“I admire your confidence, Clay. And I’d almost believe you meant it if I hadn’t been watching your face when I said she might never return. You looked as if you’d been punched in the stomach.”

“Get the hell out, Anna.” He pummeled the bag with a left and right hook combination, her laughter ringing in his ears as she departed.

“Hurry, Mamie.” Florence tugged her sister’s elbow. She was full of energy, unable to calm down. Like there was a buzz under her skin that couldn’t be ignored. Whenever she got this feeling she knew she had to escape and find some excitement. Distract herself with dance or cards, music and raucous laughter. Live. Usually Mamie was game to accompany her on these outings, though tonight Florence had used a little blackmail. “We must get there before they switch to the watered-down alcohol.”

“I don’t understand,” Mamie said as they trudged along Thirty-First Street. “Why are we not going to the Bronze House?”

Because I am a coward.

Florence hadn’t visited the Bronze House in two days, during which time she’d tried to wrestle with her fascination over Clayton Madden. Her feelings were complicated and twisted, like an ever-tangling knot she couldn’t straighten. It was embarrassing, really. He probably had scads of women at all hours in the upstairs chambers, serving his every whim.

I’m attracted to you.

Was that why she couldn’t get her mind off him? No, she discounted that idea straightaway. A few men had professed their desire to her over the past few years. Goodness, Archibald Warner had begged to “shag her silly” at Granny’s last ball. Such words had never affected her before—so why would Clay’s?

“Florence, are you even listening?”

“I heard every word, and we’re not going to the Bronze House because I want to win some money tonight. I cannot gamble there any longer. We must go somewhere else.”

“I’m just uncertain why we are racing to this place as if we’re being chased. I wish you would slow down.”

“Stop complaining,” Florence said. “You owe me for skipping out on the Van Alans’ dinner. Headache, my foot.”

“I’ve already apologized for stranding you alone at that event. There’s no need to torture me with a sprint across town, Florence.”

At the corner stood Donnelly’s saloon. A side door led to the upstairs rooms, where the gambling took place, away from prying eyes and police notice. Florence had played here twice before. A few women frequented Donnelly’s to play roulette, cards, dice and other games, so the Greene sisters likely wouldn’t stick out as the only females. Though, despite dressing down this evening, they would gain notice as the only ladies.

That couldn’t be helped.