“Pleasure doing business with you, Madden.” The package disappeared inside Crain’s jacket pocket, then he patted the bulge in the cloth. “I’ll pass along your regards to our esteemed mayor.”
“Appreciate it, Crain. Would you like to stay and play downstairs? Jack can set you up with some chips.”
Crain rubbed his jaw, probably thinking about playing poker, his one true weakness. Clay knew this about the official but hadn’t yet used the information to his advantage. He merely filed the bit away, in case he needed it one day.
“I suppose I have a few minutes,” the chamberlain said as he rose. “Very generous of you, Madden.”
“I am always obliged to accommodate one of our city’s fine civil servants.” Clay stood, as well, and nodded at Jack, who led the other man out into the corridor. Jack would set up Crain with some house chips downstairs. As Crain was a terrible poker player, he’d undoubtedly lose that amount within the hour. Then he’d dip into that fat stack of cash Clay had just handed him . . . and the money would come right back into Clay’s pockets.
He’d smile if he wasn’t in such a shit mood.
Jack strolled inside the office a moment later, just as Clay was pouring a drink. “Why do I dislike that man so much?”
“He’s harmless, if you don’t mind gutter snakes who would rob their own mothers.”
Jack took the seat Crain had vacated. “Miss Greene got off safely.”
“Yes, I received that message before.” He dropped into his chair and cradled the glass of bourbon.
“Planning to drown your sorrows?” Jack asked.
“Fuck off.”
Jack merely laughed. “Would you care to discuss your lovers’ tiff with Florence Greene?”
“There was no tiff and we are not lovers,” he growled. “Furthermore, I don’t need managing, Jack. You should attend to the floor. We’re probably being robbed blind down there.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“God, no. Talking is the last thing I want to do. In fact, if you plan on making noise at any point in the next two hours then you may leave now.”
“There are other women.”
“I’m aware of that.” He took a long drink, enjoying the burn of the liquor as it traveled to his belly. Yes, there were other women, but they weren’t Florence Greene. She had captured his full attention.
“I do have a piece of good news, if you’re interested.”
“For God’s sake, please.”
Jack smirked and reached into the humidor on Clay’s desk to select a cigar. “Bill’s wife has kicked him out of the house. He’s now living with the mistress over on West Thirty-Seventh Street.”
“Good. Let’s call in the banknote on his house. I want to take away anything attached to his name. I want to destroy him.” That would teach men on Clay’s bankroll not to betray him.
Jack whistled. “You are in a mood. All right, if you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.” He downed the remaining whiskey in his glass. “We need to send a message to the Metropolitan Police Department. No one crosses me without paying a steep price.”
Florence sipped her coffee and stared at the flames jumping in the fireplace. The Greenes had gathered in the parlor for dessert and coffee, as was their usual habit when it was just the family for dinner. Justine sat at the piano, working on a new piece she was learning, while everyone else chatted. Voices carried on around her but Florence couldn’t stop thinking about three nights ago, when Clay had kicked her out of the Bronze House.
Do you have any idea of the trust I’ve placed in you? People would kill for the knowledge you’ve gained in this club.
Yet, he hadn’t trusted her enough to talk about why he hated her father. How could she consider sleeping with a man who kept such a secret?
Still, she missed him. Terribly. It was awful, wondering what he was doing, what was happening at the club. She had convinced herself that her frequent visits were only about learning as much as possible . . . but that was a lie. Clay was the reason she couldn’t stay away. He treated her like an equal, not like a silly woman. And she was wildly attracted to him, her heart fluttering every time he was in the vicinity. While his enterprise might be illegal, he was a good man. An honorable man who lived by his own code.
But must that code include revenge against Duncan Greene?
Her father sat on the other sofa next to their mother, smiling at something she was saying. Duncan doted on their mother. On all of them, really. Yes, he could be fearsome when angry—which was often with Florence—but he had a huge heart. Whatever he’d done to cross Clay couldn’t have been on purpose. There had to be some misunderstanding. If Clay would just confide in her—
“You have certainly been quiet tonight.” Mamie dropped onto the sofa next to Florence. “Is something bothering you?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“What kind of a question is that? Of course I want to know.”
“I didn’t mean it that way. Sometimes not knowing is better where I’m concerned.”
Mamie held her coffee cup in front of her mouth. “Is this about Clayton Madden?”
Florence did the same, shielding her lips from prying eyes. “Yes.”
“Have you slept with him?”
“Mamie!”
Their parents both looked over, concern on their faces. Florence waved her hand. “She ruined my new dress.”
Mama frowned. “The one with the green brocade skirt? Oh, Mamie, that’s just arrived from Paris.”
“I’m sorry, Mama. I’ll take the dress to a dressmaker and have it repaired.”
“Take it to Lord and Taylor. They do excellent work.”
“I will. I promise.”
When their mother’s attention returned to their father, Mamie murmured, “I swear, I don’t know how you think of lies so quickly.”
Florence lifted a shoulder. “It’s a gift.”
“Now, tell me what is going on with Mr. Madden.” When Florence didn’t immediately answer, Mamie added, “I know you’re fond of him. It’s written all over your face.”
That was a lie. Florence had played enough poker that she knew how to school her features. “Stop. You’re digging.”
“Fine, I am. But please tell me what’s troubling you. That will at least take my mind off my own troubles.”
She lifted her porcelain cup in front of her face again. “He wants to sleep with me.”
Mamie covered her mouth with her cup. “Of course he does. He’d be a fool not to. You’re stunning and smart.”
“Thank you,” Florence said honestly, flattered by her sister’s praise. They were normally sniping after one another, not complimenting. “I’ve told him no.”
“Good for you. So you’re not attracted to him.”
She thought about the night of the raid. “No, I am. Desperately so.”
“Oh. Then you’re worried about getting caught?”
“We’re often alone at the casino. I don’t think we’d have any problems with privacy.”
Mamie paused and refilled her coffee cup from the pot on the table. When she sat back, she lifted her cup to hide her mouth. “You told me you and Chester had already . . . you know, at the Astor Place. If you need me to explain how these things work, however—”