A Scandalous Deal

by Joanna Shupe

  “Christ, I can feel your walls . . . milking me. Wait, no, no, no . . .”

  His hips stuttered as body seized, his own pleasure overtaking him. He thickened and pulsed inside her, a hoarse moan escaping his mouth, lids screwed tight.

  The room fell silent except for their panting breath. There was no noise at all, no ticking clock or footsteps. No street noise or servants. He shifted and withdrew, slipping easily out of her channel, before he dropped onto his back, the heels of his hands pressing onto his closed eyes. “Jesus. I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard. Or that fast.”

  Eva had no response, especially since he did not sound happy about the fact. And she wasn’t about to apologize.

  “I even had a condom on hand.” He heaved an unhappy sigh. “Yet I spilled inside you once again. What in hell are you doing to me?”

  She hated the accusation in his tone. Hated the way her stomach clenched at the harshly uttered words. The bubble of happiness cocooning her popped and hurt filled her chest like wet cement. She tensed but remained still. “None of that is my fault.”

  “I know.” He turned his head to see her. “That’s not what I meant, Eva.”

  “But that’s what it sounded like. In my experience, men often blame women for their troubles. A woman with three dead fiancés? She must be cursed. Cannot concentrate on your work because a woman’s in the vicinity? Yes, let’s force the woman to leave instead of telling the man to keep his eyes off her breasts.”

  He rose up on an elbow. “I don’t believe any of that. For God’s sake, I’ve been your biggest supporter—”

  “Until we’re alone and then your loss of control is somehow my fault.”

  “No. This is my fault. All of it. And whatever consequences arise you may rest assured that I’ll—”

  She levered off the bed, not wanting any part of this conversation. It was reminiscent of the other night and she had no desire to repeat it. Yes, they had both been reckless and foolish, allowing the heat of the moment to cloud their judgment. And she was every bit as responsible as he. So when would he start treating her as an equal?

  “I don’t wish to discuss fault and blame and consequences before my skin’s even cooled.”

  “Fair enough, but the consequences are quite real. You cannot ignore them.”

  Once on the floor, she noticed the inside of her thighs were sticky and wet. Consequences, indeed. The bath. Even if the water had turned cold, she had to wash all this . . . secretion off before she returned home.

  “Where are you going?” he demanded as she marched toward the bathing chamber. “We need to discuss this.”

  “No, we most definitely do not.” She grasped the connecting door and stopped to glance over her shoulder. “Or, better yet, have the conversation without me. You seem to do better that way.”

  She slammed the wood, closing herself on the other side.

  By Friday Phillip’s mood was downright black.

  After barely speaking during Monday night’s ride home, Eva had disappeared on Tuesday, leaving word she’d traveled out of town. Phillip had it on good authority that Lady Nora remained in the city, so he wasn’t sure where Eva had gone . . . and with whom. The uncertainty pricked at him all week, growing worse as the days progressed without a message from her. Their Thursday assignation had come and gone, with him waiting at the Twenty-Fourth Street house for hours, only to spend the evening alone.

  Yes, he’d bungled their post-coital conversation. Again. But that did not mean she could ignore him. They had to work this out, especially as she was working for him.

  Christ, what a damn mess.

  He reached for one of the champagne glasses resting on the silver tray and winced. His shoulders ached from hours spent at McGirk’s this week. He’d fought so much that Joe had finally ordered him home, saying Phillip couldn’t return until he promised not to take out his frustration on the other boxers. Sixteen opponents had gone down in the ring the past few days, causing Joe to grouse that Phillip had ruined all their best fighters.

  “You don’t appear happy,” Becca murmured as she sidled up to him, selecting a glass for herself. “Sorry you came?”

  They were at the Metropolitan Opera House, as he’d promised, surrounded by her family. Though summer, many members of society were in attendance, all sitting in the “diamond horseshoe” tier. The performance had started but Phillip, eager for a drink and some respite, had retreated to the salon in the back of the box.

  He faced Becca, who positively glowed tonight. “No, and it’s nothing a few stiff drinks won’t cure. You’ve obviously had a good day. I don’t think I have ever seen you this radiant.”

  “Your flattery won’t work on me, Mansfield. You’ve got the wrong parts.”

  He laughed, the first since Monday. “Hardly flattery and fair enough. Tell me, why are you so chipper?”

  “I’ve merely had an excellent week.” She coyly dropped her gaze and sipped her champagne.

  Must have something to do with the maid. He was happy for her, even while miserable himself. “Bully for you, then. At least one of us has.”

  “What happened to put you in such a sour mood?”

  He had no idea how to explain it, so he lifted a sore shoulder. “Women are dashed complicated.”

  “That’s because we are more intelligent than men give us credit for. You assume we’re something we’re not.” Mirth danced in her eyes. “So tell me, what has she done now?”

  “Disappeared on me. She’s gone out of town, which is a bit odd since she hardly knows anyone in the city.”

  “Is this a mistress? Or . . .”

  A lover. A friend. An employee. Instead of filling in the word, he said, “Definitely an ‘or.’”

  “The lady who claims you’re no fun?”

  His lips twisted in amusement at the reminder of that conversation. “Yes, her.”

  “And the two of you had an argument?”

  “More like a disagreement.”

  “You’re dissembling. If she’s hied it out of New York City, it was an argument.” She finished the rest of her champagne and placed the empty glass on the table. “Which means you need to properly apologize.”

  “Just how do you know I’m at fault?”

  Her face transformed into a look that said Phillip might be the slowest man in Manhattan. “Because if you had felt wronged, you’d have been the one to run away.”

  She patted his arm and returned to the box, but Phillip wasn’t ready to follow quite yet. Perhaps he’d visit the smoking room first. A quality cigar sounded nice about now.

  He stepped into the corridor that ran behind the boxes and found it blessedly empty. Before he’d taken two steps, however, he discovered James Keene strolling toward him. Keene spotted him and his brows rose in recognition, a smug, satisfied smile emerging.

  Phillip’s skin began to burn with anger, as if someone had lit a match to it. He headed toward the other man. “I’d like a word, Keene.”

  “Mr. Mansfield, good evening. I hear you’ve been having a bit of trouble on the hotel site.” He leaned a shoulder against the wall. “That is certainly a shame.”

  Phillip thought of Eva, sweaty and disheveled, as she’d emerged from that shack the other day. Had she not been able to escape on her own, God only knew when she would’ve been found. A few hours enclosed in severe heat could kill a man, let alone a slight Englishwoman.

  Fists clenched, he stepped in close, not afraid of using his size to intimidate the other man. He was pleased when a flash of fear widened Keene’s gaze. “If I learn that you or any of your cronies have been causing said trouble, I will bury the lot of you in a pit so deep and so dark you’ll never be found. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Now, why would we bother sabotaging your project when you’re doing such a damn fine job of that on your own?”

  “Because you’re spineless, sniveling cowards who think they can harass and blackmail to get what they want.”

  Kee
ne held up his hands, palms out. “There’s where you are wrong. We only want what’s best for the city and its inhabitants.”

  “While getting rich in the process.”

  “You say that as if you’re not partial to earning a dollar yourself. When your father was alive, he worked with us—not against us. You’d do well to work in the same manner. Certainly would accomplish a lot more that way.”

  “The days of Tweed and rampant corruption are over, in case you haven’t noticed. We’re in a new era, one where the people expect their government to work for them, not steal from them.”

  “Now you’re just trying to hurt my feelings, calling me a thief.”

  “I’d call you worse if we weren’t in public.”

  Keene chuckled. “You do have a temper. Must be what makes you an outstanding boxer. They say you can beat nearly anyone in the ring.”

  “Which you’d do well to remember. I’m not someone you’d care to anger.”

  Keene stepped back and brushed his sleeves with his gloved hands. “I could say the same, Mansfield. After all, what would society think if they knew the true purpose behind that building you bought on Twenty-Fourth Street, the one you and Miss Ashford—?”

  Phillip’s arm shot out and he pushed Keene against the wall with a thud. The other man swallowed as Phillip snarled, “You do not want to finish that sentence. And if I find out you’re having me followed, I’ll destroy everything you know and love.”

  They stared at one another for a long minute, Keene’s hard expression not easing for one moment. Finally, the other man brought his arm up and dislodged Phillip’s hold, putting space between them. “So bloodthirsty for a proper gentleman. You are quite surprising, Mr. Mansfield. Quite surprising, indeed.”

  “Take care not to forget it.”

  “Oh, I shan’t. You have an enjoyable rest of your evening.”

  He said nothing as Keene strolled away, the other man clearly pleased with himself. He’d set out to rattle Phillip and had succeeded.

  Phillip dragged a hand through his hair, marching back to the Halls’ box. He needed another drink to wash the acrid taste of that exchange from his mouth. Clearly he’d underestimated his enemies. They were determined to cause destruction and mischief at every turn.

  Once he’d fortified himself with a glass of Hall’s whiskey, he dropped onto the velvet settee. Undoubtedly Tammany Hall had been responsible for Weller’s attempt to shut the project down. Quite likely they were behind locking Eva in the shack as well. Were they also having him followed?

  The idea enraged him, these men knowing his intimate secrets. While owning space for the purpose of meeting or keeping a mistress was nothing new for him, the identity of the woman was not something he wished to become public. Eva would be furious, for one thing. Her reputation, both personally and on this project, would suffer, with their working relationship irrevocably changed.

  Perhaps after her father arrived and assumed the reins they could renegotiate the terms of their arrangement. Until then, he must protect her in every way possible.

  Because he had no intention of giving her up.

  Oh, dear. Eva measured the length of the crack once more, writing the number down carefully in the journal. Mrs. Mansfield would not be pleased at these findings.

  Stoneacre was falling apart.

  Eva had gone over every inch of the property. Twice. In the past four days she’d crawled in the attic and inspected the foundation. She’d evaluated the exterior walls, stood on the roof. Short of removing plaster and floorboards, she’d done a thorough job in her assessment.

  One thing had become clear. The entire place needed to be rebuilt.

  Eva hated to be the one to tell Mrs. Mansfield. The older woman loved this “cottage” for sentimental reasons. Yet sentiment wouldn’t guard against the unforgiving ocean salt or the rough winds. The original builders hadn’t used quality materials to withstand all Mother Nature could dole out.

  Yet she had to tell Phillip’s mother the truth. As her father had often said, wrapping bad news in a bonbon never helped: it was still bad news at the core. Better to just get it over with.

  She checked the watch attached to her skirts. Mrs. Mansfield would just be sitting down for afternoon tea. She politely invited Eva each afternoon, but Eva usually declined, as she preferred to make the most of daylight hours instead.

  In addition to being a practical use of her time, remaining busy prevented her from thinking about Phillip.

  Yes, he’d apologized more than once for ruining their night, and she had quickly forgiven him. What else could she have done? They had to continue working together and she couldn’t lose this position. She only hoped that in time he’d come to see her as an equal, stop blaming her for every little thing. That he’d recognize her abilities and afford her a bit of proper respect.

  He thinks he’s hired your father. E. M. Hyde would have Phillip’s respect, not you.

  Give it time, she told herself. In a month or two, he’d be so enamored of her work and intelligence that she’d finally be able to deliver the news about her father’s illness. After she explained he’d undoubtedly be grateful and astounded, so much so that he’d forget any anger over her subterfuge.

  Grateful and astounded? Now you’ve really gone round the bend.

  She would need to tell him eventually. The guilt continued to eat at her, an ache in her stomach every time she saw Phillip. Yes, he was quick to temper but he could be made to see reason. He would come to understand why she’d lied, the importance of maintaining her father’s legacy.

  Just . . . not yet. A few more weeks. Then she’d tell him.

  She set off for the conservatory in the east wing, Mrs. Mansfield’s favorite room in Stoneacre. Even in structural shambles, the building was a beautiful one. She could well imagine Phillip here as a small boy, tearing through the halls and running on the back lawn. The silence now must only remind Mrs. Mansfield of what the place was lacking. Love and laughter. Activity and bustle.

  Where were Phillip’s sisters? Did they not wish to enjoy the ocean and the sun?

  And why did Eva care? Hadn’t she enough problems, with the recent trouble on the construction site, her father’s illness, and her employer’s pigheadedness?

  Had Phillip waited for her at the apartments Thursday night? Likely he hadn’t bothered, taking the opportunity to go about with Miss Hall instead, the woman he could be seen with in public.

  Pain bloomed in her chest and she resolutely pushed it down. The subterfuge had been at her insistence, after all, so no use getting upset over things she could not control. She merely wished . . . Well, she wished a great many things were different.

  She wished she did not miss him quite so much.

  I suppose constructing new properties is in my blood. Hers, too. Had she ever met a man who so thoroughly understood her passion for architecture?

  If only that understanding echoed across all facets of their relationship.

  She hadn’t decided if continuing as his lover was smart or foolhardy. That he’d purchased an entire building for their affair astonished her, though the expense was likely nothing to a man of his great wealth. The apartments felt very scandalous, very illicit . . . and she loved it.

  She blew out a breath, determined not to let this affect her. Theirs was not a long-term arrangement. Her career was flourishing and she had a real chance to make a mark for herself—as an architect, not as a wife or society hostess. Whatever happened between her and Phillip, she planned to be renowned the world over for her designs. And she’d be based in London, near her father . . . not New York.

  She nodded to the footman standing at the conservatory door. Inside, she found Phillip’s mother pouring herself tea. Her head shot up at the sound of Eva’s footsteps.

  “Miss Ashford, hello. I hadn’t thought you’d be joining me.”

  “I decided to stop by after all. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not a bit. Please.” She held out a ha
nd toward the sofa directly opposite her chair. “Have a seat and I’ll pour another cup.”

  “Thank you.” Eva settled on the soft cushions, setting her journal down beside her. The long row of glass windows stood open to allow in the most glorious ocean breeze. Though the temperature was high outside this room felt downright cool. Eva made a mental note to include something similar in the new plans.

  Mrs. Mansfield came to the point. “I notice you’ve been revisiting areas already once covered. Is there some question as to the findings?”

  Eva appreciated the woman’s astuteness. “I wanted to be certain. I do not like to make recommendations unless I’m absolutely positive of the facts.”

  “I certainly appreciate thoroughness.” The older woman sipped her tea. “And what is your recommendation in this case?”

  “You must tear it all down and build from scratch.”

  Mrs. Mansfield choked, coughing around a mouthful of tea as she set her saucer on the table. Concerned, Eva started to rise, but Phillip’s mother waved her away. “I am fine,” she rasped and then cleared her throat. “Just caught me by surprise.”

  “I apologize. I’ve often been told I am too blunt. I should have tried to soften that news.”

  “Nonsense. News is news and I’m old enough to survive the worst of it.” She wiped the edges of her eyes with a linen handkerchief. “Now, tell me why you believe this to be the case.”

  Eva went on to describe the cracks she’d discovered, both in the foundation and the walls, and why these were a problem. Then she went over the wear and tear a building can endure in this type of climate and environment, how more modern materials and techniques better guarded against the elements. Mrs. Mansfield listened intently, not saying a word.

  When she finished, Eva sat back and drained her now-tepid tea. Phillip’s mother stared out the window pensively and the silence stretched. After a few minutes, Eva worried that she’d offended the woman. Would Mrs. Mansfield rescind her offer to have Eva design the new house?