Then he’d found out her secret. Elizabeth wasn’t a widow. Her husband was quite alive . . . and one of Clay’s investors. Curiosity had driven Elizabeth to Clay’s bed, where she’d told him lies about her background and family. Clay didn’t hate her for it, though. Most marriages were unhappy, and unhappy spouses tended to stray. He owed no loyalty to the husband, even if the man was an investor. Clay turned away investors weekly. Finding money was never a problem.

But he’d learned a valuable lesson about trust. People lied to get what they wanted, if they wanted it badly enough. And Clay hated liars.

From then on, he never slept with married women. The hassle wasn’t worth it, not in a city where beautiful unattached women were every which way one turned. Moreover, he made damn certain he knew exactly who came into his bed. He wouldn’t get fooled twice.

I am not innocent.

Jesus, that was not an image he needed right now. What had Florence meant by that? Had she lost her virginity to some straw hat–wearing imbecile who probably couldn’t find a clitoris even with directions? He almost felt sorry for her if that were the case.

I could show her real pleasure.

Clay swallowed hard. Yes, he certainly could . . . but where would that get him? No place good, that was for certain. Better to return to the business at hand.

There was a haven of vice and sin to oversee, and it had no place for a Knickerbocker princess.

Chapter Six

God, would this dinner party never end?

Florence stifled a yawn and tried not to fall asleep in her plate of roasted duck. She’d accompanied her parents to the Van Alans’ for dinner and the crowd was positively ancient, full of Daddy’s cronies and Mama’s charity ladies. The only single man near her age was her sister Mamie’s almost-fiancé, Chauncey. And there was dust more interesting than Chauncey.

Mamie was supposed to attend this evening, as well, but she’d backed out at the last minute with a headache. Stupidly, Florence hadn’t done the same. She assumed there would be at least one young man here. The Van Alans must have planned for Chauncey to fill that position and hadn’t bothered to invite anyone Florence actually wished to talk to.