by Joanna Shupe
And she was marrying him. For mercy’s sake, how could she walk down the aisle?
She thought of her investment firm, of her office on Beaver Street. The one dream she’d had for years. If she didn’t go through with the wedding, she’d never succeed. If she were shrouded in scandal, failure would be guaranteed. Will had been right; she might not like society’s rules, but she could not change them, not now.
Remember the man who took you to see your office, she told herself. Emmett had been kind and solicitous on that trip. Respectful. Excited to show her the space he was readying for her. The fragile hope she’d clung to since then resurfaced, allowing her to take a deep breath. Perhaps this marriage would flourish in the end.
Edith appeared at Lizzie’s side. “You look beautiful,” her friend said, and squeezed Lizzie’s arm. “Are you certain you want to go through with this?”
Lizzie shook out her gloved hands, trying to rid herself of the nerves. “Yes,” she said, though she didn’t necessarily believe it. If there were another way out of this mess, she would’ve figured it out by now.
“Well, I will stand by you no matter what you decide,” Edith whispered seriously. “I still don’t believe you want this marriage.”
“I have no choice. The deed is very nearly done.”
“It’s not over until after the wedding night,” Edith said pointedly, then stepped back to her place in line as the maid of honor.
The mention of the wedding night sent panic through every part of Lizzie’s body. She put a hand to her middle, took deep breaths, and willed her stomach to calm.
“Everything is going to be fine.” Will placed a large hand on the small of her back, steadying her. “Remember, Sloanes aren’t quitters.”
She stared at her brother, so handsome in his gray morning coat and matching trousers. She needed his strength and reassurance, just as she had when she was a little girl. “Will, I don’t know if I can do this.”
He grabbed her hand, his expression calm. “Lizzie, you have no choice. It’s done. All you need to do is walk to the front of the church and repeat your vows.”
“I hardly know him.”
“You’ll be fine. Cavanaugh takes his responsibilities seriously. He’ll take care of you, as he’s done with his brother and two younger sisters.”
“I don’t want to be a responsibility,” she said, her voice rising. I want him to love me, she thought, even though such a thing would likely never happen. She might as well hope to be given a seat on the stock exchange.
“You know what I mean. He won’t hurt you; I swear it. But you may always come to me, Lizzie. I’m here for you. No matter what happens with Cavanaugh, I’ll support you in whatever you need.”
The organ music swelled, robbing her of the ability to answer. The bridesmaids and ushers started down the aisle. She closed her eyes and dragged in as much air as her corset allowed. The time had arrived.
She felt Will’s arms go around her in a tight hug. “Lizzie, you’re the smartest, bravest woman I know,” he said softly in her ear. “It’s been my honor and privilege to see you grow up, to watch you evolve into the woman you’ve become. And I’m sorry that our parents are not here to see it as well. They would be just as proud of you as I am right now. I love you, runt.”
Tears welled, and she concentrated on not ruining Will’s perfectly starched white shirt. She couldn’t answer, so she hugged him back.
Will spoke to someone nearby, then said to her, “They’re waiting for us.”
Exhaling, she pulled away from her brother and smoothed her cream satin gown. Trimmed simply with Duchesse-point lace, the gown was low on her neck with elbow-length sleeves. The train, sewn with hundreds upon hundreds of tiny pearls and edged with orange blossoms, opened to a jaw-dropping ninety inches. Lizzie had argued the garment too extravagant, but Will had insisted, saying, “Appearances must be maintained.”
He’d also instructed Lord & Taylor to spare no expense on her trousseau. Some of the lingerie had made her blush. To actually wear those pieces? Mortifying.
“It’ll work out,” Will said quietly. He fluffed her tulle veil that was attached to a wreath of natural orange blossoms. “You shall see, Lizzie.”
Palms gone damp inside her gloves, she clutched her bouquet of white roses and lilies of the valley, and concentrated on not tripping as they started down the aisle. Familiar, curious gazes followed her path. Friends and acquaintances she’d known all her life, each one likely wondering why she was marrying Emmett Cavanaugh today. Not that she knew the answer.
A man stepped forward, and Lizzie’s lungs seized, robbing her of breath. Emmett. A dove-colored tailcoat covered his broad shoulders, while a stark, white tie graced his throat. His hair had been oiled, highlighting his chiseled features, and his near-black stare focused only on her. Her stomach fluttered, his intense concentration both disarming and flattering. How could he, in a crowd of hundreds, make her feel like the only woman on earth?
He did not look hesitant or unhappy. He looked . . . proud. Confident. As if he had no misgivings whatsoever about what was taking place. But then, he usually appeared as such, like the world bowed to his whims, not the other way around.
Did he expect the same obedience from her?
He came down the few steps to meet her. Lizzie’s panic flared once more, and her feet faltered. Will held steadfast, clutching her hand where it rested on his arm, to ensure she didn’t fall on her face.
They stopped at the base of the stairs where Will bent to kiss her cheek. He uncurled her fingers from his forearm, and presented her to Emmett. She waited for some reaction, some hint as to what Emmett was thinking as he led her up the steps, but he’d become unreadable.
“Relax,” Emmett said for her ears alone. “You aren’t being led to the gallows.”
She stiffened but, before she knew it, they were kneeling on the small bench, and the rector began speaking. The ceremony was short and to the point, though Lizzie would never remember it in the years to come. All she could think about was the large, enigmatic man at her side. Why was he doing this? Where had he been the last few weeks?
When they finished reciting the words binding them together, Lizzie was too numb to worry about what followed. So when Emmett lifted her veil, leaned in, and kissed her, she had no defenses in place. This was no mere brush of the lips, either. His mouth lingered on hers, warm and deliberate, the kiss embarrassingly thorough. Lizzie wasn’t fooled; this was a show of possession in front of New York society. A way to prove they were truly married.
He finally pulled back, and she caught the burning fervor in his eyes, one she hadn’t seen since the dinner at Sherry’s. Before he turned her to the crowd, he put his lips near her ear. “You’re mine.”
* * *
From across the ballroom, Emmett watched as his new wife wobbled slightly. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes overly bright. All the signs were there, he thought, drumming his fingers on the table. He was certainly no teetotaler, but he did not wish for a drunken bride.
Not today. Not when he had plans for her later.
He signaled a waiter. “Please see that Mrs. Cavanaugh is not served any more champagne,” he said quietly. The waiter nodded and disappeared into the crowd to carry out the master of house’s order.
Over three-hundred guests had crammed into Emmett’s home for the reception, and no expense had been spared. The house was decorated completely in white, from the thousands of white roses on every surface to the white satin chair backs. White Limoges china and crystal goblets flown in from France. There were complicated ice sculptures and even a champagne fountain. Delmonico’s had provided the eight-course dinner as well as the six-tiered white wedding cake.
Emmett had planned the reception himself, hiring a small army to see it done. Sloane had offered to contribute, but Emmett refused. This day reflected on him as much as the Sloanes, perhaps more so, and he’d wanted all of New York to choke on how far this Five Points thug had risen. Besides, there
were other, more public ways of driving Sloane to the poorhouse than a wedding reception.
Like stripping Northeast Railroad out of Sloane’s hands.
Emmett’s gaze returned to his wife. Definitely drunk. For the last hour, she’d circulated through the guests, hardly taking the time to eat, let alone speak to her husband. He’d kept his eyes on her, though. That’s how he knew when she began weaving on her feet.
“You keep staring at her like that, she’s likely to go up in flames,” his brother murmured at his side.
Emmett frowned pointedly at Brendan. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten your part in this.”
Brendan lifted his hands, palms out. “How was I to know someone would send her brother to discover the two of you? I thought one harmless dinner—”
“In a private dining room set up for me and my mistress. Indeed, how could anything go wrong?” Emmett swallowed the rest of his drink, slammed the empty tumbler back on the table.
Brendan chuckled. “You still compromised her, dear brother.”
Yes, Emmett had kissed her. That hardly seemed enough to warrant marriage. “Well, you’ve gotten your wish. Claire and Katie’s coming out is all but guaranteed. Is there anything else I can do for you, dear brother?”
“Yes, you can collect your bride and start your honeymoon.”
Honeymoon. A sizzle slid over Emmett’s skin, the heat working its way to his balls. He’d have Elizabeth all to himself for two weeks. She might appear reserved and proper, a buttoned-up blue blood, but that exterior melted away when he kissed her. She became a live electric wire in his hands, a shock of raw passion unlike any he’d ever experienced. And he meant to have every bit of that passion.
“These were a nice touch, by the way.” Brendan lifted the expensive Cuban cigar wrapped in a one-hundred-dollar bill. Each male guest had received one, while every woman at the reception had received a gold-and-emerald Tiffany bracelet. Lavish, but a necessary statement.
Emmett might not have been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, but he could buy and sell these Knickerbockers ten times over.
He noticed Elizabeth sway once more. “I think I’ll fetch Mrs. Cavanaugh.”
Brendan slapped Emmett’s shoulder. “See you in two weeks. And congratulations, Emmett. She’s a smart, funny, and attractive woman. I think you’ve met your match in her.”
Though he didn’t need it, Emmett was glad of Brendan’s approval, since they would all be living together when Emmett and Elizabeth returned from Newport. Emmett rose and left the ballroom for the adjoining hall, where he found Kelly lurking around the corner.
“Are we ready to depart?” Emmett asked.
“Sure thing, Bish. Just tell me when. But I figured you’d want to hang around your fancy guests some more.”
“No, I’d like to get going before dusk.”
Kelly’s lips twitched. “Anxious for tonight, are you?”
“Go to hell,” he said, though the words lacked heat. Kelly was right, and no use arguing it. “I’ll inform Elizabeth that we’re leaving.”
“I’ll pull the carriage around.” Kelly pushed off the wall and started for the back of the house.
Emmett pivoted—only to discover Will Sloane directly behind him, a deep scowl on the other man’s face. Emmett folded his arms across his chest. “I wondered when you’d find me, Sloane.”
Sloane stalked forward, shifting around the corner where they wouldn’t be overheard. “I’ll be checking on her, ensuring she’s happy. And if you don’t make her happy, there will be hell to pay, Cavanaugh.”
Emmett would have laughed, if he hadn’t been so disgusted at the hypocrisy. He couldn’t wait to bury this man.
He stepped closer and snarled, “Spare me your sack of shit. If you were concerned at all with her happiness, you wouldn’t have forced this marriage. You wouldn’t have blackmailed me by threatening to ruin my sisters unless I married yours.”
“You left me no goddamn choice,” Sloane fired back, not backing down. “You attacked her in a private dining salon with half of New York society one floor below.”
Emmett threw his head back and gave a disbelieving laugh. “I attacked her? Is that what you’ve told yourself in order to sleep at night? Your sister practically begged me to kiss her.”
Sloane’s entire body went rigid. “You bastard. Do not even imply that she is not pure.”
“I don’t give a damn whether she’s pure or not,” Emmett said with a malevolent smile. “But I do intend on finding out the answer tonight.”
Sloane’s nostrils flared, and he closed his eyes briefly. “You are crude and disgusting, Cavanaugh.” He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets, possibly to keep from hitting Emmett. “You don’t deserve her.”
No argument there, Emmett thought. The differences between him and his new wife were glaringly apparent to everyone. The two of them had, however, stood before man and God today to pledge until death do they part, so Sloane could shove his opinion up his own ass.
“I might not deserve her, but I have her, Sloane. And there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.” Brushing past the other man, Emmett stalked to the ballroom. The time had come to retrieve his bride and get the hell out of here.
* * *
Lizzie could no longer feel her toes. Whether the numbness resulted from the champagne or her tight wedding shoes, she could not say.
The entire day had been surreal. First the wedding, then the ride uptown with Emmett—who had been unnaturally subdued after the ceremony—to this extravagant reception that paraded both the wealth and power of Emmett Cavanaugh.
Her husband.
She had married him. The idea hadn’t yet sunk in, but one glance at her wedding gown confirmed the event had transpired. What happened now? Lizzie hardly knew what to say, how to act. What did he expect from her? No one had prepared her for the wedding day, let alone the wedding night. Women of her class never talked about what happened in the bedroom. She had a vague understanding, but the hot, intense stare Emmett leveled at her as she moved about the ballroom made her even more nervous. The best course of action had seemed to avoid him.
“Hello, Mrs. Cavanaugh.”
A handsome man and a young red-haired woman suddenly stood in front of her. She searched her muzzy brain for a name. “Mr. Harper. And Mrs. Harper. Thank you both so much for coming.” Mr. Harper was one of Emmett and Will’s business acquaintances and the owner of the New American Bank. He’d recently married himself, having met Mrs. Harper on a train. The two were a strikingly adorable couple.
Mrs. Harper boldly grabbed Lizzie’s hand, pumped it a few times. “I know we met in the receiving line, Mrs. Cavanaugh, but that wasn’t anything substantial. Certainly not enough to get a feel for a person. I told Ted that we must have you and Mr. Cavanaugh over for dinner soon. I can’t believe he decided to get married—and to someone from such an impressive family!”
She paused for a breath, and her husband smiled at her indulgently. He must be used to the way his wife talked, as if she had to get everything out as quickly as possible. “What Mrs. Harper means,” he said, “is that we’re very happy for the both of you. From what I’ve seen today, I think you will bring some much needed joy to Emmett’s world.”
Lizzie certainly hoped so. Before she could answer, Mrs. Harper blurted, “And that kiss at the church!” She fanned herself. “Oh, my. I thought half the ladies in attendance would faint.”
Heat engulfed Lizzie. Embarrassment aside, she decided she liked Mrs. Harper. Hard to hate a woman who said exactly what she was thinking, with no filter of any kind. Mrs. Harper reminded Lizzie of Edith. “Thank you both for the kind words. I would love to come to dinner.”
“Oh, excellent.” Mrs. Harper beamed. “Maybe you’d call one afternoon, as well? Ted’s house is so big, and I’m not used to having that much space. I lived in a boardinghouse before I married him. Did you know that?”
“No,” Lizzie answered honestly. “I didn’t.”
&n
bsp; “Come visit me, and I’ll tell you the entire story,” Mrs. Harper said.
“I’d like that,” Lizzie said. “And please, call me Lizzie.”
Mrs. Harper blinked a few times, and Lizzie thought the woman might cry. “Thank you. And you must call me Clara.”
“It was lovely to meet you, Clara, Mr. Harper. I do hope you enjoy the rest of the afternoon.”
“Before we go,” Mr. Harper said, “Emmett has told me of your new venture. If you ever need help or credit, please don’t hesitate to contact me at the bank.”
The offer was unexpected and extremely generous. Moreover, he hadn’t belittled or discouraged her. “Thank you, Mr. Harper. I just may do that.”
The couple said their good-byes and moved back into the crowd. As Lizzie turned, she glimpsed Emmett rising from their table and striding toward the exit. His long-legged, confident gait ate up the ground beneath him. Heads turned as he passed—remarkable when one considered the room was stuffed with dignitaries, industrialists, and the crème of society—and she wondered if they saw what she did: Power. Intelligence. Unrelenting drive. Combining these qualities with his all-too handsome face, she could hardly stand to look away.
Then she noticed someone else headed in the same direction, and her stomach knotted. Will. And the expression on her brother’s face did not bode well. Was he following Emmett?
Lizzie hurried after her brother, intent on discovering the problem and possibly preventing a brawl. Her dress hindered her a bit, and by the time she stepped into the corridor, she heard two angry male voices.
“. . . and if you don’t make her happy, there will be hell to pay, Cavanaugh.”
Lizzie nearly smiled. Will had always been protective of her, oftentimes too much so. She opened her mouth to intervene, but her husband’s furious words stopped her cold.
“Spare me your sack of shit. If you were concerned at all with her happiness, you wouldn’t have forced this marriage. You wouldn’t have blackmailed me by threatening to ruin my sisters unless I married yours.”