The look on Patrick’s face would’ve made Jack laugh, if he hadn’t been expecting it. No one would ever believe a man like Jack would associate with the angelic do-gooder. If she were even so angelic. Jack had his doubts.
Though he looked forward to discovering the answer.
“You’re joking,” Patrick managed.
“Absolutely not. We are quite friendly, actually.”
“You . . . and Justine Greene. Friendly?” He scratched his jaw. “What am I missing?”
“There’s nothing to it. She needs my help from time to time with her little projects in my part of town.”
“Oh, I see.” Patrick’s confusion cleared up, his lips stretching into a smooth smile. “The business of favors. A Mulligan specialty.”
“They do come in handy. You just be at that fundraiser.”
“You with Justine Greene at the Metropolitan Opera House in front of all New York high society? I wouldn’t miss that spectacle for the world.”
Jack clapped Patrick on the back. “Then dust off your evening jacket. We’ll show those Knickerbockers a thing or two.”
Justine couldn’t recall ever being this nervous.
Draped in one of Mamie’s old evening gowns, she hovered near the entrance of the Metropolitan Opera House. It was crowded, with nearly everyone of consequence here this evening. To bear witness to her and Mulligan. Together.
Thank goodness that her mother and father were in Europe at the moment. It would be weeks before they learned of Mulligan’s involvement at the fundraiser. By that time, Justine would have rid herself of Mulligan altogether. They would have no reason to interact any longer, and her bizarre fascination with him would subside.
Fascination? More like fantasies.
Fine, yes. She’d had her share of fantasies lately about Mulligan. Lewd and exciting fantasies where he kissed and touched her everywhere, his bright blue eyes burning with desire. His hands eager, his body hard. Dark words of appreciation and encouragement. She had pleasured herself in the bath tonight just thinking about it.
But fantasy and reality were two entirely different worlds.
He stood for everything she worked against, like violence and crime. She helped people but never stepped outside the law. Mulligan created his own set of rules, anything that furthered his interests.
Therefore, she had to suppress her body’s bizarre reaction to him, the craving that hummed along her skin in his presence.
The line of conveyances moved and a slick black brougham inched to the curb. Nothing on the outside hinted that it was any different than the other fancy carriages on the street, but something, some strange feeling, made the hairs on the back of Justine’s neck stand up.
The door flung open and a leg clad in perfectly creased black wool shot out. The leather shoe was so shiny she thought she saw her reflection on the surface. Then a large frame twisted and slowly emerged, each movement deliberate, almost flamboyant. The yellow lamplight illuminated the sharp angles of his jaw, the perfectly chiseled features. He wore an arrogant smile, his bearing proud and straight, as he placed a silk top hat on his head.
Elegant. Impossibly handsome.
Mulligan had arrived.
He made no effort to advance toward the entrance. Instead, he pulled on his cuffs. Brushed his sleeves and smoothed his vest, seemingly preening for the crowd. Mouth gone dry, Justine swallowed as she watched from the shadows. He was Adonis, all lean male beauty and strength. A man the gods would fight over. His black-and-white evening clothes, worn here by every man like a uniform, only caused him to stand out from the crowd. It was as if the cloth had been woven just for him, sewn to highlight his broad shoulders and trim frame.
Everyone around them stopped to stare. The woman next to Justine actually gasped.
Justine didn’t move, her back glued to the brick. In general, she didn’t care for attention. Too late now. You agreed to let him escort you. All eyes would be on them tonight.
One evening. One fundraiser. Then you’re through with Mulligan.
Unless she decided to ask for help with finding Mrs. von Briesen’s husband.
No, you can do it on your own. No more debts to Mulligan. No more favors, no more contact. They were even after tonight.
“Miss Greene!”
Oh, Lord. He’d spotted her. Heads turned her way, and she had no choice but to step forward. “Good evening.”
He strode toward her, his long legs eating up the pavement that separated them. Then he took her hand and brought it to his mouth, his full lips brushing the thin cloth of her glove. “Miss Greene,” he said, his voice deep and intimate. A ripple went down her