hovered on the edge of the seat. One more tug and she’d be in his lap. “What were you just thinking?”

  She snatched her hand back. “About how much I detest you.”

  “That’s a lie.” He angled forward and pitched his voice low. “You forget that I know you intimately. Every sign, every breath, every twinge of your face . . . I can read you, Lily.”

  “You know absolutely nothing about me,” she said sharply, her lip curled in distaste. “We were close for a very short time four years ago, Calvin. That’s all. We both misjudged the other, believed things that weren’t true, and then we moved on. I will never be that naïve girl again.”

  “Naïve?” He nearly snorted. “You’ve never been naïve a day in your life.”

  “Oh, you’d be surprised,” she said, then her mouth tightened, as if she regretted speaking. The wheels slowed as they reached their destination, and he cursed the late-night empty streets.

  What had that meant? Something about her expression told him this conversation mattered and once the moment disappeared she would never tell him.

  “Why would I be surprised, Lily?”

  The carriage rocked to a halt, then swayed again as Hugo jumped down from the seat. Calvin’s stomach clenched with disappointment. She wasn’t going to answer.

  The door flung open and Lily started down. With one foot on the step, she paused to say over her shoulder, “Naïve because for the longest time I actually believed you’d come back.”

  * * *

  Lily’s hands trembled as she smoothed her skirts beside the carriage. Hugo removed his derby and held it over her head, shielding her from some of the rain, while she tried to collect herself. Why had she given Calvin an answer? He didn’t deserve one, the worm. She owed him nothing, this man who had only married her to get his hands on her father’s fortune. Of course she hadn’t wanted to believe that at the time. Had argued with her father over it, actually, certain Calvin would eventually prove her right.

  Days after accepting her father’s money, Calvin had purchased the Bugle. Not long after that, the Mercury. And when the weeks turned into months, she had to admit it to herself. He wasn’t coming back. Ever.

  The loss of that remaining hope had hurt worse than the annulment. Even as she’d signed the papers, she hadn’t believed Calvin would truly move on without her. She had lived under the idiotic assumption that he was merely biding his time. That he would return and explain himself.

  Then the gossip columns began reporting on his whereabouts, his paramours, his exploits . . . and the truth smacked her over the head. She’d been a fool. A tale older than time, the innocent rich girl swindled by a pretty face and even prettier words. Burning shame had then forced her from New York, away from all the reminders of her folly.

  She would not fall for his lies a second time. No matter how powerful the attraction between them, her pride refused to give in.

  A wooden sign with Chinese writing hung over the door of what was clearly a restaurant. Was this Calvin’s destination?

  She felt him at her side but did not glance over. Doubtful she’d be able to look at him ever again after her admission. It doesn’t matter. He’s your past, nothing but an unfortunate memory. Think of Tom, not Calvin. She took a deep breath and gathered her strength. An umbrella opened over her head, shielding her from the increasing drizzle, and Calvin held out his arm. “Shall we?” he asked, a somber note in his voice, one she’d not heard before.

  “Thank you,” she returned, as polite as a debutante at her first cotillion. She placed her fingers on his sleeve and allowed him to lead her to the door. She could do this. A Davies never backs down from a challenge, her father had often said.

  A bell chimed as they pushed through the door and into the small interior. Lights hung from the pressed-tin ceiling, illum
inating the black latticework that covered the walls. Most of the tiny round tables stood empty, with only a few diners enjoying meals. Each man had a bowl in front of him filled with noodles and vegetables of some kind, which he ate with long wooden sticks. She’d never visited a Chinese restaurant before, so the rich aromas that assaulted her, spices and roasted meats, were exotic and surprisingly tempting.

  “Mr. Cabot.” A young man approached them. He was dressed in a black Chinese jacket and matching long pants, a small round hat on his head. Lily guessed him to be no more than seventeen or eighteen years of age. “How nice of you to visit us once more.”

  “Ho Seng. Nei hou ma?”

  “Very well, thank you. My father will be pleased to see you.”

  “Excellent. We’d like to speak with him when he’s free.”

  “Of course. I will tell him. Would you like food?”

  “Yes, please. Two bowls and some tea.”

  The young man’s brow quirked and he asked Calvin a question in his native tongue, to which Calvin replied in kind. Whatever he said caused the boy to chuckle. Lily didn’t appreciate their deliberate attempt to exclude her, but perhaps the boy’s English did not include the topic being discussed.

  Calvin drew Lily forward. “Ho Seng, this is Miss Lillian Davies. Lily, this is Ho Seng, son of the owner, Mr. Kwan.”

  “It is nice to meet you. Please, sit.” Ho Seng smiled at Lily and gestured to the empty tables. “I will return.” He turned and walked to the rear of the restaurant.

  Without waiting for Calvin, Lily selected a table and began removing her gloves. Calvin sat slowly, silently, an action completely at odds with his personality. Was he thinking about what she’d said earlier? No doubt he was laughing at her stupidity, how she’d expected him to return. How she’d believed the two of them had a real and lasting sort of love. For Calvin, she’d merely been the means to an end, a pigeon, as her father had often called her. A way of securing the money Calvin needed to start his empire.

  Bitterness welled up and clogged her throat, yet she forced it away. The best way to convince him she no longer cared was to act as if nothing were amiss. “You visit here often, I take it?”

  He scratched his jaw, the end-of-day whiskers rasping beneath his fingertips. She remembered the feel of those hard hairs on her skin—

  Dash it.

  “Not as often as I’d like,” he answered quietly, “but I’ve known Kwan for many years. This is one of a handful of businesses attempting to resist the takeover of Lee and the On Leong tong.”

  “What did the young man say after you ordered food and tea?”

  The side of his mouth lifted, amusement lighting blue eyes more beautiful than he deserved. “He expressed surprise that you desired to eat here. They don’t find many American women interested in their food.”

  “And what did you respond which caused him to laugh?”

  “I said not to worry, that you’re tougher than you appear.”

  “Excuse me.” Ho Seng waited by their table, a tray in his hands. “Here is your tea.” He set the simple black teapot on the table along with two small cups. The cups had no handles. Ho Seng disappeared, so Lily reached to begin pouring.

  Calvin lay his hand atop hers, stopping her. “Wait—it needs to steep a moment longer.”

  The touch surprised her, every nerve ending jumping along her skin, and she stared at his hand, the long, elegant fingers that were stained with ink. The visceral reaction reminded her of the carriage and the hum of attraction that simmered between them. He didn’t pull away and her heart stuttered, taking flight beneath her ribs. She resented how easily he could affect her. Glancing at his face, however, she realized he was equally off-balance. His brows were lowered, gaze fixed on their hands.

  She pulled back, tucked her fists in her lap, and tried to ignore the tingling sensation where he’d touched. He dropped his arm to the table but leaned close. “Lily, I want to talk about what you said in the carriage.”

  “I would rather not. Let’s leave the past where it belongs, which is in the past.”

  He rubbed his eyes and grimaced as if in pain. “I never thought you’d . . . Well, you were better served this way, believe me.”

  “Yes, that became obvious once I understood your motives. It certainly helped to read about your many paramours in the newspapers.”

  He had the grace to wince, the scoundrel. “It was the correct decision at the time. I may not have agreed with your father’s methods, but he was right to have the thing annulled.”

  Of course he’d see it as the right decision. “It was not a thing, Calvin, it was a marriage. Our marriage. I know you merely wanted the financial gain, but vows were recited nonetheless.”

  “I know,” he growled. “I was there for the ceremony—and the honeymoon. I remember every detail, no matter how small.”

  “Yes, no doubt those tender moments are stitched on pillows around your home,” she said sardonically. “Please. Let’s not pretend you were interested in anything other than my father’s money.”

  His eyes flashed, his mouth tightening. “Oh, I suppose you expected me to lose both you and a large sum of money, to walk away empty-handed? What sort of a fool do you take me for?”

  “Do you honestly want me to answer that?”

  He pointed a finger at her and opened his mouth—to argue with her, no doubt—when Ho Seng suddenly appeared at their table.

  “May I pour the tea now?”

  Calvin straightened and faced the window, his jaw clenched tightly. Lily had no idea why he was so furious, but she was done trying to solve the puzzle that was Calvin Cabot. He could keep his feelings, secrets, hopes, dreams—and hands—to himself.

  She forced a smile up at Ho Seng. “Yes, please.”

  * * *

  Calvin tried to calm down. He was furious—at himself, at Warren Davies. Even at Lily. No, he hadn’t taken the money Davies threw at him. Lily often accused him of being selfish, which was certainly true, but he’d been unable to take the check to the bank. Even he possessed a small amount of pride that would not allow him to be bought off and sent away, like a criminal.

  She must have assumed he used her father’s money to purchase the Bugle. Let her think the worst. It was easier that way.

  Losing her had not been painless, not by any stretch. He’d kept busy with the papers, busy enough not to dwell on the ache that followed him about everywhere he went, the crushing guilt from hurting her. Sure, it had dulled over time, and he’d hoped she had moved on. That she was happy, spending money and living grand, having forgotten all about the few months they’d been together.

  And then she’d kidnapped him. All the old feelings and regrets were bubbling to the surface . . . and he didn’t like it one bit.

  Had she truly held out hope that he’d return? Until her brother’s recent disappearance, she hadn’t approached or contacted him, so he had assumed she hated him. Davies had sworn never to tell her the true reasons for his departure, promising to claim Calvin had been after money all along.

  To learn that Lily had believed him better than just a fortune hunter, believed he’d truly loved her, tore at Calvin’s insides like the lashes of a whip.

  “Are you going to pout all night?”

  “I am not pouting.” He turned to pin her with a stare that normally cowed veteran reporters. “I am a grown man and grown men do not pout. He was going to cut you off,” Calvin blurted out before he could stop himself.

  Lily placed her cup carefully on the table. “He, who?”

  Exhaling, he shook his head at his own stupidity. Why was he telling her this? He was unlocking a trunk long closed merely to let the moths out. “Your father.”

  “My father? That’s ridiculous. My father would never do that. He—”

  “Was prepared to turn you out without a dime if we stayed married.”

  As the news sank in, a flush bloomed over her porcelain cheeks. Calvin couldn’t look away. Plenty of women were beautiful,
but few had brains and guts to go along with a pleasing face. Lily possessed those qualities in abundance, which was why he’d been drawn to her in the first place. A room grew smaller the second she walked in, her personality as large as a New York City skyscraper with a determination to match.

  Her chin rose. “You’re mistaken. Or lying. I cannot tell which.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I have no reason to lie, not now. And not only did he say you wouldn’t get a dime, he was prepared to write you out of his will.”

  “And you believed him?”

  “Of course. He outlined it in great detail.”

  She angled in, her lips flattened into a white angry line. “Then you’re an even bigger fool than I originally thought. I don’t know whether to laugh or crack you over the head with this teapot.”

  “You’re angry? You should be thanking me for keeping you in diamonds and caviar all these years. If we’d stayed married God knows where you’d be—”

  “Calvin, shut up. He tested you and you failed. My father adored me and would not have wanted me to suffer, no matter the circumstance. There is absolutely no chance he would have left me penniless. Besides, I had a trust set aside for my twenty-first birthday that was irrevocable.”

  A test? A trust? Calvin’s ears rang with the hideous truth. Davies had manipulated him, the bastard. Likely this wouldn’t have prevented Davies from revealing him as a bigamist, but at least Calvin and Hugo could’ve discussed the possibility of telling Lily the truth. They might have found a solution where he could’ve stayed married and rescued Hugo’s wife at the same time.

  “Your father should have been strung up by his toes and roasted over a fire.”

  She smoothed her skirts, not meeting his eyes. “Some would say you deserve the same fate.”

  “Some, meaning you? The same woman who never even sought me out after the annulment, never spoke to me, and jumped at the opportunity to help my rival?”

  “You’re insane. You twist facts into whatever you want them to—”

  “Mr. Cabot!” Kwan arrived at the table, two steaming bowls in his hands.