An Heiress to Remember (The Gilded Age Girls Club #3) - Maya Rodale Page 0,6
handmade kidskin gloves at a time. And he laughed all the way to the bank.
“Your duchess has returned to New York,” Connor said, which prompted the discovery that even after all these years the mention of her still caused a tightening in his chest that interfered with breathing. “It’s all over the papers. It was in the New York Post, the New York Times, the New York World . . .”
Wes knew. Oh, he knew. He’d overheard women talking in the jewelry department yesterday and saw a glimpse of her name in this morning’s paper. Both times he’d felt a pang which, being a man, he’d promptly ignored.
“I don’t particularly care,” Dalton said. “And she’s not my duchess.”
Connor grinned at him, knowingly. “Oh, I think you do care. She may not be your duchess, but she’s definitely the girl who got away. And she’s no longer a duchess.”
Dalton walked right into a display of perfumes in glass bottles. The whole table rattled precariously and one delicate bottle fell to the marble floor and shattered, assaulting everyone in the vicinity with the strong scent of eau de lilacs.
Shit. Ruthless, seductive, millionaire tycoons did not walk into displays of store merchandise at the mere mention of a woman’s name. Even if it was her. Not just the one who got away, but the one who ditched him for a duke at the first opportunity. The woman who gave purpose and meaning to his days, just not in a way his younger, idealistic, romantic self had hoped.
But damn.
The girl who had picked respectability and security over the promise of his love was now divorced. One had to appreciate the poetic justice in that.
“I don’t care that she’s back. Or no longer a duchess,” Wes said, doing his best to sound bored. “It means nothing to me.”
“The gentleman doth protest too much. Shall I tell you why you care that she has returned to Manhattan society?”
“As if I could stop you.”
“Because she might complicate things,” Connor said, and Wes paused to let his friend explain. He exerted an enormous amount of control to ensure that he outwardly projected calm disinterest even though his heart was pounding wildly. “As you know, Goodwin’s is on the verge of bankruptcy.”
“All part of my evil plan.”
“Easily accomplished because Edward Goodwin doesn’t have a head for business. Not like Goodwin Senior, may he rest in peace.”
Wes nodded at the known fact. “Maybe if Edward sobered up and applied himself, he would.”
It went without saying that he did not.
“The board is meeting Friday. They’re going to discuss putting the store up for sale.”
Dalton stopped short. They were nearly to the revolving door where a crowd of eager customers were awaiting entry, and mere minutes away from nine o’clock.
“How do you know this?”
“I have my ways. You know that.”
“Finally.” Wes breathed a slow exhale. “Finally.”
“Finally,” Connor agreed. This was the moment he had been diligently, ruthlessly working toward for sixteen years. Ever since Estella Goodwin made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. Ever since Beatrice revealed that she cared about prestige and fortune more than him.
“But Beatrice might complicate things,” Connor continued. “You know how she loved that store. She might put up a fight.”
“If I recall correctly, she’s not a fighter.”
He could vividly recall seeing the notice of her engagement to the duke in the newspaper. The public declaration that she did not love Dalton—not enough anyway. He could also remember the way she laughed, the taste of her kiss, her wit, her smile over her shoulder at him as she slipped out of her bedroom on her way to the duke. The way his heart had felt like it would burst out of his chest. Almost. He could almost forget.
“She divorced a duke. I’d say she’s a fighter. Just my two cents,” Connor said with a shrug.
“But so am I.”
How else would he have gone from Nobody to Somebody? The last time he saw her, she’d left him because he didn’t have wealth, power, prestige, or promise. And now he stood in the midst of a retail empire that was so popular and so well-known he didn’t even have a sign above the door. He had earned so much money that doors that were previously closed were cracking open for him. Memberships for exclusive clubs; ballrooms of the Four Hundred.
Power. Prestige. Wealth. Revenge.
He was so. Damned. Close.
Goodwin’s would soon be his. Revenge would soon be his.
Dalton unlocked the door and the women rushed in around him, past him. A