His shoulders slumped ever so slightly but his eyes didn’t change, almost as if he expected this result. “I see.” He blew out a long breath. “I suppose that’s it, then.”

“I suppose so.” God, why did this hurt so badly? She hadn’t even known this man long, yet he’d come to mean everything to her. She bit her lip and fought back the tears.

Before she could move or speak, he came closer, and his nearness caused her muscles to lock, the air to become trapped in her lungs. What was he doing?

He leaned in and she closed her eyes, willing herself not to melt into his solid frame. His lips brushed the top of her head with a gentle kiss. “I’d give everything I own to start all over with you,” he said quietly. “Goodbye, Florence.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Clay lurked in the shadows of the balcony and watched the evening’s revelry. It used to bring him such joy, such satisfaction, to see his dominion full of patrons spending their money on games they’d never win.

Nothing brought him joy anymore.

It had been almost a week since he’d returned Mrs. Greene’s deed and gone to see Florence. She’d appeared haunted and sad, such a contrast to the brave and audacious woman he’d met all those nights ago.

You did that to her. You made her miserable.

All for what? Revenge for something that happened when he was just a kid. He’d ruined his future because he’d been stuck in the past. Exactly as Florence had said.

He was an idiot many times over. The woman he wanted, his perfect match, had been in front of him the entire time . . . yet, he’d been too blinded by his own hurt to realize it. Too focused on Duncan Greene and an eye for an eye. Now he’d lost her.

I need someone who will put me first.

He flinched at the words. Yet, he didn’t back away from the pain. He deserved this perpetual awful ache inside him. Deserved to see her ghost around every corner. Deserved to lie awake in bed for hours, replaying every moment with her, missing her touch with a feverish insanity.

He deserved the misery.

Perhaps he should move. Go to Philadelphia to be with his mother. Nothing kept him here in New York City, not now. Jack could run the club and Clay could start over in a place that didn’t constantly remind him of Florence Greene.

A man down below started cheering loudly, collecting his winnings, and Clay’s lip curled in disgust. He hated all of them, these swells too stupid to calculate odds. The house always wins in the end, he wanted to rail at them.

You didn’t always feel this way. If she was here you would feel different.

Yes, but she wasn’t here. She wouldn’t ever be here again.