The Rogue of Fifth Avenue Read online

  The look Mrs. Phillips sent Frank from beneath her lashes said much about how that free time had been spent. Frank’s reaction was nearly imperceptible but Mamie caught the slight twitch of one eye. He thrust his hands in his pockets and angled away from Mrs. Phillips. It was a very subtle, but deliberate, snub. Interesting.

  “I do need to see you,” the man said to Frank. “Perhaps you could come around tomorrow.”

  “Yes, please come to the house,” his wife put in. “We would both love to visit with you.”

  Frank kept his gaze trained on Mr. Phillips. “My day is booked tomorrow. However, if you’d visit my office around noon, I could squeeze you in between appointments.”

  “I’ll do so. Thank you, Tripp.” They shook hands and Mr. Phillips smiled at Mamie. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, Miss Greene.”

  “I shall try. Good evening to you both.”

  The other woman said nothing, merely let her husband lead her through the crowded dining room. Mamie watched them go as Frank resettled in his chair. He reached for his champagne a little too eagerly.

  “So, you and Mrs. Phillips were lovers.”

  Frank choked in the middle of drinking, liquid dribbling down his chin. “Damn it, Mamie.”

  Ah, so it was true. She smoothed the napkin on her lap and tried not to feel disappointed. After all, she and Frank were nothing to one another, not even friends. Frank flirted and cajoled as easily as he breathed and he was certainly pleasant-looking. Women would naturally gravitate toward him. Though she’d never heard of him linked with one particular woman, he was certainly not spending his nights alone.

  “Does it bother you?” He’d recovered and was now studying her face. “Meeting a woman I’ve known intimately?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t care about any of your women. I am appalled you would ruin another man’s marriage, however.”

  He returned the glass to the tabletop, his lips twisting into a mischievous smile. “For the record, that friendship ended before she married. As a rule I try to avoid relationships with married women, especially when clients are involved. But she has been rather persistent and it’s hard to remain polite while representing her husband. Now, does that restore your faith in my character?”

  A bit . . . not that she would admit it to him.

  She arched an eyebrow. “Are you seeking praise for resisting something that any decent person would know is wrong? If so, I fear you’ll be disappointed.”

  He leaned in, one arm resting across the table. “My dear Miss Greene.” His deep voice caressed along every one of her nerve endings. “We’ve already established that neither of us is a decent person. That means we’re on the other side, the one with the sinners. And I promise it’s a lot more fun over here.”

  Chapter Four

  Was she a sinner?

  The idea haunted Mamie as Tripp’s carriage rolled uptown. He’d insisted on driving her, refusing to allow her to hail a hack at the conclusion of dinner. Instead of their usual banter, however, they’d each turned pensive on the journey, lost in their own thoughts.

  Mostly she wondered about the state of her soul. Yes, stealing was morally wrong and she did steal. But was it wrong if she stole for a noble cause? She had justified her actions as benevolent over the past year . . . and now Frank Tripp had her doubting herself.

  Curse him.

  She lifted her chin, determination settling in her spine. Let him think what he wished. She was on the side of justice, doing her small share in helping those less fortunate. If Frank ever paid attention to anyone other than himself or his fancy clients, he’d surely see that her actions were justified. The extra funds meant everything to those families.

  “You’ve gone quiet,” he said. His long limbs were relaxed, his body sprawled in the spacious carriage. Dark hair had fallen over his brow in a rakish manner. He reminded her of a ruler from days gone by, all confidence and grace on his throne. The only thing missing was a woman at his side to feed him grapes. “Are you so bothered I wouldn’t see you off in a hack?”

  “Ordering my meal for me, not allowing me to see myself home . . . I do not wish to be controlled. I’m not some ingénue who must be coddled.”

  “Some consider such behavior gentlemanly.”

  “The twentieth century is almost upon us, Tripp. Women are working, living on their own. Soon we’ll have the vote.”

  He whistled softly. “A suffragette. How progressive.”

  She nearly rolled her eyes. Yes, shocking that a woman should want the same rights as a man. “You don’t know everything about me, it would seem.”

  “True, but I do wish to learn more.”

  The way he said it—a low rasp in his throat, like silk whispering over skin—caused a shiver to work its way down her spine. Why must this particular man affect her in such a manner? Chauncey was bland tea compared to Tripp’s rich and complex Bordeaux.

  She had to put a stop to this, now. If he continued to flirt with her, she might be tempted to flirt back . . . and there was no telling where that would lead. Someplace dangerous, for certain.

  “I’m afraid you shall remain disappointed, then,” she said. “You demanded one dinner, which has now concluded. There is no reason for us to cross paths in the future.”

  “Ah, but this is a small city. Undoubtedly I will see you again.”

  Small? The idea was ludicrous. The city seemed tiny only because Tripp kept trailing her about. “You must stop following me. I’m tired of having my evening ruined because you show up.”

  “I am attempting to protect you. Clearly, you are unaware how dangerous this city is for some.”

  “Oh, I’m well aware of the dangers of the city.” She’d seen drunken fights and children living on the streets. Women with no choice but to sell their bodies in dirty alleyways.

  All the more reason why her visits downtown mattered.

  He exhaled and stared at the window, his fingers drumming on the silver knob of his cane. His profile showcased a chiseled jaw and sharp cheekbone, an elegant, well-shaped nose that perfectly complemented his features. Though she hated to stare, he was a difficult man to ignore.

  “Very well. I had only thought to keep you safe, but I withdraw my assistance. You are now on your own.”

  Tripp, capitulate? She hadn’t anticipated he would give up, at least not without more arguing. Had he meant it? “Thank you—and I appreciate you not informing my father about any of this.”

  “I never agreed to that.”

  She blinked, unsure she’d heard him correctly. “I held up my end of the bargain. I came to dinner. Keeping silent is the very least you could do.”

  “Wrong. If I had wished to rid myself of you, Mamie, I would’ve informed your father ages ago. What I would much rather do is strike a bargain with you.”

  A bargain . . . with the slipperiest lawyer in Manhattan? “Why on earth would I agree to any sort of bargain with you?”

  “Because you wish to pursue your adventures. I think you know what happens if you don’t agree.”

  Her father. Mercy, that threat was losing its teeth. “What is this bargain?”

  He shifted toward her, his fierce stare focused on her face. “Should you find yourself in a situation that is dangerous, leave. Immediately. Do not risk your safety, Mamie. Whatever it is you’re doing, it’s not worth injury or death.”

  Oh. That was unexpected. She warmed everywhere, heat building under her skin to melt her insides. One would almost think he carried some sort of torch for her. He didn’t, of course. They hardly knew each other, and his life was filled with chorus girls and widows, if the gossip columns were to be believed. Perhaps he considered himself more of an older brother figure to Mamie.

  Pity. She had no need of an older brother. And her feelings regarding Frank were far from familial.

  I will agree but only if you kiss me.

  The thought came unbidden, a whisper from deep in her brain. Her gaze darted to his mouth, those full lips t
hat flirted and cajoled every time they parted. What other feats could his mouth and lips perform, if needed?

  Stop, Mamie. You’ve been listening to Florence too much.

  She let her lids fall and tried to calm her racing heart. Chauncey. He was her future husband, the only man she should be lusting over. Desire for Frank Tripp was a complication she could not take on right now.

  A finger swept under her chin to turn her head—and her eyes flew open. Frank was openly studying her, his stare hot and intense, with the gentle press of his finger holding her in place. The air in the carriage turned charged, an electricity that seemed to jump between them like alternating current. Her heart thumped in her chest, so loud she was certain he could hear it.

  “Do we have a deal, Mamie?”

  There was that deep grating tone again, the one she’d not heard him use before tonight. “Yes,” she heard herself whisper.

  The side of his mouth hitched, a flare of male satisfaction lighting his gaze. He dropped his hold on her and before she could blink he rapped on the roof. “Here!”

  The wheels slowed as the vehicle pulled over. Was he getting out? “What about seeing me home?”

  “My driver will ensure you arrive safely. Remember our bargain. Good evening, Miss Greene.”

  And he disappeared out the door and into the dark Manhattan night.

  With fourteen respected attorneys on staff, the law offices of Thomas, Howe, Travers & Tripp bustled during the daylight hours. The firm occupied three floors of a nine-story brick and terra cotta building downtown near the federal court building. One of New York City’s most prestigious firms, THT&T handled everything from murder trials to patent filings. Frank was the newest and youngest partner attorney but also the best known around town. It helped that he moved easily in high society, and he’d made friends with reporters at just about every newspaper in the area.

  Once off the elevator, he nodded at various employees along the way to his office. This floor handled mostly civil cases, with the more serious criminal cases worked on upstairs by Thomas and Howe. Frank avoided the murder trials whenever possible; he’d seen enough of that in his youth. No need to relive those horrors all over again now.

  His secretary, Mrs. Rand, stood at his approach. “Good morning, sir. I have placed the morning papers on your desk.”

  “Thank you. When is my first appointment?”

  “Mr. Jerome is coming in at nine thirty. The material is on your desk to review.”

  “You are an absolute gem, Mrs. Rand.” He continued into his office, removed his coat and dropped into the leather chair. One of the newspapers was open to a specific page his secretary wished for him to see. Closer inspection revealed it as the society page, one of Mrs. Rand’s little jokes. She liked to ensure he never missed his column mentions.

  BEAUTY AND THE BARRISTER . . . Spotted together last night at Sherry’s were two of the city’s well-known luminaries, Miss G_______ and Mr. T________. The lady sent back her first course and requested another dish. Was it not to her liking or had she changed her mind? One wonders if she may also change her mind regarding her betrothed as well.

  Barrister? Really? A solicitor would’ve been a fairer comparison. Frank could hardly believe the lack of imagination in the society writers. Couldn’t write directions to their own homes.

  He wondered if Mamie had seen the blurb. Of course, her father would be furious over the attention. Frank would find a way to explain it, if need be. Besides, there were far greater things to worry about this morning.

  Like how he’d almost kissed her.

  Worse, she had wanted him to.

  He’d bedded women from Brooklyn to the Bronx, Morristown to Massapequa, and beyond. Since the age of twelve, he’d been able to recognize desire on a woman’s face, the heat in her eyes. The way her breathing hitched and the thrumming of her pulse in her neck. Mamie had stared at his mouth like it was pistachio ice cream on an August day.

  No doubt he’d been staring at her the exact same way.

  As the night wore on his craving had grown worse. What had started as a quickening of his blood at dinner had turned into a semierection in the carriage. Christ, he feared what might’ve happened if he hadn’t hopped out halfway uptown. Would he have come in his trousers at Seventy-Second Street?

  Mamie had been jealous of Abigail Phillips, though she covered it well with a lie. Frank, however, spotted lies as easily as breathing. A product of his upbringing, he supposed, with abuse and neglect the only constants in his sordid life.

  This was why he’d cut Mamie loose. No more would he follow her around town, riding to her rescue at the first sign of danger. She was growing into an unhealthy obsession and there could be no future for the two of them. Better he forgot about her and moved on. She was welcome to visit every two-bit dive, casino or dancehall. He no longer cared.

  You must stop following me. I’m tired of having my evening ruined because you show up.

  She was right. It was past time for this to end.

  He tossed the newspaper aside. Work awaited him, including the papers he needed to ready for his first meeting of the day. Mamie Greene was in his past.

  He was nearly ready for his first appointment when a knock sounded. His secretary poked her head inside the room. “Sir, Mr. Greene is here to see you.”

  Shit.

  The meeting was impossible to refuse . . . and he wasn’t all that surprised by it, either. Frank took off his reading glasses and slipped them in the top drawer of his desk. “Show him in.” While waiting, he stood and put his coat back on.

  Duncan Greene was an imposing athletic man. He’d been raised in privilege but one would never call him “soft.” If you found yourself in a taproom brawl, you’d certainly want Greene on your side. But Frank had grown up around plenty of men more terrifying than Duncan Greene. If Mamie’s father thought to intimidate him, Greene would be sorely disappointed.

  Greene entered, a brown derby in his hands. His suit was impeccable, perfectly tailored. That he’d come to Frank instead of issuing a summons spoke volumes about the timeliness of this conversation.

  “Good morning, Duncan.” Frank held out his hand. Duncan shook it in a crushing grip, one so hard that Frank nearly winced.

  “Frank. Thank you for seeing me.”

  “Of course. You know my door is always open for you. Have a seat and tell me what’s on your mind.” As if he didn’t already suspect.

  “I was in the neighborhood this morning so I thought I’d stop and have a chat.” Duncan lowered himself into the armchair across from Frank’s desk. “We’re both busy so I won’t waste any time. I wish to know your intentions toward my daughter.”

  Intentions? Jesus. “It was one dinner, Duncan.”

  “One dinner noted in every society column this morning. I’ve already had a visit from Mr. Livingston, the father of Marion’s betrothed. He is equally concerned.”

  The two older men should instead concern themselves with Mamie’s habit of stealing money from strangers at casinos. A dinner at Sherry’s hardly equated with gambling and larceny. “Concern that is totally unfounded, in my opinion. We ran into one another and she mentioned a fondness for Louis’s artichoke soup. I offered to escort her.” The lies fell easily from his tongue.

  Duncan’s gaze studied Frank carefully, and Frank fought the urge to shift in his chair like a guilty defendant. “Marion’s story was of a similar thread.” He tapped his fingers on the armrest. “You may already know this about me, Frank, but it bears repeating. I don’t care for attention, not for myself or my family. The Greene name has always been associated with respectability and, as my eldest daughter, I expect Marion to follow decades of tradition.”

  Frank nearly snorted. Mamie bucked so much tradition that Duncan’s head would spin if he ever found out. But it wasn’t Frank’s job to inform his client of this. He needed to reassure Duncan, agree to whatever Duncan demanded and get on with his damn day.

  Duncan was one of New Yor
k City’s most powerful men. One word from him and no one above Thirty-Fourth Street would work with Frank ever again. He could kiss his legal career goodbye. And Frank hadn’t bowed and scraped since escaping the poverty of his youth only to throw his vast fortune away on a woman.

  Yes, Frank could still find clients—downtown thugs always seemed to require legal representation—but the prestige was in representing the blue bloods. Dining in the best restaurants. Having his name in the gossip columns. Invitations to the best parties.

  All that would disappear if Frank disregarded Duncan’s wishes.

  Did that make him vain and shallow? Yes. He readily admitted it. He liked money, liked having a big house on Fifth Avenue. The club memberships and box at the Metropolitan Opera House. Hell would freeze before Frank returned to a life of poverty.

  “I have no intention of pursuing any further contact with your daughter, Duncan. You have my word.”

  Duncan dipped his chin. “Excellent. While I’m here, I want you to take care of something else for me. Livingston and I decided to push the children and set a date. Let’s get a settlement drawn up, something that puts aside money for Marion in case Chauncey bungles the whole thing. Also include a clause about infidelity. I don’t care what he does after I have some grandchildren, but he best settle down and do his duty for the first ten years.”

  A sharp pain dug into Frank’s ribs, even as he nodded and wrote all this down on paper. “Not a problem.”

  Duncan rose, putting an end to the meeting. He looked around at the bare walls. “Surprised you don’t have any paintings or your degree hanging up. Where did you say you went to school again?”

  “Yale,” Frank replied. “Just never got around to getting the damn thing framed.”

  “I understand. My paper from Harvard is in a trunk somewhere in our attic. Some of your clients might find the degree impressive, though. That way, they’ll know you didn’t attend University of Delaware or Boston College.”

  God forbid. There were only three or four schools good enough for these high society types, which was why Frank would never admit his degree had been from Allegheny College. “Good point. I’ll look into having it framed,” he lied.