by Joanna Shupe
A small shape moved one instant before a woman launched herself at him. Eva. His arms banded around her, holding her tight in case she changed her mind. He breathed her in, the familiar smell of earth and her flowery scent like heaven after all these days. God, he’d missed her.
Her face buried into his throat, she mumbled, “I cannot believe you did that. You’re utterly mad!”
“I meant what I said. I did not shut down the site as a ploy to get you back.” Though that would certainly be a nice side effect, one he would not turn down. “I did it because you deserve to be treated equally.”
He heard her drag in a shaky breath. “And I am grateful. That was the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you.”
Pride filled him as he hugged her. “You are quite welcome.”
She withdrew, unwinding her arms from his neck, and he forced himself to let her go. Disappointment filled him as he shoved his hands in his trouser pockets, waiting.
“Did you see? Almost all of them went back to work. Hardly any of the men cared that I’m a woman.”
“I figured the majority didn’t care, that there were only a few bad apples in the group. Frankly, I should have fired Milliken as soon as he voiced his first complaint about you. I’m sorry, Eva.”
“You are forgiven. For all of it.”
“I am?”
“Yes. I am sorry I deceived you about the plans. I was certain you’d never hire me otherwise. Also, the longer I hid my father’s illness the better chance I had of securing more projects in his name.”
“I had no idea your finances were so dire. Why did you not tell me?”
She bit her lip and looked away. “I didn’t want anyone to know. My father was a brilliant architect but incompetent when it came to money. And now with his care . . .” She shrugged. “I’ll find a way to keep us afloat.”
He didn’t doubt it. Eva could do anything if she set her mind to it. He’d never met a woman more determined or resourceful.
Marry me and I’ll help you.
The words were on the tip of his tongue. Yet he withheld them. He’d asked her before and her refusal had been clear. Just because they were here did not mean she had changed her mind about marriage.
Though he would wear her down eventually. Losing her once more was not an option.
“I know you will,” he said, “and anything you need, merely ask. I’ll give you anything.”
Her lids swept down and she peeked up through dark lashes. “Anything?”
“Yes, anything.”
“Will you give me another chance?”
His heart thumped, blood racing at the idea. “To resume our affair?”
“If you like.” She drew closer, laying her palm on his vest. “Or perhaps more.”
“Such as?” The need to touch her burned through him, his muscles clenching at the effort to remain still. He had to discover what she meant first. “Courting?”
“Is that what you want?”
“I want to marry you, but I’ll take whatever you’re offering.” His cock was rapidly swelling, her nearness affecting him like no other woman ever had. He longed to press his body to hers, to feel her softness against him.
Her fingers trailed over his jaw and up his cheek, threading into his hair. “Why do you want to marry me?”
Is that what she’d needed? A proper proposal in which he bared his feelings?
Without missing a beat, he dropped down onto one knee and took her hand. “Because I never dreamed I’d find a woman like you, one with intelligence and fortitude. One who loves architecture as much as I do. One who knows how to ease my mal de mer with a simple touch. You’ve captivated me from the moment we met and I don’t ever want to be apart, not for one single day. I love you and I need you by my side. That is why I must marry you. Please, marry me, Eva. I promise I’ll learn to compromise and never block you from the sun.”
She said nothing, just stared down at him with wide eyes. He grew nervous as the seconds stretched. Wasn’t she supposed to say something?
Embarrassment washed over him. She remained mute and he felt like a fool. He started to push up.
“No, wait,” she said, stopping him. “I hadn’t expected all that. I’m . . . well, I’m flabbergasted. I merely wanted to hear if you loved me or not.”
First he hadn’t said enough . . . and now he’d said too much?
“I love you,” he said again. “I’ll say it as many times you’d like, if you’ll marry me.”
She covered her mouth with her hand, eyes brimming with emotion. “I will want to build my career as an architect.”
He tried to contain his grin as he rose. “As well you should—and I’ll not stop you.”
“And my father? I’d like to bring him here.”
“Of course. He’ll have the best care available.”
She took in a deep breath. “I have three dead fiancés. Are you certain you are willing to risk being number four?”
He couldn’t help but chuckle at that feeble argument. Cupping her face in his hands, he said, “I don’t believe for a second that you’re cursed. Furthermore, I plan to stay alive for many years, long enough to grow old with you and our children.”
Her gaze watery and bright, she nodded. “Then yes, I’ll marry you.”
“Thank God.” Bending his head, he kissed her for a long moment, relief and promise in every shared breath.
When they finally drew apart, she tilted her head thoughtfully. “I’ve been Lady Unlucky for so long. What will everyone call me now?”
“They’ll call you Eva Mansfield, the most talented architect in the world.”
“I like that. But don’t you mean the most talented female architect in the world?”
“No, I don’t. My wife will outshine every other architect, no matter the sex.”
Grabbing his necktie, she began walking backward, dragging him toward the bedroom. “I like that answer. But right now, your future wife would like to demonstrate her talents in other important areas . . .”
Epilogue
Two years and four months later
It had taken them four months longer than expected to hold the grand opening of the Mansfield Hotel in New York City.
The reason had nothing to do with schedules or strikes, but instead a chubby little angel named Edward Mansfield, who’d been born just as construction finished. The hotel owner, and baby’s father, had insisted on pushing back the opening celebration, refusing to host it until the architect had recovered from the birth and was able to attend.
It hardly needed to be said, but Eva loved her husband to distraction.
“I cannot wait to see all Mr. Doyle has done in the last few months,” she said as the carriage brought them downtown, her body nearly vibrating with excitement.
“I think you’ll be quite pleased.” Her husband held her hand, his large fingers laced with hers. “He’s honored your extraordinary design.”
“I wish my father could see this.”
Edward Michael Hyde, Lord Cassell, had passed away six months ago. Eva had been heartbroken that her father would never see her finished work. She missed him dearly, though his memory had only deteriorated further after coming to New York. It had been Phillip’s suggestion to name their son Edward, and Eva had readily agreed.
“I know, sweetheart.” Phillip squeezed her hand. “But he knows. Wherever he is, he knows.”
Tears threatened and she beat them back. No crying allowed tonight. She tried to lighten the mood. “Edward would have enjoyed this. I still think we should’ve brought him.”
Phillip shook his head as he leaned in to kiss her cheek. “I want you all to myself tonight. It has been too long, Eva.”
A shiver worked its way down her spine at his husky words. “Considering there will be four hundred guests tonight, I hardly think you’ll have me to yourself.”
He merely hummed and turned his gaze toward the window.
The carriage slowed and she spotted the hotel’
s cornerstone, a sight that still choked her up. Phillip had insisted her name, not her father’s, was inscribed on the stone, right beneath his own name. Our legacy, he’d told her at the time, which had caused her to cry happy tears.
They arrived at the edge of the red carpet streaming under the portico. Well-dressed New Yorkers were lined up at the entrance, eager to see the inside of the world’s finest hotel.
The exterior had been finished months ago, the design everything Eva had envisioned. And the result had rendered her speechless. It was truly one of a kind, with amenities the world hadn’t yet seen in a hotel, such as bathrooms and electricity for each room. Despite this, the newspapers had expressed doubt that the rooms would actually rent. They called it “Mansfield’s Folly,” and had openly mocked the owner.
Fools. No one should’ve ever doubted Phillip Mansfield. As of yesterday, the hotel was sold out, every room booked, through the end of next year. In fact, the King of Prussia was expected this week.
Friends and society members, dignitaries and politicians, bombarded them on the red carpet. It seemed everyone of import was attending the opening gala. Mr. Weller had given Eva a hearty handshake and his congratulations from the city’s buildings department. Even Debs and Gray from the labor union were here, accepting praise from guests as if they hadn’t been trying to shut the whole thing down.
Mr. Doyle waited for Eva and Phillip just inside the front door. They all shook hands and then Doyle proceeded to give them a tour of the interior. Phillip had seen it all already, of course, so it was really just for Eva’s benefit.
And she was suitably impressed. Doyle had a bold flair, one that suited the structure well. The common rooms were eye-catching yet comfortable. Her favorite was the Turkish smoking room, done in a Moorish style with mosaics, ancient suits of armor, and heavy reds.
“This is outstanding work,” she told Mr. Doyle. “I almost want to live here.”
Doyle beamed at her praise. “Thank you. It has been a labor of love. I am very fond of the place as well.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Eva saw a woman striding toward them. “Becca!”
Doyle excused himself to see to his grand opening duties just as a grinning Rebecca Hall joined them. Her skin fairly glowed under the soft electric lights, her hair twisted high on her head. “Mr. and Mrs. Mansfield, hello.”
“None of that formality, not from you.” Phillip embraced the woman. “Paris clearly suits you. I’ve never seen you look happier.”
“I am,” she confirmed. “Leaving New York was the best decision I ever made.”
Now Eva’s turn, she kissed Becca’s cheek. “Well, we are so pleased you returned for the grand opening.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it for anything, even without your assurance that my father won’t be attending.”
“He was definitely not on the guest list,” Phillip drawled. “He’s been quiet since he learned I hold his financial ruin in the palm of my hand.”
“I wish I’d seen his face.” Becca sighed wistfully. “Oh, congratulations on your son. I heard the news this morning.”
“Thank you,” Eva said. “Please come and visit him tomorrow, if you’d like.”
The head of the hotel, Oscar Boldt, approached. Phillip had lured the legendary maître d’hôtel away from Delmonico’s to run the Mansfield Hotel. Eva had quickly seen why, as the Swiss man was a force of nature himself. Even before construction had finished, Boldt had weighed in on improvements to strengthen the appeal of the hotel, such as including a more varied menu in the restaurant and allowing women to enter unescorted. How can a hotel designed by a woman not allow women to enjoy it as well? he’d said.
“Oscar,” Eva said after introducing him to Becca. “Everything is lovely. You and the staff have outdone yourselves.”
The maître d’hôtel preened under her praise. “That is my job, madam. Mr. Mansfield expects nothing less than perfection.”
Phillip grinned, clapping Oscar on the back. “I do, and you’ve made me very proud tonight. The crowd is sure to be impressed.”
“I do hope so. The performance should start in twenty minutes,” he told them, then addressed Phillip directly. “Everything is as you requested, sir.”
“Excellent. Thank you, Oscar.”
The maître d’hôtel hurried away, on to more important tasks, and Becca excused herself to see old acquaintances. Eva accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. “Well, husband. Shall we find our seats for the performance?” The New York Symphony Society was set to play for the crowd, followed by a lavish meal in the dining room. Eva had seen the elaborate menu and she could hardly wait.
Phillip took her elbow. “I have a better idea.” He began leading her toward the private elevator in back, one that only royalty and heads of state would use once the hotel opened. This elevator, powered by the generator in the sub-basement, led to the very best suites within the hotel.
“Where are we going?” She glanced over her shoulder as they left the chaos behind. “Shouldn’t we continue to shake hands? Don’t you want to revel in your success?”
He nodded to the elevator operator as they stepped inside the steel cage. The operator closed the opening and then set the lever, whisking them upward.
Phillip glanced down at her. “It’s your success every bit as much as mine. Would you like to stay down there, accepting your congratulations?”
“No, I don’t need to stay. I design for the joy of it, not the public adulation. But I thought you’d love that, considering how hard you struggled to get it done.” Between the baby and the hotel, they’d both run themselves ragged in the past two years. She had also overseen Stoneacre’s redesign, which was shaping into one of Newport’s most stunning properties.
“Oscar and Doyle will see it all handled,” he said enigmatically as the elevator came to rest on the second floor.
The steel opened and Phillip led her toward the state apartments, ten lavish suites designed for the most important guests at the hotel. Each was decorated in the style of a famous European palace or landmark. She, Phillip, and Doyle had chosen these ten locations together during a long dinner at Sherry’s, one of her very favorite memories of the entire process.
Phillip unlocked the Francois I Suite, decorated in the style of the Château de Fontainebleau in France. “Why are we going in here?”
He merely held the door open and waved her inside. “I am surprising you. That’s what we are doing.”
Surprising her? She stepped inside the suite’s drawing room, an Italian Renaissance delight, and stopped short. A small dining table with two chairs had been set up in the middle of the space. Covered dishes rested on the surface, along with candles and a small arrangement of flowers.
The click of the lock regained her attention. She turned to find Phillip leaning against the wall, hands in his trouser pockets, eyes locked on her face.
“I don’t understand. We’re having dinner here?”
He began closing the distance between them, a predatory gleam in his gaze that she hadn’t seen in many months. Not since before she’d grown heavy with Edward. A thrill raced through her, along her thighs, settling between her legs.
“We’ll eat dinner later. For now, I thought we’d examine the bed. Ensure it’s up to the standards of the hotel.”
“Oh, so this is about the hotel,” she teased.
He caught her around the waist and pulled her tight to his frame. “Not in the least. This is about having my wife to myself. Pleasuring her until she can’t possibly take any more.”
She clung to his shoulders as he dragged his nose along her temple, inhaling her. “But there are hundreds of people downstairs. What would they say if they knew you were shirking your duties as owner to bed your wife?”
“They’d say I’m the luckiest man in New York City.” Bending, he caught his arm under her knees and lifted her up, carrying her to the bedroom. “And they’d be right.”
Author’s Note
&nbs
p; Every now and again, a historical tidbit will spark my creativity. Such was the case for Eva and Phillip’s story. My dear friend Diana Quincy mentioned in passing one day that the architect of Hearst Castle, built by William Randolph Hearst at the tail end of the Gilded Age, was a woman. Skeptic that I am, I had to look this up immediately. Yes, in fact the architect was Julia Morgan, the first woman architect licensed in California. My mind was blown and the basis for Eva’s character was born.
Architecture is not something I am familiar with, so many hours were spent researching techniques and engineering of the day. The most detailed information I could find was on the building of the Empire State Building, built in 1930. I have taken artistic license to apply some of the figures and details of that project to the Mansfield Hotel (which wouldn’t have been nearly as high as the ESB).
All the errors are my own.
Acknowledgments
My sincere thanks to Michele Mannon, Diana Quincy, and JB Schroeder for their help with the shipboard romance and with shaping Phillip’s character.
Thank you to Tessa Woodward for loving Phillip and Eva as much as I do and helping to strengthen their story. Also thanks to Laura Bradford for all her expert guidance and support.
My deepest gratitude to the team at Avon Books, especially Elle Keck, Pamela Jaffe, and Angela Craft, for all you do for my books.
As always, thank you to the Gilded Lilies for sharing my enthusiasm for this time period (as well as Justin Trudeau photos). And I’m so grateful to all the readers, bloggers, reviewers, and authors who help to spread the word about romance. You are all rock stars.
Lastly, love and thanks to my family, especially my husband, who is my best friend and biggest supporter. Couldn’t do it without you, babe.
A Notorious Vow
In the gilded world of The Four Hundred, love is never simple. Don’t miss the next breathtaking romance from Joanna Shupe,
A NOTORIOUS VOW
Coming Fall 2018