by Joanna Shupe
The realization did not sit easy with him. With two sisters and a strong mother, he’d assumed he possessed a great deal of respect for women. Hell, he regularly donated to the Women’s Suffrage Coalition of New York City. Except he hadn’t shown that side to Eva; instead he’d discouraged her at every turn. And all she’d wanted was to be treated as an equal. Seen for her talent and not her gender.
He dragged a hand through his hair. Later. He could deal with this later. Right now, Becca was his first priority.
“Becca, whomever you love is none of my business. I only wish for you to be safe and happy. Neither of those things is possible here.”
She rubbed her eyes with her fingers. “Fine. Europe then. I’ll see about a boat next week—”
“Tonight. You must go tonight.”
“I cannot possibly . . . There’s too much to organize. What of my things?”
“Do you have any sentimental items that cannot be put in a carpetbag?”
Her brow furrowed. “No, none that I recall.”
“Good. Go home and pack a light bag. No trunks, only one change of clothing. I’ll have everything else you need sent ahead to the ship. As soon as I book two passages, you and she will come to the docks in a hackney. Do not give your family a way to track you.”
“I cannot say good-bye or tell them I’m leaving?”
“I wouldn’t recommend it. They may prevent you from meeting the ship. If you’re committed to escaping New York, then cable them from Southampton when you arrive.”
She nodded. “You’re right, of course. This is all just so sudden.”
“It’s perfectly reasonable to feel overwhelmed, but I have every confidence in you, Becca. You’ll be fine. I must be certain, however. This has to be what you want.”
“To live openly and freely . . . with her? Of course that’s what I want. I don’t need to consider it.”
“Excellent. Then return home and wait for my cable. My footman will be instructed not to hand it to anyone but you.”
She touched his arm, emotion brimming in her eyes. “I will, and I cannot thank you enough. For everything. You have already done so much for me and I haven’t a clue how I shall repay this kindness.”
“No repayment necessary,” he told her. “If you are happy and well, that is all the repayment I need.”
Becca pushed up onto her toes and kissed his cheek. “You’re a good man, Phillip Mansfield. I am so grateful our parents tried to push us together.”
He laughed. “Me as well. Now, go. We’ll be in touch.”
Becca hurried from the boxing hall, leaving Phillip behind. He quickly strode to the dressing area. There were normally several steamships departing for England each day. He had to ensure Becca and her friend ended up aboard one. The sooner she left New York, the better.
That problem was easily solved. Eva, however, was another matter altogether. What they each wanted differed drastically and he wasn’t certain how to bridge that gap.
Though he did owe her an apology for the closed-minded way he’d treated her.
Was this the reason she refused to let him court her? Would an admission of his behavior change her mind?
There was only one way to find out.
Eva dashed down the front steps, ready to hail a hackney, when the sight of a familiar elegant black carriage stopped her cold.
Phillip.
Before she could decide whether to turn around or ignore him, the door opened and his bulky frame emerged. A dark brown suit highlighted his tanned skin and rugged features, a delicious package no able-bodied female would be able to resist. Least of all her.
For the sake of your career, you must try.
Long strides brought him close, his coffee-colored eyes sweeping her pale green morning dress, heating every inch of her underneath her clothing. No one had ever affected her as he did, with the ability to liquefy her insides with one glance.
She swallowed, her tongue thick. Nothing would please her more than to throw herself in his arms and kiss him right here on the street. She had missed him the past two days. The short separation had only illustrated how important he’d become in her life.
He holds your future in his very hands—both personally and professionally.
Nora was right. The question was, could Eva trust him with both? Perhaps . . . but perhaps not. Could she bet her career and future happiness on such a gamble?
“Good morning.” His tone was low and silky, his full mouth hitched in a purely masculine, purely arrogant, expression. He knew what he was doing to her, she realized, even as her nipples tightened inside her corset.
She lifted her chin. “Out for a drive?”
“No. I was waiting on you. Would you care for a ride to the construction site?”
“With you?”
His teeth, even and white, sparkled in the morning sun. “Yes, with me.”
A quick peek revealed no hacks in the vicinity, and wilting in the heat to prove a point hardly appealed. “All right. Thank you.”
Within moments, he had her settled in the cool carriage interior and they set off for downtown. “Still upset with me?” he asked, stretching out his legs to brush against hers. Tingles erupted where they touched and she didn’t immediately pull away. You’re a glutton for punishment, she told herself.
“No,” she answered, “as long as our conversation from the other evening is concluded.”
“Does it bother you so much, the idea of me courting you?”
There was a hint of insecurity in his voice, one she hadn’t heard before. “Not just you. Courting in general.”
“Yet you’ve almost married three times.”
“True, but that was before I knew what I’d be missing.” And before her father’s illness. He’d been the one to push for a marriage, not Eva. Now that his health had declined, losing her independence hardly seemed worth it.
“Ah, now we are getting somewhere. Tell me, please. What would you be missing out on if you married? Other men?”
“No!” The vehemence of her response took them both by surprise. She wished she could take it back, but there was no hope for it.
“Well, I’m certainly glad to hear that,” he said a little too smugly. “I would hate to think I wasn’t enough for you.”
She thought of his large body poised over hers, hips rocking as his shaft tunneled deep, filling her. A flutter materialized in her lower abdomen. No, he was more than enough for her. In fact, she doubted she’d ever tire of his lovemaking.
Another reason this affair was so dangerous.
She slid her legs away from him, breaking their contact. Even still, her skin burned, a phantom touch she already missed. Heavens, she was in trouble with this man.
“Who said the husband would be you?”
His lips pressed together and she couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or trying not to laugh. In a flash, he shifted to her side of the bench, crowding her with his large frame. His knuckles swept gently over her jaw. “A man can hope. Besides, I know you care for me. You never would have agreed to sleep with me otherwise.”
She opened her mouth to refute it, but could not force out the words to deny what they both knew as fact.
He continued, “And I’m not asking to marry you tomorrow. I’d merely like the opportunity to court you in public. Let everyone see that you’re mine.”
A dark thrill raced through her. Part of her liked that idea, of belonging to him. But she’d much rather belong to herself. Phillip Mansfield, the city’s beloved prince, would overshadow her.
Then she thought of walking away from him. The idea twisted hard in her chest, made it nearly impossible to breathe. She couldn’t end this, not now. What did that mean? Did she love him?
“And before you complain,” he said, “this also allows everyone to see that I am yours. We’re equals in this, Eva.”
She hadn’t considered that, and it did take the sting out of the proposition. “Equals until marriage, in which case I cease to exist.”
His palm cupped her jaw. “No, my dear woman. Marriage, in which case we join together to become something far greater than just ourselves.” He bent his head, his mouth hovering directly above hers. His breath feathered over her lips, seductive and insidious. “I’ll wait as long as necessary until you accustom yourself to the idea. Months. Years. However long you need.”
“You are relentless,” she whispered, her defenses crumbling like rotted wood.
“And be glad for it, considering your stubbornness.”
Did he mean it? Could she honestly have him and a career of her own? The proposition sounded almost too good to be true. She would need to return to England, but hopefully not too soon. Her father was stable and well cared for so, barring another injury, she had at least another month here. “You’ll not pressure me to marry you?”
He shook his head. “No pressure—but that doesn’t mean I’ve changed my mind. I’ll never give up on you, Eva.”
The words wrapped around her heart, a fragile hope that took root in her soul. She believed him, heard the truth in his voice, this man who’d never lied to her. The weight of her own lies dimmed her happiness slightly—and she decided then to finally tell him the truth. She could not begin this new stage in their relationship with the weight of her lies between them. As soon as they finished checking over the construction site, she would take him to Twenty-Fourth Street and reveal everything about her father and how the hotel plans were truly hers.
She shifted, tilting her head to kiss him, their mouths meeting and opening as she melted against him. Soft lips worked over hers, his tongue invading to stroke her own, the familiar taste of him sending a buzz beneath her skin, scorching. Burning. She would never grow tired of this, the way he made her feel.
He groaned, a deep rumbling sound, and she tried to get closer. She was restless, her hands testing the meat of his shoulders, the flat planes of his chest, the ridges of his ribs . . . anywhere she could reach. She wanted to clamber onto his lap and lift her skirts . . .
The carriage stopped, breaking through her haze. Had they arrived already? Perhaps he’d be willing to ask his driver to take another turn—
A sound outside caught her attention. Was that chanting? The words sounded angry. Spoken by a large group of men.
Leaning forward she looked through the carriage window. That’s when she saw the signs and the mob gathered just outside the construction site.
“Oh, my God.” She clutched his arm. “Phillip, the workers are on strike!”
Chapter Sixteen
A goddamn disaster. The entire thing was a goddamn disaster.
Phillip paced, so furious he wanted to kill someone. In fact, if not for Eva’s cool head, he very well might have.
Workers lined the long block in front of the construction site, chanting over “unfair” working conditions.
A fucking lie.
The conditions were far better than anywhere else. His workers were treated fairly, paid a living wage and not pennies, as some of these construction projects often did. He gave them time off. They were a diverse group, from all walks of life, hired based on ability and not any preconceived notion about ethnicity. Working conditions were safe and injuries generously compensated.
How, exactly, was that unfair?
He watched as Carew darted across Fifth Avenue, to where Phillip had been waiting for the past twenty minutes, banished. Eva had taken one look at his face upon arrival and dragged him to the opposite side of the street to cool down before making the situation worse.
Probably wise, but definitely not his style. This hotel was his baby, his masterpiece. The future of the Mansfield name. Allowing others to resolve any crisis underfoot rankled. Still, he was willing to trust her on this. Temporarily.
“Mr. Mansfield, any comment on the strike?”
He glanced down and found a reporter waiting, a journal and pencil in his hand. New York Citizen, if memory served. “No comment.”
Eva suddenly stepped in front of the reporter and steered him away from Phillip. “Hello, Mr. Murphy, is it? We have no comment at this time, but Mr. Mansfield will cable you with a printable quote before the afternoon edition goes to press.”
Murphy tipped his hat. “Thank you, ma’am. Just doin’ my job.”
“Bloodsuckers,” Phillip muttered as the reporter skulked away. “And how did you know his name?”
“He asked a question at the press conference when we broke ground.” She said this as if the answer were obvious. “Now, are you ready to hear what Alfred has learned, or are you going to continue snarling at everyone?”
He ignored the jab and faced Carew. “Well?”
Carew cleared his throat, wiped his forehead with a linen handkerchief. “I thought it might have something to do with me but, when pressed, it comes down to one issue. They’re opposed to having a woman on the site.”
Phillip swore creatively, raising brows from both Eva and his engineer. Eva put a hand on his arm, addressing Carew. “How is that an unfair working condition?”
“Same thing Milliken’s always claimed. That it’s dangerous and distracting.”
“Christ,” Phillip muttered and dragged a hand through his hair. “That is ridiculous.”
“The union is citing the three recent injuries as examples.”
“But I wasn’t even there!” Eva exclaimed. In the past two weeks, three men had suffered various injuries. Eva hadn’t been present during any of them.
“This is ridiculous,” Phillip repeated. “I cannot believe the union is allowing this. I should fire every man out here picketing and hire scabs to finish the job.”
“I, uh . . .” Carew wiped his brow once more. “I ascertained that someone powerful is behind the union’s decision. Someone with a grudge against you.”
Fuck. Keene and the boys at Tammany Hall. Phillip would bet his life on it.
A carriage rolled to a stop at the curb. Gabriel, his assistant, exited first, followed by a well-dressed man. Mr. Frank Tripp was Phillip’s longtime attorney, one of the best in the city. Placing his derby on his head, Tripp cast a glance at the chaos across the street before joining Phillip and the others. “Now I see the urgency of your cable,” he said, shaking Phillip’s hand. “You’ve got quite a mess on your hands.”
“Frank Tripp, this is Miss Ashford, the architect’s representative, and Mr. Carew, my superintendent. Mr. Tripp is my attorney,” he told Eva and Carew.
Handshakes were traded and then Carew filled Tripp in on what they’d learned about the reasons behind the strike. “Ah. So you’re the troublemaker?” Tripp said to Eva, a teasing smile on his face.
“She’s done nothing wrong,” Phillip snapped, even more irritated for some reason. “The whole thing is Tammany’s ploy to get me to buckle to their demands.” Milliken’s betrayal in participating in the strike was another matter altogether. Phillip would be having harsh words with his general contractor at his first opportunity.
“And what were these demands?” Tripp asked.
“To hire their crews for the job instead of bringing others in from the outside.”
“They’re clearly hoping you’ll use their scabs to break the lines and get work back under way.”
“That’s my assumption, but I have absolutely no intention of doing so.”
“But that doesn’t explain why Milliken is striking. Wouldn’t he want to keep his own workers on the job?” Eva asked.
“Unless he’s being paid handsomely to strike by this powerful backer,” Carew said.
Tripp held up a hand. “Let’s deal with the immediate problems first. We need to get some Pinkertons down here to keep the peace and guard the site. You don’t want another B&O strike on your hands.”
The B&O Railway strike in ’77 had been long and bloody. Thousands of workers had laid waste to materials, buildings, and equipment, and then resisted the federal troops brought in to secure the peace. The idea of it happening here caused a shiver to run down Phillip’s spine.
Looking to his secretary, he said, “Gabriel, inform the Pinkerton office of what’s happening. Hire as many as they deem necessary.”
The young man nodded, writing the directive down in a small pad.
“Good,” Tripp said. “Now, I think we should sit down and try to negotiate as soon as possible.”
Eva spoke up. “I agree—and I’d like to be the one at the table.”
“Absolutely not,” Phillip instantly replied. “Why would we put the very issue they object to at the table?”
“Wait a minute, Mansfield.” Tripp held up a hand. “I’d like to hear the lady’s reasoning. Why would you be the best person to iron this out, Miss Ashford?”
“People fear what they don’t know. If we show them I am competent and reasonable, they’ll back down.”
“You hope,” Phillip said. “That is a huge gamble on a very expensive project.”
She angled toward him, her expression serious. “I have a lot to lose, every bit as much as you do, if this falls through.”
“I highly doubt that.”
Hurt flashed over her features before she masked it. “If you don’t send me, they’ll assume it’s because you agree with them, that you believe I’m not capable of doing my job. The only way to show them they’re wrong is to let me be there.”
Tripp chuckled. “Oh, I like this woman. You are as devious as they come, Miss Ashford.” High praise coming from Tripp, who could wriggle his way out of any legal argument known to man.
Phillip ignored his attorney and addressed Eva. “I still don’t care for the idea. How do you know they’ll even agree to a meeting if you’re involved?”
“They’ll have no choice,” Eva said, her chin lifting with confidence. “When they see who we hire as scabs, they’ll be anxious to get back to work.”
He was almost afraid to ask. “And who are we hiring?”
“I don’t want to say just yet. I need to do some research, see if the idea is even plausible.”
A knot formed in Phillip’s stomach. This situation was careening out of his control, and he didn’t care for it. Not one bit. “Do not do anything without my approval.”