Her plan had started six months ago. For years she’d gambled with her grandmother and her friends, who wagered jewelry and other baubles over weekly euchre games. The competition could get quite fierce and Florence realized that proper ladies love to gamble just as much as proper men. Unfortunately, there was no place women could safely do so.

She began wondering, why not? Why couldn’t ladies have a casino just for themselves, where no men were allowed? Hire female dealers and servers, provide employment to those who needed it. Things were changing rapidly for women in the city. Jobs, apartments, bicycles, independence . . . The old ways were dying off, changing. And she liked the idea of going into business for herself.

Where she could be her own person, live by her own rules and never be made to feel like she wasn’t good enough again.

So she’d started visiting the seedier parts of downtown to learn the games, a tiny pistol tucked in her bag for safety. Roulette in the West Village. Craps and fan-tan in Chinatown. Twenty-one near Wall Street. Without fail, she turned over her winnings to her sisters, who used the money to help the needy in the tenements.

Now she was here, in the poshest, most exclusive casino in the state. Though gambling was illegal, the Bronze House was never raided because Madden had the police force and a few politicians in his pocket. How did one do that? Florence had no idea, which was why she needed Madden’s assistance to learn the business.

But he was planning to ruin her father? How could she work with a man under those conditions?

He finally answered, “I’d rather not share my plans. They have nothing to do with you directly.”

“They do if they affect my family.”

“You might tell your father. I can’t risk it. Besides, he’ll learn of it soon enough.”

She blew out a frustrated breath. Was she actually considering this? Yes, because there were no other options, not in such a short amount of time. And shouldn’t she stick close to him in hopes of discovering how he planned to ruin her family? Then she could warn her father.

“I feel as if I’m making a deal with the devil,” she muttered.

“Indeed, you are.” His dark eyes glittered in the gloomy gaslight. “I never claimed to be a nice man.”

Her skin prickled with awareness. God help her, but that appealed to her even more. “You won’t scare me away.”

“Oh, but give me time, Miss Greene.” His voice was low and husky, a tone one would use with a lover. The man was clearly trying to run her off.

Which showed he had a lot to learn about today’s modern women. She was tougher than she looked and not about to quiver in fear before him. “You might as well call me Florence.”