Magnate (22 page)

“Fuck your shrewd decision,” Kelly snapped. “You are doing this just because you don't like Sloane. You've always resented him, the way he was raised. Well, boohoo that you wasn't born on Washington Square, too. You've married his sister. Ain't that enough revenge?”

“No!” Emmett slapped the desk. “It's not enough goddamned revenge. I want him buried! Stripped of everything he cares about.”

“And what will that do to the woman sleeping in your bed every night? Do you think she won't be hurt if you follow through on ruining him? Right or wrong, she loves her brother.”

“Yes, but she is my
wife
. She made a choice to love, honor, and obey me—me, not her brother.”

Kelly blew out a breath, his jaw tight as he stared at the opposite wall. “I've seen the way she's been lookin' at you since the storm. She loves you, Bishop. Are you willing to throw that away, knowin' you may never get it back?”

Emmett felt himself scowl. Love? The idea seemed ludicrous. Lust, perhaps. That he could believe.

Even if Emmett's taking over Northeast upset her at first, Elizabeth would eventually come to accept it. She knew how business worked, that consolidating and acquiring other companies was necessary to success. If you didn't grow and adapt, your business was soon the one at risk.

“You're a damn fool,” Kelly said when the silence stretched. “Guess I'll start moving your things back to Beaver Street.” He rose stiffly, flung open the office door, and stomped into the hall.

Kelly was wrong, Emmett thought. Elizabeth would understand.... Wouldn't she?

* * *

“You're not looking, are you?” Emmett asked for the third time.

“No,” Lizzie lied, and lifted the edges of her lids ever so slightly to see her surroundings.

A few moments ago, Emmett had appeared in her dressing room, dismissed Pauline, and picked her up in his arms, the promise of a surprise on his lips. He then instructed her to close her eyes and began traveling through the house. Her husband's size never failed to impress— even more so when he carried her about as if she weighed nothing at all.

She pressed her face into his throat and breathed him in. Spice, a faint trace of cigar, and soap lingered on his skin, and she couldn't help but to nibble on him. He stuttered, his feet catching. “Witch. Are you trying to hurt us both?”

Stairs came next, and then more walking. “We would get there faster if you would put me down.”

“But where's the fun in that?” He pushed open a door, and wet heat hit her nostrils. “Open your eyes,” he said, setting her on her feet.

The large, rectangular swimming pool stretched out in front of her, wall sconces burning to cast an otherworldly glow atop the water. The pool, as Brendan had explained weeks ago, was heated underneath, supporting year-round swimming. Important, he'd said, to allow him to keep his injured leg strong, but Lizzie suspected Emmett used the pool as well. How else to explain her husband's physique, more Greek god than steel mogul?

The design of the room had a hedonistic sensibility, with the Corinthian columns, stone, and mosaic tile reminiscent of a decadent Roman bath. The frescoed ceiling above depicted Hades striding from his chariot with a distraught Persephone in his arms. Benches along the wall invited guests to watch the bathers, though she and Emmett were quite alone today.

“The furnace has been on long enough after the storm that the water is warm once again. Come.” He drew her forward, skirting the edge of the pool.

“Aren't we swimming?” She did not know how, but the water did look enticing—calm, and crystal clear. Emmett had instructed Katie and Claire on to swim, so was he ready to teach Lizzie, too? She could imagine his hands on her, supporting her, as she floated on the surface. She shivered.

“No, though we can do so later if you wish. I want to show you something else.” He crossed through an arched doorway on the left side of the pool, his hand clasped tightly with hers.

“A Turkish bath,” she exclaimed once they passed the threshold. The details were exactly as she'd read about, with white and blue mosaic tile, red pallets and pillows, gold accents, and curved doors. A small, clear pool had been carved into the floor, the water replenished by a thin stream pouring out of a lion's mouth on the wall.

“Precisely that,” her husband said. “I read that a sudatorium could be beneficial to injuries and sore muscles.” He shrugged.

So he'd installed the room for Brendan. Tenderness rolled through her, wrapping like ivy around her heart. She knew from Brendan that Emmett held himself responsible for his younger brother's accident. This must have been Emmett's way of trying to atone. “It's extraordinary.”

“I hired the same men who built the Turkish bath on West Twenty-Sixth Street to complete this one. It's authentic, or as close as I could get.”

“Brendan didn't show me this room when he gave me a tour of the house,” she said as Emmett went to a door.

“Then I am glad to be the one to surprise you. Wait here.” He opened the panel and disappeared inside. A few seconds later, he returned. “I started the water heating. We'll have steam in a moment.” He threw off his heavy dressing gown and dropped it onto a bench. Next came his shirt, his strong arms unbuttoning the starched white cotton to reveal massive shoulders and muscular arms encased in tight cotton underclothing. No matter how many times she saw him disrobe, the effect was always the same: her breath hitched, and her lower body caught fire.

“Take off your dressing gown,” he ordered with a leer.

“I am too busy admiring the view,” she said as he stripped off his trousers.

“Are you? Well, when I'm naked, anyone here not yet undressed will be dropped into the cold pool over by the wall.”

“You wouldn't dare!”

He quirked a brow that said,
Oh, I think we both know I would,
and Lizzie hurried to untie the sash on her dressing gown, to push the fabric from her shoulders. Standing in her thin chemise, she knew the garment did little to conceal her curves—a fact she was grateful for as Emmett's movements faltered, his eyes growing bright with arousal.

“You'd best hurry,” he said huskily as his fingers flew down the buttons of his combination.

Biting her lip in amusement, she furiously worked on the tiny buttons along her bodice. Embarrassment forgotten, her goal was to win, to shed her clothing before he did. When she undid a fair number of buttons, she tugged the hem up and over her head. Hands suddenly caught her while she was blinded by the fabric, crushing her to a taut, naked body.

“Not fast enough, wife,” he growled, and bent to throw her across his shoulder. Laughing, Lizzie finished pulling the chemise off and let the cloth fall.

The position allowed her to focus on the most perfect male backside ever created. With not an inch of fat or extra skin, he was a marble statue come to life. She slid her hands along his back, over the rough scars, to cup the high, tight mounds. She was still squeezing and enjoying the shift of muscle beneath the skin when he opened the door to the steam chamber.

A moist cloud of hot air enveloped them instantly. “My drawers! Emmett, they'll be ruined.”

He slapped her behind playfully. “Not to worry, I'll peel them off in good time.”

Without setting her down, Emmett lowered onto the tiled bench, settling her in his lap. The lush sultriness of the room wrapped around her like a blanket.

“What do you think?” he murmured, leaning in to nuzzle her throat. The heat of him rested under her cloth-covered buttocks, his erection growing by the second.

“I think you like it,” she teased, running her palms over the contours of his broad shoulders.

“I certainly do.” His palm caressed her bare breast. “You, warm, naked, and slippery, is indeed high on the list of things I like.”

He kissed her, his tongue swiftly invading, and he placed her thighs on either side of his hips. Beads of moisture pooled on the surface of their skin, slickening where their bodies made contact. Her breasts met his chest, rough, wet skin and crisp hair teasing the taut points of her nipples while he explored her mouth with exquisite thoroughness.

Gently, he arched her back and dropped his head to her breast, sliding a peak between his lips. He sucked hard, eliciting a gasp from her, the draw of his mouth sending shocks through her core. He laved the puckered bud with his tongue, scraped with his teeth, and allowed no escape from the blissful torment. Her ragged breathing echoed around them, a desperate fever making her writhe in a silent plea, but he continued to torture her with deep pulls and long licks until her insides quivered. Her body tensed, climbing, straining, and she craved more of his touch, wanted him everywhere all at once.

“Emmett, please,” she murmured, the sound muffled to her ears as her hips rocked into his groin, seeking relief.

Kisses trailed along the side of her breast, then toward her collarbone. “Yes?”

“I need you. Please, hurry.”

His teeth nipped her jaw, and she shivered despite the scorching heat surrounding them. “Where?”

“Everywhere,” she rasped, both hating and loving that he was teasing her.

“I'll need specifics, Mrs. Cavanaugh. I'm a man who prefers details.”

She knew that to be true. The more direct and bawdy her talk, she'd learned, the more he responded. And since she loved to see him undone, she had become quite brave over the past few days. “Inside me.”

“Here?” he asked, his finger tracing her lips, which she parted in order to slide her tongue around the digit. His eyes glazed over, breath expelling in a rush as she tasted him.

“Perhaps later.” Her gaze locked with his. “Right now, I want you between my legs.”

His chest heaved, and the lines of his face grew taut. Impatient. He guided her over him, her entrance poised directly above his hard length. He reached between them to grip the base of his erection. “Are you wet for me?” he asked, slowly dragging the tip of his penis along her cleft. She threw her head back, biting her lip to keep from crying out. To keep from demanding that he take her.

“Oh, yes, right there,” he murmured, and the broad, smooth crown breached her channel slowly, pushing her open and tunneling inside, and she relished the stretch that bordered on pain. Inch by delectable inch, she lowered until her hips met rugged male skin.

His fingers dug into her thighs as she paused to savor the joining, the overwhelmingly full sensation. “Now ride me. Hard.”

She obeyed, wasting no time, rising and lowering again and again, her pelvis churning to create the exquisite friction they both needed. Emmett's lids fell, his head propped on the tile as he let her control the pace. The divot in his chin beckoned, so she bent forward to nip it with her teeth. His swift intake of breath caused her to smile.

“The Devil's mark,” she whispered, referring to the name he'd once used for the slight imperfection.

“And yet you love it.”

“Indeed, I do.”
As I love you.
But she held back those final words, kept them close to her heart, and clamped her inner walls around his erection instead.

He growled in response. “God, I love when you do that.” She squeezed him once more, and he dragged her close for a long, drugging kiss. “Will you let me try something?”

Her breath stuttered. Thus far, he'd shown her plenty, with each experience better than the last. She had no reason to doubt this would be equally pleasurable, so she nodded.

“Stand up.” He helped her off his lap and placed her feet on the tiled floor. He untied her drawers and slid the thin cotton down her legs, lifting one foot and then the other. After folding them, he placed the wet fabric on the tile. “For your knees. I want to take you from behind.”

Excitement rushed through her even as she said, “Are you certain?”

“Oh, indeed, I am.” Strong hands helped her into position, the tile slick and unforgiving beneath her palms as she bent on hands and knees. She felt exposed in this position, but all complaints flew from her mind when Emmett began working into her passage. “Christ, you are beautiful,” he gasped, driving farther inside. He clutched her hips, pulling their bodies together, until he slid home. Lizzie cried out at the fullness, his penetration much deeper this way.

A gentle touch circled her back. “Are you all right?”

She could only nod, the euphoria having stolen her speech. He withdrew, only to return, stroking, pumping, until he hit a spot that made her toes curl. “Oh, my,” she exclaimed, and he did it again. “Emmett!”

His thrusts sped up, and her shouts grew louder, until he reached to find the hard nub at the apex of her cleft. The touch pushed her over the peak, her limbs nearly giving out as she convulsed. He soon followed, his hoarse yell bouncing off the tiled walls.

After a moment, he dropped onto the bench, pulling her close. “My God, Elizabeth,” he wheezed. “What you do to me . . .”

“I hope it's good,” she said, panting into his shoulder.

“So good it scares me.” He kissed the top of her head.

Chapter Sixteen

Lizzie knew something was amiss the moment she stepped into the breakfast room.

With Emmett still dressing upstairs, she had come down alone to breakfast, eager to get a start on her day. She hoped to travel downtown to her office, provided that the streets were finally sufficiently cleared of snow.

Katie, Claire, and Brendan were already seated at the long table, their voices murmuring in hushed conversation.

“Good morning, all,” she cheerfully called.

A blur of movement caught her eye before her brother-in-law hastily rose. “Morning, Lizzie.”

Katie and Claire tracked her as she approached, their eyes wide and wary. “Good morning, Lizzie,” the girls said together.

The footman held out a chair, and Lizzie sat. A strange silence descended as she poured her coffee. “Did I interrupt something?”

“No,” Brendan answered instantly. “We were just discussing our day, weren't we, girls?”

“Yes,” Katie said. “That's all we were doing. Right, Claire?”

“Yep!” the younger girl said. “We were
not
looking at the newspaper.”

Brendan groaned, and Katie covered her mouth in horror. Before Lizzie could address their curious reactions, there was something far more important requiring her attention. “Claire, where did you hear that word?”

“Newspaper?” the girl asked around a mouth full of pastry.

“No. The one I'm referring to is ‘yep.'”

“Oh, Kelly says that word. It means yes.”

Lizzie made a mental note to discuss the language Kelly used around the girls at her first opportunity. “Claire, a lady should never use coarse language or jargon. She must say what she means, purposely and clearly, in order to be understood. How you speak is a reflection on how you will be perceived by others.”

The girl's brows lowered, as she seemed to intently absorb this advice. “Yes, Lizzie.”

“Good. Now what was so interesting in the newspaper this morning?”

“Nothing,” Brendan answered, with pointed glances at his half sisters. “Same old boring stories.”

Lizzie hummed and held out her hand. “Excellent. I love boring old stories. May I?”

Brendan stared at her a moment, and she could see the wheels turning in his brain. Even though they'd only been acquainted a short time, he should have known by now that she would never back down.

Sighing, he withdrew a section of the
New York World
from under the table. “For the record, no one at this table believes a word of it.” He placed the paper in her hand.

Stomach heavy with dread, Lizzie discovered a large cartoon on the page, complete with two unnamed figures she instantly recognized.

A bride stood at the altar, marrying a very Emmett-looking Satan, while the hem of her wedding gown was raised lewdly, well past her ankle. A row of Wall Street bankers lined the wall, their eyes fixed dramatically on the sight of her bare leg.
Open for Business
, the caption read.

Lizzie gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Dear heavens.” How had the papers even learned of her firm? Before she knew what she was about, she ripped the page out of the paper and crumpled it in her hand. “Emmett mustn't see this,” she told Brendan. “And we mustn't tell him, either.”

“Emmett mustn't see what?” her husband asked as he strolled into the breakfast room.

Lizzie swiftly put the cartoonless paper on the table, the cartoon itself under her chair. No plausible lie came to her lips, so she glanced at Brendan, pleading with her eyes.

“Oh, nothing,” Brendan answered. “Just a news report on the union troubles in Ohio.”

“There are no union troubles in Ohio,” Emmett remarked, pouring himself coffee. Freshly shaved and dressed in a dark brown morning suit, he was delectable. Lizzie could have eaten him for breakfast. She watched his large hands perform the mundane task of preparing his coffee, and she recalled how those hands had made her feel earlier this morning. A low hum of arousal thrummed through her veins. Perhaps she could convince him to revisit the Turkish bath this evening.

“There aren't? Perhaps it wasn't Ohio, then. Regardless, we didn't want you to worry.”

“Bren, you're a terrible liar. Girls, go and find Mrs. Thomas. It's time to start your lessons.” For once, the girls did not argue, silently standing and quitting the room. Emmett tapped his fingers on the table, a sign Lizzie recognized as barely controlled impatience. “Now, which one of you wants to give me the truth?”

Lizzie did not want to lie . . . yet the truth was so much worse. Perhaps a slight evasion would pacify him. “It's a silly cartoon. Nothing, really.”

Dark eyes pinned her to the spot, and she shivered, thinking about the fierce drive and insatiable will inside her husband. When he focused that same intensity on her in bed, she hadn't a chance of resisting him. In a flash, he could turn her into a begging, quivering pile of lust.

His lips quirked, as if sensing the direction of her thoughts. “Elizabeth?”

She sighed and cleared the prurient thoughts from her brain. “No, Emmett. You do not need to see it.”

“I don't?”

“No, you don't.”

“I agree, Em. This is one cartoon you don't need to see.” Brendan cleared his throat. “For at least a few years.”

Emmett plunked his elbow on the table, palm out, and kept his calm gaze on Lizzie, waiting.

“Perhaps we should go swimming first—”

“
Now,
” he growled, and Lizzie withdrew the ball of newsprint from under her chair and dropped it into his palm.

Long fingers smoothed out the paper. He studied the cartoon, then swung around to the footman standing near the door. “Find Kelly. Immediately.”

The footman took off at a dead run, and Lizzie said, “Emmett, no. Whatever you're planning—”

“Is my business. I'll handle this my way.”

“Oh, God,” Brendan murmured, rubbing his brow. “I'm a doctor. You're not supposed to talk about killing people in front of me.”

“Yeah, Bish?” Kelly, slightly out of breath, hurried into the breakfast room. “You needed me?”

Emmett held out the newspaper. Kelly came over and let out a long whistle when he saw the cartoon. He exchanged a knowing glance with Emmett. “I'll see to it.” He spun around and disappeared.

Calm as could be, Emmett requested poached eggs and sausage from the footman. He reached for the rest of the newspaper and began flipping through it, the pages crackling in the sudden quiet.

Lizzie wanted to strangle him. “Tell me what you are planning.”

“Brendan, will you excuse my wife and me for a moment?”

“Of course.” Brendan rose and gripped his cane. “I have rounds to make anyway. See you both at dinner.”

With a jerk of his chin, Emmett also excused the footman, leaving Lizzie alone with her husband. All sorts of thoughts began swirling in her head. Emmett was incredibly protective, and she could only imagine how angry he was over this. Goodness, he'd nearly choked her brother the night at Sherry's. “What will you do? Are you planning to hurt that cartoonist?”

“Is that what you think I do, go around hurting people if they offend me?”

The innocent tone did not fool her. “Semantics, Emmett. Are you going to have Kelly hurt that cartoonist?”

“Possibly. Would that bother you?”

“Yes!” she exclaimed. “I don't want anyone hurt, even if I'm equally angry. I cannot understand how he even learned of my firm.”

“I might have had something to do with that. Calvin Cabot is the publisher of the
New York Mercury
and a few other papers. As you know, he is a friend. I contacted him to propose an interview.” He relaxed in his chair, porcelain cup cradled in his hands. “I thought you might want to create a splash in the press for the opening, the way Woodhull and her sister did a few years back.”

“You did that without speaking to me first? We decided to keep my involvement a secret, or did you forget?”

“I would have told you when the paper agreed to the story.”

“Oh, how reassuring,” she drawled. “So Mr. Cabot told someone at a rival paper?”

“Not a chance. He guards secrets better than anyone, a necessity in his business. My guess is that he discussed the idea with a member of the
Mercury
staff, and that person told someone at the
World
. Regardless, everyone involved will pay dearly for the slight, including that cartoonist.”

She nearly rolled her eyes. “Emmett, you cannot take on everyone who dares to mock or speak ill of me.”

He took a long sip, then replaced the cup in its saucer. “Elizabeth, that is precisely what I swore to do. I promised before God to honor you, and if I have to buy that goddamn newspaper merely to fire this cartoonist, I will. I'll ensure he never picks up another pencil in his life if it makes you rest easier.” Leaning in, he drove a finger into the table for emphasis. “I'll gladly take on every paper, every cartoonist—
every single person in this godforsaken city
—in order to uphold that promise. Do you understand?”

Her jaw fell open, the breath leaving her lungs in a whoosh. She couldn't speak, couldn't
think
after a declaration such as that, her heart pounding. How was she to react? Her husband was promising retribution, likely physical, and she found it . . . arousing. What was wrong with her?

He hadn't said the words yet, but that certainly sounded like a declaration of love. Still, she was angry he'd revealed details of her firm without telling her first. Had Emmett told Will of her firm as well?

“I understand, but please do not make decisions for me in the future without asking. I was not ready to have this revealed so publicly. This ensures I'll fail before I even get under way.”

His expression softened as he regarded her. “My dear, the one thing New York loves more than anything else is a spectacle, so open with as much fanfare as you can stand. You're no coward, and you possess two things society will never comprehend: intelligence and talent. So don't bother hiding. Besides, no one can hurt you—I'll go to any lengths to protect you if they dare try.”

Warmth filled her, sank deep into her bones. She loved this man so much that it made her dizzy. Placing her napkin on the table, she rose and took the few steps to his side. She slid her palms over his broad, strong shoulders, the fabric of his frock coat soft and smooth along her skin. She bent until her lips brushed the shell of his ear. “And I promised before God to love and cherish my husband. Would you care to follow me to our bedroom so that I may demonstrate?”

Emmett gained his feet so quickly that his chair teetered. He clasped her hand and began tugging her toward the hall. “If you insist.”

* * *

The corner of John Street and Broadway bustled later that brisk March afternoon. Lizzie held the satchel close to her chest as she waited in her coupé, attempting to stay warm while watching the traders hurry in and out of the ground-floor restaurant.

What must it feel like, to stand on the trading floor, power and money flowing through your very hands? Fortunes gained, fortunes lost. It must be a heady rush, indeed. Yet thanks to the men-only policy at the exchange, Lizzie would never know.

Robbie, the man she employed, finally emerged from the building's front door. They hadn't seen each other since before the storm. Instead, she'd cabled him instructions, intimating they were from her brother, but she no doubt owed him an explanation after today's cartoon.

Hurrying along the walk, she raced to catch up with him. “Robbie,” she called to his back. “Robbie, please wait!”

He drew to a halt and faced her, his expression wary. He must have seen the cartoon. “Good day, Mrs. Cavanaugh.”

“Hello, Robbie. May we speak for a moment?”

He jerked a nod, and soon the two of them were settled inside her small vehicle. She placed her satchel on her lap. “I suppose you've seen this morning's
World
.”

“Yes, I did.” He said nothing more, his mouth turned into a frown.

She sighed. “I never lied to you, Robbie. When we first met, you assumed my brother would be involved, and I never corrected you.”

“Why not tell me the truth?”

“Because I was afraid you wouldn't work with me, that you wouldn't take me seriously if you knew I was the one providing the orders.”

He shook his head. “I have nothing against women who work, Mrs. Cavanaugh. My mother, she holds two jobs since my father was injured a few years back. And from what I've seen in the last few weeks, you likely know more about stocks than most men on the exchange.”

“Thank you, Robbie.” A little bubble of happiness welled in her chest at the compliment. “I underestimated you, and I am sorry for that. I hope you will forgive me.”

His eyes widened a bit, a flush creeping up his neck. “Consider it forgotten, ma'am.”

“Excellent. As you are probably now aware, I do plan to open my own brokerage firm. My husband has agreed to back me.”

“Well, I'd be honored to keep placing your orders, ma'am, if you like.”

“I'd like that very much. I can't say you won't take any ribbing for it, however.”

He lifted a shoulder. “I'm not overly concerned about that. I can handle all the ribbing in the world if we're earning money.”