He thought about it. The problem was Anna’s people were being paid. Clay didn’t like feigned passion. And he knew his face wasn’t the kind to draw admirers. “No, that’s not necessary.”

“Clay.” Her voice gentled and he braced himself. “You’ve been alone far too long. What’s it been since that pretty widow, a year?”

Eleven months, but who was counting? “Stop wasting your pity on me. I’m perfectly fine. Go see to your business.”

“I’m not going to drop this. You deserve happiness.”

No, I didn’t, he thought as he watched Anna leave. He was not a good man. His entire life he’d traded on fear and violence to get what he wanted. Namely, money, power and Duncan Greene’s ruin. Only after he succeeded would Clay turn his eyes toward a legitimate venture—one that might turn him into someone deserving of a slice of happiness.

Until then, he was more than happy to embrace the darkness.

Florence Greene had said it was like making a deal with the devil. She wasn’t that far off.

“And where were you last night?”

Florence tore her gaze away from the passing buildings to cast a bland stare at her younger sister, Justine. It was midmorning and the three Greene sisters were traveling a few blocks south to visit their grandmother. “I don’t know what you mean. I was home.”

“No, you weren’t. I came to see you around eleven-thirty and your bed was empty.”

“I have a good idea where she went,” Mamie said. “And I bet it starts with the letters b and h.”

“The Bronze House? Again?” Justine’s brows nearly touched her hairline, they were so high. “Did you at least win?”

“Of course.” As if she’d lose. “And I’ll donate the money to your charity, as usual. Why is no one asking Mamie about where she went last night?” Florence knew full well that her older sister had gone out to see a man. Why was a trip to the Bronze House more interesting than Mamie’s tête-à-tête?

“Now, that is interesting. I know she wasn’t meeting Chauncey,” Justine said, referring to Mamie’s almost-fiancé. “Because he’s with his family in Boston.”

“How do you know that?” Mamie asked with a frown. “He didn’t tell me he was leaving town.”

Florence rolled her eyes heavenward. “The only way you two could care less about one another is if you were perfect strangers. Lord, Mamie. Why are you marrying that man?”

“I don’t wish to talk about Chauncey . . . or any other man,” she added, her tone harsher than usual.