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not ladies like you,” Katie said, and they both giggled.
    â€œGirls,” Lizzie admonished, though she tried not to laugh. “Your brother’s private life is his own business. You should not know what sort of ladies he sees.”
    Katie rolled her eyes. “Everyone knows Emmett only sees actresses. We read the gossip columns every day. Brendan says it’s because—”
    The door was flung open, and the imposing figure of Emmett Cavanaugh came into view. With a fierce frown directed at his younger half sisters, he crossed his arms. A tense silence descended, and Katie and Claire shrank into the velvet seats. “Girls, get back inside,” he finally said, his words tiny white clouds in the frigid air.
    â€œBut Emmett—” Katie started until her brother’s hard voice interrupted.
    â€œNow, Katie.”
    â€œDoes this mean you won’t give us a swimming lesson this afternoon?” Claire asked. “Please don’t take away our lesson, Emmett.”
    Lizzie’s mouth nearly fell open. Cavanaugh was teaching his sisters how to swim?
    He held up a finger and pointed at his sisters. “If you do as Mrs. Thomas says and do not escape her again today, we’ll still have a lesson. Deal?”
    â€œDeal!” the girls said quickly. Then they murmured polite responses to Lizzie and scurried out of the carriage. “Good-bye, girls,” Lizzie called as they descended.
    They disappeared behind his broad back, yet Cavanaugh kept his cool, flat gaze riveted on Lizzie. “I apologize for my sisters.”
    â€œI didn’t mind. They were curious about me.” She couldn’t resist adding, “They said ladies never call on you.”
    A cold wind blew at that moment, ruffling his dark hair and suit coat. He didn’t move, just stood tall and broad like an impenetrable force of nature. One too strong to ever bend or break. She shivered.
    â€œThat is because most ladies know better.” Without giving her a chance to respond, he stepped back. “Until Friday, Miss Sloane.”

Chapter Two

    Riches are desirable, but many a one who has had money at his command has been entirely unable to find ingress to good society.
    Â 
    â€”American Etiquette and Rules of Politeness, 1883

    On Friday evening, Lizzie entered Delmonico’s at eight o’clock, as per Cavanaugh’s terse instructions delivered yesterday. Charlie Delmonico met her at the door and greeted her warmly.
    â€œMiss Sloane.” The young man beamed. “Welcome back.”
    â€œHello, Charlie. I am having dinner with—”
    â€œMr. Cavanaugh, yes,” he said. “Everything has been prepared, and Mr. Cavanaugh has arrived. I will escort you to your table.”
    Lizzie nodded, trying to calm the nerves fluttering in her stomach. It’s merely dinner, she told herself. Though she still couldn’t figure out why Cavanaugh wanted to dine with her. What did he hope to gain?
    Something told her he never did anything without a purpose.
    Lizzie had spent the past three days with her nose buried in stock reports, plotting a strategy on how to double Cavanaugh’s money. She needed more time, but there was no chance Cavanaugh would extend their bet. The man was reputed to be as malleable as granite, and she suspected she’d have an easier time moving Grand Central Depot to Weehawken than getting him to change his mind.
    Charlie led her deeper into the familiar dining room, a space designed to appeal to the most sophisticated New Yorkers. Dark mahogany furniture gleamed in the soft light of crystal chandeliers, the ceiling decorated with impressive frescoes worthy of an Italian master. Tall windows framed the swaying trees and yellow gas lamps of Madison Square, a view unlike any other in the city.
    In the center of the room, a man rose to his feet and Lizzie’s heart began to race. She’d forgotten the impact of Emmett Cavanaugh, the sheer