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injury?”
    Emmett frowned. “Pardon?”
    â€œThe injury in the mill, the one that prompted the settlement. What was it?”
    â€œSo curious,” he murmured. “Are you certain you aren’t aspiring to be another Nellie Bly?”
    She gave him a chagrined smile. “I suppose that’s a polite way of telling me it’s none of my business.”
    Better she find out now, to erase any misconceptions she had about him. He propped his elbows on the chair rest, steepled his fingers. “I was burned. Chains holding a steel pipe overhead broke because the pipe hadn’t been given time to properly cool. When it fell, the pipe landed on my back.”
    Her eyes rounded, filled with sympathy. Before she could say anything, he continued, “You see, I was rushing the other men. My shift was nearly over, and there was a brothel less than a mile from the mill. I was eager to get back to the girl I’d had a few nights before. So I convinced the other men that the chains would hold, to hurry up and move the pipe. And when the chains broke, two men died.”
    She stiffened, the sympathy in her expression now a memory, yet he had no intention of stopping. He lifted his flute and swirled the contents. “The union, assuming the company’s equipment to blame, fought to get me a small settlement. I took that money. I took it and never said a word about how the accident came to be, that it was my fault, because I wanted out of that steel mill more than I wanted my next breath.”
    He could still feel it sometimes, the sweat. Woke up at night drenched in it. No, he had absolutely no regrets about getting out of the steel mill or the things he’d done since.
    After downing the rest of his champagne, he placed his glass on the table with a thump. “Do not try and make me into something I’m not, Miss Sloane.”
    Her throat worked before she croaked, “And what is that, Mr. Cavanaugh? What exactly am I making you out to be?”
    He leaned in and held her startled gaze. “Nice.”
    * * *
    An awkward silence stretched, and the sounds of the dining room swirled around them. Lizzie concentrated on her food and tried to get Cavanaugh’s warning out of her head. No doubt he’d been trying to scare her with his story, but the opposite had occurred. There were many layers to the man, all of them fascinatingly complex. He was flawed, just like the rest of the mortals on earth, but it was the flaws she wanted to unwrap and study like the stock tables she loved.
    And that worried her. Her purpose was not to examine all the various facets of Emmett Cavanaugh, but to save her family’s finances.
    Her gaze bounced around the room as she tried to regain control of her emotions. Near the windows she spotted two older women who happened to be terrible gossips, their bold stares fixed on Cavanaugh as they whispered to one another. Both wore clear looks of disapproval, and Lizzie grew annoyed on his behalf. He’d done nothing untoward tonight to deserve their criticism.
    Then the ladies looked at her, and she could read the judgment from across the room. Is that Elizabeth Sloane? Why on earth is she dining with him? Notice how she isn’t even paying him attention, how uncomfortable she appears.
    She straightened her spine. She didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for her or believing she was here against her will. True, he hadn’t given her much choice in the matter, but no one need know that. Moreover, Cavanaugh had been a perfectly respectable dinner companion.
    She did what came naturally, from years of training by governesses and deportment tutors: she pasted a smile on her face and launched into conversation. “You have a brother, I understand.”
    That question seemed to snap Cavanaugh out of his thoughts. He relaxed in his chair, his mouth curving. “Yes, I do. Brendan. He’s a doctor.”
    â€œI can see you’re fond of