“Are you going to change first?” Katie asked when Florence started for the door.

Florence glanced down at herself. She liked this outfit. Furthermore, she suspected Clay would hate it. “No, I’m going just like this. If he doesn’t like the way I’m dressed, then he may kiss my arse.” The room broke out in laughter.

“Oh, he’ll like it,” Katie said.

“Did you see his face when he realized it was Florence?” one of the girls asked. “Like he’d been struck by lightning.”

“I thought it was sweet. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.” Maeve came over and handed Florence her original gown. “Clayton Madden. I can hardly believe it. But don’t take him back if he won’t treat you right.”

Florence smiled and placed her gown on a chair. “No need for concern. I’m not taking him back. I’ll return in a moment to change.”

She opened the door and found Mulligan there, his shoulder propped against the wall, a glass of beer in his hand. He took in her attire and grinned. “If he screws this up, I feel it necessary to say you are always welcome here, cara mia.”

Who would have believed this gangster spoke four languages and was so well-read? Mulligan was a contradiction. Furthermore, he’d been kind to her. “Thank you. I don’t intend on leaving, however.”

“We’ll see. Follow me.”

He turned and led her to the back stairs. As they moved through the club, she concentrated on her anger, nursed the hurt, instead of entertaining any nerves over Clay’s arrival. Undoubtedly, he planned to lecture her about the danger and impropriety of her presence here, a lecture she had no intention of sitting through. She did not answer to Clayton Madden.

One mistaken evening together didn’t give him the right to tell her what to do. Tonight’s dance should have proven that. She’d half expected him to jump up on the stage and carry her off. Surprisingly, he hadn’t. Instead, his dark eyes had followed her every movement, his expression so intense that shivers had run down her spine.

Almost as if he’d liked her up there.

Which was absurd. He was stuck on her family’s name and her father’s importance. Status was everything to Clay. You’re not made for men like me.

Well, she wasn’t made for men like Chauncey Livingston, her sister’s almost-fiancé, either. High-society men were hopelessly vain and inept. She’d experienced more pleasure in her one night with Clay than with any other man to date. In fact, her pleasure hadn’t even occurred to her other partners.

So she’d avoid all men for now. Focus on her future and forget the past. Someday she’d figure out where and with whom she fit.