Magnate by Joanna Shupe (12)

Chapter Twelve

Emmett flew down the building’s steps, fear piercing his chest like a hot poker. Dark thoughts of Elizabeth stranded and half-frozen in an overturned carriage flitted through his mind. Why had Graham allowed her to leave in a storm such as this? Emmett would be having words with his butler at his very first opportunity.

He yanked open her inner office door and almost fell to his knees in relief. Elizabeth stood in front of the windows, her willowy frame clad in a perfectly styled lilac shirtwaist and matching skirt. She was here. Oh, thank Christ.

She spun around at the sound, hand clutching her throat. “Emmett. You scared the life out of me.”

“What in the hell are you doing?” he shouted, anger and annoyance replacing anything else he’d been feeling.

One blond brow rose. “And a good day to you as well, husband.” She returned her gaze to the window, dismissing him, and Emmett exhaled.

He thrust his hands on his hips and tried to get control of his rioting emotions. “I apologize. I did not realize you had gone out in this weather until I spoke with Brendan. I was concerned.”

“As you can see, I am perfectly fine.”

Yes, he had definitely noticed. He walked to the windows, which held the same view as his, only closer to the ground. “Why in God’s name would you travel all the way down here on a day like today?”

“Because the snow wasn’t nearly this considerable when I set out. I never dreamed it would come down this hard.”

They both watched through the glass as the flakes continued to stream down. It was like nothing Emmett had ever seen.

“What time did you leave ho—the house?” He’d almost said “home,” but it wasn’t truly her home. Merely a temporary residence until she walked out.

“A few minutes past dawn. I wonder if the coachman returned safely,” she murmured.

“I can find out, if you wish.” He propped a shoulder against the cold panes. “Why haven’t you set a fire?”

“There’s no coal. I hadn’t thought to have some brought up before now.”

Guilt clogged his throat. He should have seen to that. “Come up to my office, then, to stay warm.”

She flicked him an apprehensive glance. “I’m fine. The radiators are still hot. As soon as it lets up I’m leaving.”

“The hell you are,” he said sharply. “Not with these winds. It’s too dangerous. The lines will start coming down soon enough. And what happens if you get stuck somewhere?”

“Well, I cannot stay here. Maybe I’ll walk over to the Astor House—”

“Which is where every other pad-shover, trader, and broker will already be camped out. It will be chaotic and unsafe. You are not leaving this building, Elizabeth.”

“You don’t have the right to order me about,” she bit out, her shoulders growing tight. “If I want to leave, that’s my own choice.”

“I absolutely have the right to order you about—a legal right as well as a moral one. You are not staying in this cold office or leaving the building until this blows over.”

She stared him down, resentment brightening the silver depths of her eyes. “And if I refuse?”

He leaned forward, saying in a deliberately calm, slow manner, “Then I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you up two flights of stairs.”

Sighing, she faced the windows once more, as if hoping to see the sun burst through the layer of white. “Is anyone else in the building?”

Emmett hadn’t thought of anyone other than her, but he would need to ascertain whether the building was empty. Nevertheless, was altruism Elizabeth’s concern? Somehow he doubted it. “Afraid to be alone with me?”

She swallowed and chaffed her arms. “Absolutely not.” But her voice rang hollow, and he saw the words for a lie. Did she hate him so much that not even self-preservation could force her to his side? If he hadn’t sought her out, would she have stayed here, stubbornly freezing, instead of coming to him?

A familiar bleakness rose up within him, the darkness that stemmed from rejection. Before Elizabeth, he hadn’t experienced the feeling in years. But his wife never failed to serve as a reminder of all the ways he was unacceptable.

Drawing on an icy reserve infinitely more bitter than the winds now whipping along Wall Street, Emmett said, “Up to my office, Elizabeth. Now.”

* * *

As they climbed the stairs, Lizzie had finally resigned herself to spending a few hours in Emmett’s office when the electric lights cut out. The surroundings plunged into darkness, and a sliver of panic prickled along her neck. Reaching out, she fumbled for his hand, unsure if he’d rebuff her, but desperate for reassurance of some kind.

“Here.” He threaded their fingers together tightly. “Stay with me.” He guided her up the remaining steps and along a short distance, then opened a door. Comforting heat greeted her, while the white sky shone through a long row of windows to illuminate the spacious interior. He quickly let go of her hand.

She drew closer to the coal stove while taking stock of the thoroughly masculine space. There were dark-paneled walls, bookcases, and an oversized wooden desk. One side of the room held a sitting area, complete with a dark brown sofa and plush leather chairs. She could well imagine him here, overseeing his empire.

The heady scent of cigar smoke, gin, and shaving lotion hung in the air, and a tiny thrill worked its way down her spine. The last time she’d inhaled that particular combination had been during that mind-numbing kiss in Newport.

Oh, yes. Most definitely yes.

Her husband disappeared into a small antechamber and returned with three lamps, which he placed on the desk. He lit one and then returned to the other room. When he came out, he’d donned his hat and overcoat, the latter causing his normally wide shoulders to appear even wider.

“Where are you going?” she asked uneasily. “I thought you said it was too dangerous.”

“I need to check the building, to ensure no one freezes inside here during the storm. Then I’ll find us some food and more coal.”

“You can’t go outside in this. Not right now. At least wait—”

He held up a hand. “There’s no way of telling how long this storm will last. What if we are trapped here overnight? Think, Elizabeth. We need to be prepared.”

Overnight? Just the two of them? Panic forced her to her feet. “Then I shall come with you.”

“No.” Grabbing the lamp, he strode to the door. “I’ll be back as soon as I am able.”

Even with all the uncertainty between them, she would go mad if she had to wait here alone. She had to do something. “Then I’ll check the building. At least allow me to do that.”

She could see the surprise in his opaque gaze, yet he remained unswayed. “No,” he said. “It won’t take me long. Your floor is the only one with tenants at present. And if someone is here to seek shelter . . . Desperation can make people aggressive. I know what it’s like—” He pressed his lips together and shook his head fiercely. He started for the door.

“You know what it’s like to what?”

“Forget it. I need to go, before the storm gets worse.”

What had he been about to say? That he knew what it was like to be stranded during a storm?

She did not appreciate being left behind, so she tried one more time. “Perhaps all this is unnecessary. Do you truly believe we’ll be stuck here overnight?”

His brow furrowed as he took in the scene outside. “I have no idea. But I won’t risk your well-being by doing something foolish like trying to get back uptown. We’ll wait the storm out here.” He strode to the door, his heavy treads continuing down the hall toward the stairs.

Lizzie exhaled, frustrated at both the storm and being unable to help. She glanced about her husband’s working space and wondered what to do until he returned. The room was neat, the only clutter some papers strewn about his massive desk. She had a strong urge to peek at his things to see what she could learn about him. She knew next to nothing about Emmett, the mysterious and brooding man she’d married—other than that he’d been blackmailed into marrying her. Perhaps if she did it quickly and carefully . . .

Of course she wouldn’t. She had no right to pry into his private affairs, even if he was her husband for a short time. And knowing him makes it harder to leave him.

She rubbed her temples. No use thinking on that now. They needed to get through this storm first.

In the water closet, she took care of her needs. The luxuriousness of the decor—gleaming gold fixtures, thick marble counters, patterned Italian tile—did not surprise her. Emmett seemed to surround himself with comfort wherever possible. She noted his shaving supplies, which appeared recently used. Had he been here all night? She assumed he’d been sleeping at a mistress’s house, or perhaps a hotel. Why would he rather stay here?

Pushing those questions out of her mind, she wandered back to the main room. The powerful storm raged on the other side of the glass, snow pelting the windows with ferocity. It had been sheer folly to think she could travel in this. What would she have done if Emmett hadn’t found her? He’d been frantic when he’d come into her office. Had he been worried about her?

No one was outside now, every sane and reasonable person having already sought shelter. But Emmett was out there. What if he became hurt, or trapped in the snow?

Uneasiness forced her away from the windows. He would return. The man was a force of nature in his own right, and she doubted anything could best him, not even this storm. Nevertheless, he would be freezing when he came inside. She stoked the fire and then struggled to drag both of the large armchairs directly in front of the blaze. Next she readied a large glass of brandy from the selection of bottles on the sideboard.

Thirty minutes after she settled in one of the chairs with a book, the door flew open. Emmett, hatless and covered in snow, stepped into the room, his massive chest heaving with exertion. In his right hand were two water buckets packed with snow. His other hand held a brimming coal scuttle. A large satchel was strapped across his chest, two thick woolen blankets wrapped around his neck. Lizzie jumped up from her chair and rushed forward to help him.

“Move back,” he said, and stepped in. Setting all three buckets down, he hung there, bent at the waist, trying to catch his breath.

“Here. Let me have these,” she said, and unwound the blankets from his neck. She tossed them on the floor and then lifted the strap of the satchel up and over his head, past his shoulder. Laden with supplies and wet from the snow, the leather pack was absurdly heavy. She dropped the bag to the floor and turned to him.

A shiver racked his body as he straightened. His teeth chattered, and icy clumps clung to his damp brown hair. Without thinking, she reached for the buttons of his overcoat. “We need to get you out of these wet things or you’ll catch your death.” Fingers flying, she opened the garment and then pushed the cloth over his wide shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

Emmett stood perfectly still as she removed his frock coat. She attempted to remain brisk and efficient, and not dwell on the hard strength of him so apparent even through his clothing, but her movements slowed when she went to work on his vest. He loomed over her, blocking out everything else, his chest steadily compressing under her fingertips. Tingles broke out along her skin, a delicious and electric warmth spreading in her belly. She could feel the weight of his stare, but dared not look up at him.

The vest slipped over his shoulders and arms to land atop the other pieces on the carpet. He said nothing as she pushed down his suspenders and unknotted his black necktie. When she plucked out the studs to his shirt collar, he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. The small movement fascinated her. Was he equally affected by her?

Fingers trembling, she started on his shirt, popping the single row of buttons. As each loosened, the crisply starched fabric parted, and she could see the plain white undergarment he wore next to his skin. Lower her hands went, over his breastbone and abdomen, until she ran out of buttons. He bent slightly to help her pull the shirt off, which she let flutter to the floor.

When he straightened, her knees actually wobbled. The tight combination clung to his imposing torso, outlining an impressive bulge of muscles. Many men supposedly wore corsets to pull in their waists, but Emmett obviously didn’t need one. There was no extra flesh on him, none that she could see.

Forcing herself to keep going, she reached for the waistband of his striped black trousers—only to have his fingers snatch her wrists. “I’ll do the rest,” he said brusquely, before walking away.

* * *

Every time Emmett thought he knew his wife, she surprised him.

Now alone in the makeshift dressing room, he removed his remaining garments and wondered how far Elizabeth would have gone in stripping him. His trousers? His underclothes? Christ, he’d grown hard the instant she’d unbuttoned his coat. The rest had been unimaginable torture.

Though she’d started in a businesslike manner, her movements had soon slowed. Turned seductive. And all he’d been able to think of were her small, delicate hands wrapped around his shaft, stroking him from root to tip. Her fingers tugging and pulling, bringing him off with that fierce determination she so often exhibited . . .

He bit back a groan and willed his erection to soften. What was it about his wife that made her unlike any woman he’d ever met? She was beautiful, yes. But that alone would never tie him up in knots. He wished he could figure out the appeal so that he could ignore it and move beyond this strange attraction to her. A damned nuisance, especially when the woman wanted him about as much as a bout of typhoid fever.

But that didn’t explain why her hands had trembled when she’d unbuttoned his shirt.

He quickly changed into dry clothing. The brutal weather showed no signs of abating, and he doubted they would be leaving the building any time soon. Even traveling the few blocks he’d managed had not been easy. He wasn’t sure how Elizabeth would take that news, but she had little choice in the matter. In another hour or so, snowdrifts would completely cover the outer door of the building.

When he returned to the office, he found her at the windows, where she was bathed in the light streaming in from outside. Her pale hair looked like spun gold. A gilded angel, beautiful yet untouchable. He shook his head at that fanciful idea and headed for the stove. He saw that she’d unpacked all the supplies he’d managed to acquire, and had set his wet clothing by the heat to dry.

He dropped into a chair before the fire, exhausted, and he heard Elizabeth come toward him in a cloud of rustling silk. A glass of brandy emerged before his eyes.

“Here, drink this,” she said softly.

He accepted the crystal gratefully and finished the spirits in two swallows. The liquor burned his throat and belly, a pleasant distraction from the heat he felt in other parts of his body.

She lowered into the other chair, bottle of brandy in her hand. “More?”

He nodded, and she refilled the crystal tumbler. He took a more reasonable sip this time and then held the glass out to her. “You should have some as well, before I tell you what I learned.”

Gray eyes widened. “Was it so terrible?”

“Worse,” he replied truthfully, and her hand snaked out to grasp the brandy. She swallowed some, coughed, and then exhaled.

“The drifts are piling higher than the doorways. And even if we could get out, the roads and walkways are impossible. We’re stuck here until it stops snowing and I can dig us out.”

Shock lined her face before she lifted the heavy crystal back to her lips for a longer drink. “How long do you think that will be?”

“No way of telling. But we won’t starve or die of thirst. We have plenty of coal. As long as we remain indoors, we’ll be fine.”

“Where did you find the food and supplies?”

“A rum-hole four blocks over. Everyone else is shut up tight.” And the amount the owner had charged him was pure robbery, but Emmett hadn’t quibbled. He’d pay any amount to keep Elizabeth as comfortable as possible.

She handed him back the tumbler, which he accepted, and then settled deeper into her chair. “Good thing you have lots of books.”

“Yes, but we have to conserve the lamp oil as best we can. I might have some candles about, but I can’t be sure. Once it gets dark, we should try to keep to the light of the stove.”

“Oh dear,” he heard her mutter before she rubbed her brow.

Yes, he was of the same mind—but not because he didn’t want to spend time with her. Quite the opposite. He wanted to spend a lot of time with her, alone. Without clothing. Just being so near her was hell on his overactive imagination.

“Where is Kelly?” she asked.

“He returned home last night. Said he wanted to get the horses out of the rain, but I think he’s tired of sleeping on the cot in the dressing room.”

“Does he ever leave your side?”

“Rarely. Not since his wife died, anyway.”

“Kelly was married?”

“Yes, for a little over a year. She died of consumption.”

“Oh, that’s terrible.”

“It was, yes. She worked in a factory, sewing buttons, in Hell’s Kitchen. They lived in the roughest part of the Tenderloin district, despite the fact that I offered to rent him an apartment in a better part of town.” Emmett shook his head, remembering Kelly’s stubbornness over not taking Emmett’s money in those days. Granted, there hadn’t been as much of it, but he’d always been glad to share whatever he had with Kelly. The man had certainly saved Emmett on more than one occasion.

“What did Kelly do? Did he work for you?”

Emmett shook his head. “He wouldn’t. Was too proud. So he used to fight for money.”

“Fight, as in boxing?”

“Yes. In alleys. It can be lucrative, if you win.”

“And if you lose?”

“You can be killed. But Kelly never lost. He’s the best boxer I’ve ever seen.”

Tilting her head, she studied him. “Did you ever fight?”

“Only when I had to. But not like Kelly, in organized fights. Mine were more survival than anything else.”

“Why don’t you ever talk about your boyhood?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Not much I can say in polite company. Why would you want to hear about it, anyway?”

“Because I’m curious about it. About you, how you grew up.”

“Let’s just say it was a far cry from how I imagine your upbringing, with a big house in a fancy neighborhood. Servants. Plenty of food and heat. Parents who worshipped the ground beneath your feet and never—” He snapped his jaw shut to stem the tide of words rushing out of his mouth.

“Parents who never what?” she asked gently, her brow furrowed in concern. When he didn’t answer, she said, “Come now, there’s little else to occupy our time. We might as well talk to one another.”

He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the idea. The two of them had been ignoring each other since Newport. Even if they were stuck together for however long the storm lasted, he had no intention of confessing all his deep, dark secrets. No, those were buried for good.

“You don’t like talking, do you?” she asked, interrupting his thoughts.

Though he didn’t plan them, the words tumbled out of his mouth naturally. “Seems when I’m with you, there are other things I like to do more.”

* * *

Lizzie sucked in a breath, both shocked and suddenly aroused by his words, not to mention the wicked light in his near-black irises. She wasn’t precisely sure to what things he referred, but just recalling the way he’d embraced her in Newport, pressing her into the wall, had her skin prickling with excitement.

Not that she wanted to kiss him again. Kissing led to cravings and longings. Yearnings. All things she needed to avoid.

She cleared her throat. “Are you attempting to distract me?”

“It’s possible. Is it working, Mrs. Cavanaugh?”

The name generally irritated her, but hearing it in his low, husky rasp turned her blood thick and slow, like warm honey. Her husband was a hundred times more potent than the brandy she’d imbibed. “No, but I’ll stop pestering you about your past.” For now. “What are you working on?” She gestured to his desk, artfully covered in papers.

He finished his brandy and rose. “You might be able to help me, actually. Come,” he said, and held out his hand.

She slid her fingers into his palm, ignoring the jolt that coursed through her system at the contact. He pulled out the enormous desk chair and gestured for her to sit. Once she was comfortable, he shuffled some of the papers on the surface and withdrew a thick stack. He placed those, as well as a ledger, in front of her.

“This is a company I am thinking of acquiring. As I do with any company I might purchase, I obtained a copy of their books—”

“How?” she asked. To do so would be nearly impossible, unless the company wanted to be sold, which she doubted was the case in this circumstance.

The side of his mouth hitched. “I have my methods. How I got the books is immaterial; what they say is another matter.” He tapped his fingers on the ledger. “I suspected a weakness, so I had Colin work up the stock transactions going back for the last two years. He said there are a number of inconsistencies, but I haven’t yet had the time to sort them out. Perhaps you can see if everything’s aboveboard?”

“I’d be happy to,” she said, nearly bouncing in the chair. Not only was this a chance to use her skills, this endeavor would keep her mind off his wickedly powerful presence. “May I have some blank paper and something to write with?”

Emmett reached into a drawer and produced the items. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” He picked up what appeared to be a contract and went to sit by the fire.

Lizzie delved into the numbers, comparing and studying. Time passed, but she hardly noticed. It didn’t take long to arrive at the same conclusion her husband had, that something wasn’t quite right. But the error was well hidden, deep in the stock transactions. Her brain buzzed with the compulsion to find the solution, to make sense of what she could feel in her gut.

Emmett placed a lamp at her elbow, and she was surprised to see that dusk had fallen. Snow still pelted the ground, giant flakes falling fast and furious past the windows, as the storm showed no signs of abating. “I thought you said we should conserve the oil,” she told him as he strode back to his chair.

He shrugged. “You seem to be making progress. We’ll survive if we run out.”

Back at her task, she began adding up her findings. Not long after, the answer hit her. “I found it!” She smacked the ledger. “I found what’s wrong.”

His head lifted. “Did you? Allow me to see.”

When he arrived at her side, she started explaining. “I added up the stock sold over the last three years, and compared that to the amounts recorded.” Her hand accidentally brushed his as she pointed at the ledger, yet she stuck to the task at hand, ignoring the giddy rush she received from the innocent contact. “The company has sold more stock than they’re actually worth.”

“To water down the stock price?”

“I can’t say for certain why, but they definitely sold more shares than they should have.”

“That is remarkable,” he said, his lips curving into a satisfied smile. “You have no idea how much work you’ve saved me. This information is very valuable. Very valuable, indeed.” He rubbed his jaw, lost in thought, as he stared at the ledger.

She grew hot under his praise. “My pleasure.” Excitement thrummed through her body from the discovery. “I feel as though we should celebrate.”

“I agree. And I can definitely assist in that endeavor. How does champagne and dinner sound?”

“Champagne? Do you have an icebox somewhere I cannot see?”

“Just you wait,” he told her before he disappeared into his dressing room. He returned a few seconds later with a bottle of Moët and continued toward the window. In a blink, he unlocked the latch, lifted the sash, and placed the bottle in the snow that had collected on the stone ledge outside. Quickly, he lowered the window.

“Clever,” she said as he brushed snow from his sleeves. “You are surprisingly resourceful for a steel tycoon.”

“Thank you. If I’d known this would impress you, I would have conjured up a blizzard weeks ago.”

No doubt he probably could, if he so wished. The man seemed unstoppable. “Well, I haven’t yet had this dinner you promised, so I’ll reserve judgment.”

He smiled, a real, genuine grin, revealing two dimples that would have knocked her down had she been on her feet. “You are a tough woman. I would hate to negotiate against you. I don’t think you’d give an inch.”

“Not to you,” she threw back. “You’re a locomotive, rolling over everything in your path to get your way.”

“Because I have to be.” He leaned against the window. “I learned very early that no one gives you a damned thing in this world.”

She remembered the story he’d told her, about working in the steel mill, and knew he meant that. And while she admired his single-minded focus and drive, she didn’t want to be a casualty, either.

“But,” he continued as he rubbed his jaw, “I do try to weigh the advantages and disadvantages to a situation. It’s merely that, once I decide I want something, nothing will stop me from having it.” His dark gaze held hers, the intensity of his stare setting her insides aflame.

Was he talking about her? Or were they talking about business?

She rose and smoothed the fabric of her dress while avoiding his eyes. “Perhaps we should eat. I wouldn’t want the champagne to freeze.”