“I can wait.” Mulligan folded his hands behind his head and rocked back in his chair. “You’ve really got a thing for this girl, haven’t you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t want her hurt. It’s dangerous for her down here and the last thing any of us needs is Duncan Greene whipping up the police against us as retribution for his daughter.”

“Hmm.” Mulligan sounded like he didn’t believe that, but didn’t argue. He stood and came around the desk. Putting his hands in his pockets, he faced Clay. “Seems to me, the last time that woman was hurt was when she was with you. I’ll let you speak to her, but the ultimate decision will be hers. If she doesn’t wish to go with you, then you’ll respect her wishes.”

“Fair enough.” Clay could convince her. Florence was reckless and pushy, but not unreasonable. “Send a note the next time she returns and I’ll come down.”

“No need. Give me a few minutes and I’ll send her in.”

“Wait, she’s here?” Dark had just fallen. Florence normally hadn’t visited the Bronze House until the middle of the night. What was she doing in the Bowery at suppertime?

“She seems to like the place, Clay. Especially the girls in the saloon.”

“You let her . . .” He forced out a deep breath. Of course Mulligan let her. He’d given Florence free rein of the place and she’d taken full advantage, her safety be damned. “Tell me where she is.”

Mulligan checked his pocket watch. “I don’t think so. You stay here. I’ll find her and send her up.”

Florence sat in the tiny dressing room used by the dancing girls to get ready for the stage. The space was a treasure trove of jewels and feathers, cosmetics and silk stockings. She liked to sit and chat as the girls dressed, then go into the saloon to watch the performance. The dancers were clever and funny, four beautiful and bold young women who loved the stage. There was no shame in their risqué routines or the bawdy jokes. They were well paid and protected by Mulligan’s men.

All in all, it didn’t seem a bad way to make a living as far as Florence could tell.

Here, no one made the girls feel as if they didn’t fit in. There was no one judging them. No one saying they were an unwanted distraction.

Just women, dancing on a stage. Making people happy. There was a certain freedom in that, a necessary joy.

She tried to let some of that joy sink inside and cheer her. But it was hard when she was still angry and hurt.

It’s been a week already. You have to stop moping. Get over him.

A silk scarf suddenly landed on her head. “And what are you frowning about, Miss Florence?”