by Joanna Shupe
“What? That is preposterous. You would never . . .” She trailed off after she studied Mamie’s face. “Wait, you are, aren’t you? You are interested in another man. I can see it in your expression. Who?”
“It doesn’t matter. What I need to know is how.”
“How, what?”
“How I might . . . capitalize on that interest.”
Florence looked down and smoothed the bedclothes over the mattress. “What makes you think I have any experience in such matters?”
“If anyone in this family knows scandalous behavior, it’s you. Let’s see.” She counted off on her fingers. “Mother caught you with that set of erotic playing cards, you hide racy literature under your bed, and there’s all those visits to casinos and dancing halls.”
“Visits we’ve mostly made together, I might add. And I’m not helping you until you tell me who.”
“I’d rather not say. Just tell me what to do.”
Florence tapped a finger against her lips. “Hmm. I know it isn’t Chauncey. He hardly inspires seduction.” She gasped, her eyes going wide. “It’s Frank Tripp. I knew it. First he followed you around town then you two shared an intimate dinner at Sherry’s.”
“It was not intimate, we were in the main dining room.”
“If you say so. Admit it, you have a thing for him.”
“I do not have a thing for him. It’s just . . .” She could not voice, even to Florence, her feelings for Frank. She barely understood them herself. It was safer if it meant nothing, just a harmless affair before her marriage. That made it easier to stop when the time came. “If I must marry Chauncey, why should he have all the fun?”
“I couldn’t agree more. So, where do things stand with Tripp?”
“He says taking me to bed would ruin his career.”
“You’ve discussed the possibility with him.” Florence’s mouth twisted into a smirk. “My level-headed sister, not allowing herself to be caught up in the heat of passion. I’m impressed.”
“Is that bad, a lack of passion in these matters?”
“No. Frank is a man, Mamie, not a boy like Chauncey. He won’t be ruled by his”—she gestured to her crotch—“like younger men. It’s clear he lusts after you—I saw it plainly the night at the Bronze House—but he’s trying to resist for the sake of his livelihood.”
“It’s frightening sometimes how much you know about these matters.”
Florence threw her head back and laughed. “Can I help it if uptown society bores me to tears?”
Mamie felt the same way, but she had no choice. Not until now. “So what do I do?”
“Catch him off guard, when his defenses are down. Look alluring. Show off your best assets.” She pointed at Mamie’s bosom. “A low neckline and a little lip paint. That’s all you need to have him salivating.”
“What if he resists?”
“Then you keep at him, chipping away. A little touch here, a brush of your hand there. Bite your lip. Stare at him through your lashes. That’s what the heroines in the steamy novels do.”
“And it works?”
“Every time.”
Hmm. Failure would be humiliating but she was willing to try. “Thank you. I’ll attempt to work up the nerve.”
Her sister made a disbelieving noise in her throat. “I’ve never known you to lack nerve, Mamie Greene. Are you so worked up over Tripp that you’re scared?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve never seduced a man before, is all.”
“Which brings up another point: If you’re so unemotional about Chauncey, then why marry him? Why not see if someone else, like Tripp, is more suitable?”
Because life had dealt her a different hand. She might avoid marrying Chauncey, but it would not be because of Frank. “Daddy warned me away from Tripp and said he’d never approve of anything between us.” Florence opened her mouth to argue so Mamie quickly continued. “And the understanding with Chauncey’s family has long been established. I’ve practically grown up with Chauncey. I know precisely what I’ll be getting.”
“Apparently not. You just learned you’re getting his mistress in this marriage as well.”
True, but it seemed unlikely Chauncey hid anything else. “Beyond that, Chauncey is as clear as glass.”
“In my experience those are the ones you need to worry most about.”
A laugh bubbled up in Mamie’s throat—and then she remembered Frank’s comment about Chauncey and opium dens. Perhaps she didn’t know her potential fiancé as well as she thought. Nevertheless, Florence’s choice of words did not escape her. “In your experience?”
“You’re not the only one out having fun at night.”
She frowned, unhappy at the thought of Florence in danger. Yet she knew better than to try to stop her younger sister. The Greene girls could be stubborn when the mood struck. “I hope you are taking care.”
“Always do. So, when will you seduce Frank Tripp?”
The when hadn’t occurred to her. “I don’t know. The next time I see him, I suppose.”
“No, no, no. Must I write it down for you?” Florence straightened and pointed at Mamie. “You must catch him off guard. My guess is he’ll try to ignore you as a way of resisting you. Chances are you won’t see him at any point soon.”
How could he ignore her when they were trying to save Mrs. Porter? Weren’t there case-related matters to discuss or more investigations to undertake?
“I think you should sneak into his house,” Florence continued. “Hide in his bedroom and surprise him.”
“That’s crazy. First, he won’t ignore me because I hired him to represent a friend. Second, what you are suggesting is breaking and entering. The man could have me arrested.”
“But he won’t. You’ll see. He’ll ignore you and you’ll have no choice but to sneak into his home.”
Chapter Ten
What a goddamn week.
Frank threw down his pen and stood to stretch the sore muscles in his back and shoulders. It was nearly midnight and he’d been working at home since the end of a long and boring dinner at Delmonico’s. The group had included the firm’s other partners and several important clients, which resulted in plenty of backslapping and bawdy jokes. Frank used to love those outings . . . but the hollowness of it had grated on his nerves tonight. There were a hundred pressing items requesting his attention, but the partners had insisted on his attendance.
So here he was in his office, working, with no end in sight. He had briefs to read, arguments to prepare, forms to sign. Investigation notes to peruse.
That reminded him of Mamie.
Unable to sit still, he strode to the sideboard, poured a healthy glass of whiskey, and finished it in three swallows. The burn hardly registered. Thoughts of Mamie haunted him, a constant temptation slowly driving him insane.
He’d kept busy these past four days, trying not to contemplate her promise of seduction—trying and failing. Every time he slowed down or closed his eyes he saw her lying on his bed, dark hair spread on the pillow, her legs parted slightly to give a glimpse of the paradise awaiting within . . .
Christ.
Heat wound through him and he reached for more spirits. Perhaps drunkenness was the key to forgetting her.
He’d just downed a second glass when the sound of the door caught his attention. Spinning on his heel, he watched a cloaked figure slide into his office. What the ever-loving hell?
He clutched the heavy crystal glass, ready to use it as a weapon, if necessary. “Who are you and what are you doing—”
The instant she reached for the hood, he knew. Dear God, he knew.
It was Mamie. Here. Alone, in his home.
He squinted at the empty glass in his hand. Was he really seeing her or had the whiskey affected him more than he’d thought?
“Hello, Frank.”
That voice. Low and soft, the sound rolling through him like warm honey. His brain momentarily shut down when she lowered the hood of her cloak. Dark hair cur
led about her face, a stark contrast to the deep red painted on her lips. She was stunning. A goddess. Temptation incarnate. He craved her like his next breath . . . but he had to keep his control.
Exhaling sharply, he struggled to remain still. “You shouldn’t be here. Have you gone mad?”
The edges of her lips curled and she started toward him. He immediately took a step backward.
“I’m here for two reasons,” she said.
Several options flashed through his mind, all of them prurient and each one more delicious than the last. He swallowed. “No reason is sufficient enough for you to sneak into my house at this hour.”
Once at the sideboard, she poured whiskey into a crystal tumbler. “You have been ignoring me.”
Yes, he most definitely had.
“That is absurd,” he said. “I’ve been busy. It’s not as if we had an appointment I forgot.”
“Yet you have ignored the two cables I sent you, asking for updates on Mrs. Porter’s case.”
Was this a trial? “There are no updates, which is why I didn’t respond. Otto is digging up information for use in her case. When I have news I’ll contact you.”
“Fine, but that was merely the first reason I’m here.” She put her lips on the crystal rim and took a long drink. He watched her lick the residual whiskey from her lips, the sight of her tongue causing his heart to pound.
“What is the second reason?” His voice sounded odd to his own ears but he couldn’t quite focus on the conversation. Her mouth was too distracting.
“Our billiards game. Or, have you forgotten?”
“Game?”
“Our agreement for Mrs. Porter’s case. Best of seven, here at your home. Promised to be the most memorable night of my life, I believe.”
Why had he made such an idiotic request? He should have accepted the case without provision, instead of trying to flirt with her and concoct a clever way to spend time with her. Non compos mentis, clearly. He certainly was stupid around this woman. “I changed my mind. No payment necessary.”
One dark brow shot up. “You’ll help her out of the goodness of your heart?”
“I am quite magnanimous, you know.”
“More like you’re scared to play me.”
He couldn’t help it, he snorted. “Definitely not. It’s more about protecting your reputation. Any number of people could have seen you waltz in here.”
“Yet, no one did. Your discreet and efficient staff forgot to lock the front door. I had my hood up the entire time, beginning in the hansom I hired.”
“Fine, but your family will be wondering where you are if you’re gone for too long.”
“Not tonight. My parents are in Boston for a wedding. Just my sisters and I are at home.”
Stood to reason she had a rebuttal for every one of his points. The woman would’ve made an outstanding lawyer. “That does not change the fact that your presence here is highly inappropriate.”
She placed her glass on the wood and stepped closer. He could smell her then, her special mix of sweet and spicy, a scent he now associated with stubbornness and longing. She drew near enough where he could see the tiny lines around her mouth. His skin buzzed with electricity, an awareness that jumped and hummed along the surface of his body, from the tips of his fingers to his toes. God help him if she ever put her hands on him. He might very well combust.
Her head tilted back and they locked gazes. “One game, Frank. Nothing more than billiards, I promise.”
He wanted to believe her. However, a bigger part of him hoped she hadn’t given up on seducing him.
Stop it. You have no right to touch this woman.
Logically, he was aware of all the reasons her presence here was a terrible idea. And yet he couldn’t bring himself to say the words to force her away. He waited, mute, his mind frozen between his sense of responsibility and his desire.
“Do you wish for me to go?”
He blinked at her simple, straightforward question. For once, he didn’t think about the words or the meaning behind them. This time he went with plain honesty. “No.”
Her mouth curved into a satisfied smile. “Good. Now, show me the billiards room.”
She turned and started for the exit, the cloak billowing behind her like a figure from a gothic novel. As he followed, he reminded himself this was no story, no fictional romance. This was the daughter of a client, an unmarried wealthy woman who was promised to another. He had to retain his wits and keep his distance.
One game, then send her on her way.
Yes, that was what he’d do. He was stronger than this weak man affected by a pair of red lips and orange blossoms. He could resist temptation and focus on the game. The sooner they finished playing the sooner he could put her in a hack and send her uptown.
No problem whatsoever.
Mamie had lied.
She had no intention of playing one game and going home. If all went well she’d stay a considerable amount of time longer.
The odds were not in her favor. Frank had been adamantly against this visit, worried as always about her father and Mamie’s reputation. Could he not see how tired she was of being Marion Greene, the daughter who must carry on tradition and responsibility? She’d never admit it to him, but Frank often felt like the only person outside of her sisters who treated her normally, growling and sniping at her without regard for her pedigree.
Just for tonight she’d try to make him forget about her father, her family and her impending marriage.
His billiards room was an elegant space, with green patterned wallpaper that closely matched the baize of the massive oak table. A gasolier hung from the ceiling to cast a warm glow over the Eastern rugs and dark wood surfaces. Smaller chairs lined the walls along with side tables, seats for spectators and guests. She could easily see him entertaining here, regaling friends with his stories and charming ladies out of their drawers.
No need to think about those other ladies at the moment.
She unbuttoned her cloak, shrugged it off and threw the heavy garment over a chair. When she turned, he paused in the act of switching on a lamp, arm frozen, his gaze locked on the neckline of her dress. Excellent. She’d worn a revealing gown of blue silk that belonged to Justine. Her younger sister’s clothes were a size smaller than Mamie’s, which meant her breasts nearly spilled out of the dress.
It seemed Mr. Tripp was not immune to her bosom, after all.
She removed her gloves and walked over to the row of cue sticks on the wall. She ran a fingertip along the smooth wood. “So, what shall we play?”
He reached over her shoulder and snatched a cue. “Fifteen ball, if that’s acceptable. Do you know the rules?”
“I do, yes.” She hid her smile as she selected a cue. No doubt he believed this an easy win for him. Frank had no idea how skilled she was when it came to billiards.
He gestured to the table. “Let’s roll to see who breaks.”
They each placed a ball side by side at one end. Lifting their cues, they struck at the same time, sending their balls careening across the table, where they bounced off the bumper and traveled back toward the starting place. When the balls finally stopped rolling Mamie’s rested closest to the start. Frowning, he held out the cue ball. “Nicely done.”
She let her fingers brush his hand as she clasped the ball . . . and was rewarded when he inhaled sharply. A little touch here, a brush of your hand there. Perhaps Florence had been right. “I got lucky.”
He racked the game balls inside the frame while she readied her break shot. Through her lashes, she watched the fine muscles of his shoulders shift and bunch beneath his shirtsleeves. He wore no coat this evening, cuffs rolled up over his delectable bare forearms. Dark hair lightly coated the surface of his skin and she could see veins and tendons shift as he moved. Why was that such an appealing sight?
“Have you been working long this evening?” she asked.
“Yes, for a few hours after I returned from dinner.”
“Ah. Entertaining a lady friend?”
He paused in placing the rack on the wall. “Would that bother you?”
“No. With your reputation I nearly expect it.”
“Reputations are exaggerated to sell newspapers, Mamie.” He strode to a small table where several decanters were lined up. “Another drink?”
The glass she’d poured in his office remained half full. There was no need to become inebriated, not when she hoped to outwit him tonight. “No, thank you.”
Leaning over, she took aim, brought her arm back and let fly. The cue ball smacked into the other balls, which all shot in every direction. It was a clean break, and two striped balls disappeared into pockets.
When she looked up, Frank’s eyes were glued to the bodice of her dress, his gaze gone dark. She straightened and he seemed to shake himself. He turned away, gave her his back and took a long drink.
“Do you have a mistress?” she blurted. It was what she’d been trying to ascertain earlier.
The instant the words left her mouth he began choking and sputtering. Bending over, he wheezed for breath. “Damn it, Mamie.” He gestured at his chest. Drops of whiskey soaked his necktie and vest. “Happy?”
She tried not to smile. “Quite, though I wasn’t intending to ruin your clothing. I am merely curious.”
“No mistress. I find tying myself to one woman works best only for short periods of time. It’s why I know I’ll never marry. I have no intention of failing at fidelity.”
She sank another ball. “Perhaps you won’t fail.”
“Everyone fails eventually. I have no fewer than six active divorce cases at all times, sometimes more. Wives who cheat, husbands who cheat. Remember Mrs. Phillips from that night at Sherry’s? Women like her are more common than you’d ever believe.”
Well, she’d believe women often approached Frank in the hopes of catching his eye. Wasn’t that what she was doing here, playing pool at midnight?
Hmm. The comparison did not sit well with her.
She concentrated on the table. So far, she’d made four shots, plus the two balls she sank on the break. Winning this game would be child’s play. Lining up, she drew back her arm.