The Rogue of Fifth Avenue

by Joanna Shupe

  Oh, God. Please make him stop.

  Chauncey didn’t seem to notice. “You don’t need to be scared,” he told her. “You’re going to like this, I promise. I’ll show you.”

  Air hit her legs and she did the only thing she could think of: she bit the palm of his hand as hard as she possibly could, her teeth sinking deep. The reaction was instant. He released her and howled in pain, cradling his injured hand. She scrambled backward as he fell to the gazebo floor.

  She didn’t wait. She ran as fast as she could for the safety of the house, with no effort to keep silent, gravel flying as she ran. Once at the house, she flung open the kitchen door, charged inside and turned the lock. She stood there a moment, trying to catch her breath. What had just happened? One minute, she and Chauncey were talking, and in the next he attacked her.

  It had been so unlike him. I know how these things go. Sometimes girls like you just need a little coaxing. Clearly she didn’t know Chauncey as well as she’d thought. Was there a chance he had forced himself on other women? The idea sickened her. She rubbed her forehead and hurried toward her room, her mind spinning.

  You’re safe. It’s over. You’re safe. It’s over. She repeated this on her way through the quiet house. Even still, her heart thundered, the organ not quite certain the danger had passed.

  When she entered her bedroom, it took a moment to comprehend the light on her side table was switched on. And there was a man lying in her bed. She blinked at him.

  Frank sat up, his eyes instantly concerned. “What’s happened?” He was on his feet and coming toward her in a flash.

  She swallowed and tried to relax. “I’m fine.”

  “The hell you are. You’re white as a sheet, sweating and all disheveled. What’s wrong?” He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to his chest. He’d shed his topcoat, leaving him in a shirt and vest, and she pressed her face to the warm skin of his throat. She breathed him in, and his heat sank into her bones, easing her tremors. His hands stroked her back and they merely stood for a long moment. She was incredibly grateful he didn’t press her for information, though she imagined the effort was killing him.

  He kissed her temple softly. “I’m trying not to worry because I see you’re safe. Was it the police again?”

  “No. Must we discuss it?”

  “You should know me well enough by now. I examine things and pick them apart for a living. There’s no chance you are keeping this from me. What had you so frightened?”

  She didn’t wish to think about it any longer. Chauncey’s advances would upset Frank, and she’d rather avoid any more anger tonight. “It was nothing. Just noises in the night. I think the kitchens are haunted.”

  His chest rose and fell with a deep exhale. He led her to the bed and lay down, tucking her into his side and holding her close. “A ghost, really? Is that the best you can do?”

  “Would you believe I saw a mouse?”

  He snorted. “No. Tell me, love.”

  The endearment caught her off guard and melted her insides along with her resistance. “I received a note asking me to come to the gazebo at midnight. It was unsigned, but I thought it was from you.”

  Frank’s breath hitched. “Who was it from?”

  “Chauncey.”

  “I see.”

  “He’d been drinking. Talking about all sorts of nonsense about our marriage.”

  “Hmm.” His fingers slipped into her hair and massaged her head. Her body grew lethargic as her heartbeat slowed.

  “I told him I had no interest in marrying him. He thought I was just nervous about the physical aspect of a marriage. Can you imagine?” A soft laugh escaped her lips. Then she yawned, the entire encounter leaving her drained.

  “No.”

  She closed her eyes and burrowed closer to him. “I can tell you this, his kissing skills have not improved a bit over the years.”

  “What did he say, exactly?”

  So tired. Her limbs each felt as if they weighed a ton. She stifled another yawn. “That I merely needed some coaxing. That everyone says he’s a good lover and he’d show me I had nothing to worry about.”

  Frank was silent and sleep tugged at Mamie’s brain. “I thought you would be angry,” she mumbled. “The good news is that I bit his hand and he released me. That’s how I got away.”

  “I’m proud of you.” He kissed her forehead. “Sleep, my little warrior.”

  “Promise me you won’t say anything to Chauncey about this.” When he didn’t respond, she said, “Frank, you cannot mention this to him or anyone else. If you do, then everyone will assume you’re jealous. That will only complicate matters.”

  The fire crackled and the rise and fall of his chest lulled her to sleep. She let herself drift, darkness descending in her consciousness. Before she succumbed, Mamie thought she heard him say, “I am indeed very, very angry . . . but not at you.”

  Growing up downtown meant many things. Like running to buy delicious hot corn from the girl on the corner. Knowing which alleys and blocks to avoid because of the gangs. Playing in the street while dodging streetcars and carts.

  And learning how to fight.

  Frank hadn’t used that skill in years. As a rule, he preferred using words rather than his fists. However, he planned on putting his Five Points roots to use today by beating the ever-loving fuck out of Chauncey Livingston.

  Mamie had scared him half to death last night. He’d never seen her so frightened, her eyes wild and her body trembling. Chauncey had dared to assault her, kissing her against her will. Had he tried more before she bit him? If she hadn’t hurt him, how far would Chauncey have gone? In his efforts to “coax” her, would he have stopped before raping her?

  It didn’t matter because he’d touched her, even when she’d said no. Whatever had happened in that gazebo, Chauncey would come to regret it.

  Frank had asked Otto to locate Chauncey as soon as the spoiled prick emerged from his home today. Chauncey’s first stop? The Union Club, where he’d no doubt attempt to nurse his post-assault hangover.

  Frank arrived at the large stone mansion at Twenty-First Street and Fifth Avenue. Several broughams and carriages lingered nearby, with liveried drivers awaiting their charges. He was a member of all the social clubs worth belonging to in the city. The Union was the oldest and most conservative of the clubs, where not even money and a pedigree were enough to gain admittance. Any hint of a scandal would prevent membership. Frank never cared for the privileged atmosphere here.

  The attendant at the front tipped his hat and pulled open the door. Frank thanked him then checked in at the desk.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Tripp. Welcome back. Shall I take your coat and hat?”

  Frank handed over his accessories. “Afternoon, George. I need a private word with Mr. Chauncey Livingston. I wonder if you can give me the use of a room for a few moments.”

  “Of course. Would you like me to send word to Mr. Livingston to join you there?”

  “Please.” He reached in his coat pocket and withdrew two crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. “I would appreciate if you did not tell him it’s me.” He slipped the money to the attendant.

  “Not a problem, Mr. Tripp.”

  “And one more thing, George. I was never here.”

  The attendant did not miss a beat. He nodded and put the money in his pocket. “I understand. Your things will remain close at hand and I won’t mark you down in the book.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  The club kept a few well-appointed bedrooms on the upper floors for members. Some were rented out to bachelors, others were used on a nightly basis. Frank never had the need, but he couldn’t very well break Livingston’s face in the middle of the club’s library or dining room.

  When he was shown to the room, he removed his topcoat and placed it carefully over a chair. Then he unfastened his cuff links and rolled his sleeves up to the elbows. He heard Chauncey’s cultured voice complaining from down the hall. “I don’t understand.
Why can’t you tell me where we’re going? I was in the middle of a dashed good cribbage game down there.”

  Frank’s muscles tightened in readiness.

  The door opened and Chauncey, the picture of childish annoyance, stomped in. When he saw Frank, he frowned. “Tripp. What do you want?”

  “Thank you,” Frank said to the attendant. “That will be all for now.”

  The man nodded and the door closed, leaving Frank alone with Chauncey. “Livingston, this conversation is long overdue.”

  Chauncey was elegantly appointed in a bespoke brown suit and his hair was neatly oiled off his forehead. Frank knew all about Chauncey and his devil-may-care attitude. The Livingston heir had been given everything he’d ever wanted in life, and it showed by his petulant, entitled demeanor. The lower class was far beneath him, the middle class there to serve him. He dabbled in every vice the city had to offer, never suffering any consequence whatsoever.

  That ended today.

  Chauncey looked Frank up and down, as if searching for clues. “Conversation about what? I have no legal business with you.”

  “This isn’t about business.” He closed in. “This is personal.”

  The other man took a step back. “What do you mean?”

  When he was within reach, Frank snatched Chauncey’s necktie and shirt in his fist. He leaned in until they were nearly nose to nose. “I mean Mamie. Specifically, you putting your hands on her like it is your goddamn right.”

  “Now, look here. I don’t know what she told you, but nothing happened.” Chauncey tried to step back but Frank held fast.

  “Only because she bit your hand and got away, you morally bereft piece of shit. If she hadn’t, God only knows what you would have done to her.”

  “I wouldn’t hurt her. I’ve known Marion all my life. Whatever she told you, she’s—”

  Frank shook Chauncey hard. “Do not dare call that woman a liar. If you do, I will knock every tooth from your head.”

  Fear and confusion washed over Chauncey’s face, but he quickly masked it with bluster. “This is outrageous. How dare you take me to task for something that is absolutely none of your business? Release me or I’ll sue you for assault.”

  “This is my business. Mamie is my business—and anyone who hurts her will pay the price. Do you understand?”

  “No, I don’t understand—” His eyes went wide just before his expression darkened. He twisted away, slipping out of Frank’s grip. “It’s you. You’re the one turning her against me, against the engagement. You are having an affair with her.”

  “Mamie and I are friends. I am not turning her against anyone or anything. If you would listen to her, you’d know that.”

  “That’s a dashed lie. Her father’s been saying for weeks there’s another man, but I didn’t quite believe it. Not until this moment.” Chauncey put his hands on his hips. “Have you fucked my fiancée?”

  Fury erupted in every part of Frank’s body, a white-hot heat that scorched his skin. Instead of shouting, though, he laughed because he knew it would put Chauncey off guard. “See, just when I was beginning to think I could reason with you.” Quick as a whip, he shot out his right fist and punched Chauncey square in the nose. Cartilage crunched upon impact and blood sprayed before Chauncey hit the floor.

  He rolled on the ground and clutched his face. “Damn it! You broke my nose.”

  Frank kneeled and pressed on Chauncey’s hands, adding more pressure to the broken nose, until Chauncey howled. Frank eased up and when he was sure the other man was listening, he growled, “Do not come near her ever again. If I find out you’ve touched her, I will destroy you and every single thing you care about.”

  He rose and took out a handkerchief to wipe the blood from his hands. Drops of red spattered his navy silk vest, but the fabric was dark enough to hide the stains. Nevertheless, he’d need to drive home and change his clothing before returning to the office. Clients generally preferred their attorney not be covered in blood. At least, he assumed.

  He tucked the handkerchief in his pocket and left, with Chauncey still writhing in pain on the expensive carpet.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Mamie watched as Frank patiently explained to Katie the process by which she would testify in court. The three of them, plus Otto, were at an ice cream parlor near Frank’s office in the late afternoon. Mrs. Porter’s preliminary hearing was to take place in a few days.

  Katie showed no signs of fear, as if she’d resolved herself to speaking and doing the best job possible. After illustrating what the experience would entail, Frank asked his own questions to ascertain her version of events from the day of her father’s death.

  Katie had previously confided to Mamie a bit about the Porter household, awful, terrible stories that broke Mamie’s heart. Katie recalled her father’s yelling, the times she’d hid because her father was hitting her mother and the fear they’d lived with on a daily basis.

  Mamie couldn’t say she was sorry that Roy Porter was dead.

  For a man who had no children of his own, Frank was quite comfortable with Katie. He didn’t condescend to her. Some adults treated children like babies; however, a girl like Katie had seen too much, heard too much, to be treated as if she were made of glass. The five-year-old was incredibly brave, in Mamie’s opinion.

  She hadn’t expected that of Frank. Honestly, she hadn’t known how he would interact with children. He’d looked uncomfortable and eager to leave in the face of Mrs. Barrett’s fussy child last week. But perhaps she’d been wrong about his uneasiness.

  Tell me, love.

  Her face heated as she recalled his words. That night, he’d held her until she had fallen asleep then slipped out of the house unnoticed. Not long after, a jewelry box had magically appeared on her nightstand. Nestled inside was a silver charm bracelet, the only charm a bow and arrow. A reference to calling her his “little warrior,” no doubt.

  More heat slid through her. Goodness, at this rate, she’d burst into flames before suppertime.

  She did wonder, however, how he’d managed to gain such unfettered access to the Greene household. Crafty, crafty man . . .

  Movement at the table brought her out of her own head. Otto was leading Katie to the counter.

  “Are we finished?” she asked Frank as he retook his seat.

  One side of his mouth tipped up into a wicked grin and her heart skipped a beat at that knowing look. “Having trouble paying attention, Miss Greene?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Then you know precisely why Otto has taken Katie to the counter?”

  “To order more ice cream.” It was a guess but a logical one.

  “Wrong. He’s convinced her to try an egg cream soda, which has no ice cream in it at all.”

  She decided to let this go. Conceding the point would only swell his head. “Thank you for the bracelet.”

  “Did you like it?”

  “Very much so.” Desperate to touch him somehow, she surreptitiously squeezed his gloved hand. When he winced, she immediately let go. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

  He reached for her with his left hand. “Just shut a desk drawer on my right hand and it’s a bit tender. Nothing to worry about.”

  “Thank goodness. We cannot have you injured right before the preliminary hearing.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Will you be ready in two days?”

  “Of course. I’m always ready.”

  The braggart. Still, he was adorable in every way . . . and the most handsome man in New York City. “I have every faith in you, Mr. Tripp.”

  “Save your praise for after Mrs. Porter is released.” He leaned down closer to her ear. “And for when I’ve got you alone in my bed again.”

  Sparks spread over the surface of her skin, coalescing between her legs. Speaking of bed . . . “You never did tell me why you came over the other night.” She didn’t like to think about that episode with Chauncey. It still both frightened and angered her.
/>   “To ensure you weren’t annoyed with me. You left the prison in a huff after we met with Mrs. Porter.”

  “I was not in a huff. I do not huff. And I maintain not telling Mrs. Porter is a mistake. She should know the risks when it comes to her own child.”

  “I promise to keep Katie safe.” His blue irises blazed with sincerity, but how could he possibly watch over Katie at all times?

  “Short of moving in with the children, I cannot see how that is possible.”

  “I’ve hired Pinkertons to watch the building around the clock. Does that help?”

  Her mouth fell open slightly. She hadn’t considered this possibility. Her chest pulled tight, emotion clogging her throat. He’d hired guards for the Porter children. He was a blue-blooded, silver-tongued rascal, but Frank Tripp was also a good man. The best man.

  Her man.

  You’re in love with him.

  Yes, she supposed she was. The thought of giving him up, of not seeing him again, caused her stomach to cramp painfully. Somehow, she had to convince her father that Frank made her happy and she’d have no other. She would never marry Chauncey, definitely not after the other night and not after finally accepting these feelings for Frank. Her father would see reason eventually and agree to not ruin Frank’s career.

  Because she was going to marry this man.

  “If we weren’t in public, I would kiss you right now.”

  His leg slid to find hers under the table. “Would you, indeed? Where would you kiss me?”

  She glanced at the nearby tables to ensure the other patrons couldn’t overhear. Then she licked her lips and inched closer. “In the very best places.”

  He exhaled slowly, never breaking his gaze with hers. “Damn. Now I won’t be able to stand up for another ten minutes.”

  “If I am supposed to apologize, I’m afraid I won’t do it.”

  “Never apologize for tempting me. I could be dead, buried six feet under the ground, and still crave the taste of your skin.”

  She had to take a sip of water because her mouth had gone dry. “Perhaps we could discuss your condition later. Say, nine o’clock at your place?”