Evening Star Page 27

  “The Archers are New York cre`me de la cre`me,” he drawled in his finest Virginia accent. “Mr. Hamilton Archer could, I believe, if he weren’t such a bloody aristocrat, lock financial horns with Vanderbilt. As it is, he is perfectly content to let his blue blood settle, and, like you, my dear, to be a civilizing influence on us grubbing savages.” It took another moment for Alex to realize he was conducting a monologue. Giana was fast asleep.

  He shook his head. He had spoken at length just that afternoon with Dr. Davidson after he had finally convinced Giana to be examined.

  “She is a very active young woman,” Elvan Davidson had said carefully to him.

  Alex had handed him a glass of sherry and closed the library doors. “What you mean to say, Elvan,” he finished for him, “is that she is headstrong, won’t listen to a word you say, and will continue to run like a racehorse until she is too large and must slow to a fast trot.”

  Elvan Davidson, a longtime friend, sipped at the fine sherry before meeting Alex’s gaze. ‘’She is not what I expected,” Elvan said, fiddling with his watch fob. He felt himself blushing, a damnable cross no man of medicine should have to bear, and hastened to add, “Your wife, Alex, unlike any other young wife I’ve met who is pregnant with her first child, demanded to know every detail of what would happen.”

  She had probably cross-examined him like a defense witness, Alex thought. “I trust you told her,” he said easily.

  “Indeed yes,” Elvan said. “I cannot imagine anyone refusing your wife anything.”

  “And that, my dear Elvan, you also found unexpected.”

  Elvan’s blush retreated as he smiled, a disarming smile that his female patients found ever so reassuring, except Mrs. Saxton. If Alex had chosen a young lady as strong-willed as himself, it was none of Elvan’s business. And if Mrs. Saxton was nearly four months pregnant, her date of conception the first week of Alex’s arrival in London, well, that too was none of his affair. He leaned forward in his leather chair, his voice becoming serious. “You are her husband, Alex, and she will listen to you. Although she is quite healthy, she must rest more. She is too thin at the moment.”

  He saw Alex’s dark eyes narrow. “What are you saying, Elvan?”

  “Tie her down, Alex,” Elvan said, dropping his watch fob. “Make her rest more, particularly in these early months, and make her eat. For God’s sake, Alex, I have heard that besides running this household, she is involved in business.”

  “Yes,” Alex said, smiling at the shock in his voice. “She handles all the Van Cleve business for her mother in London, and other business as well. She has also taken half a floor in my office building, stolen three of my clerks, hired a friend of hers to help her, and spends a great deal of time with my daughter. She seems so full of energy, so very unpregnant, I suppose.”

  Another thought occurred to him, and he said slowly, “I as well as my wife much enjoy our marital relationship. Is there any harm—”

  Dr. Davidson cut him off, more to keep the wretched flush from his face than to save his friend any embarrassment. “No,” he said shortly. “Your wife also asked me that.”

  Alex laughed, unable to help himself.

  “I might add that she smiled when I reassured her.”

  “Then you anticipate no problems, Elvan?”

  “No. But you should put your foot down, Alex. And I think you should content yourself with two children, no more.”

  Hell, Alex thought, gazing down at his Giana’s sleeping face, shadowed in the dim carriage, one would be fine, and one child might be all he would ever know with her. He knew she still clung to her resolve to return to England after the birth of their child. Even when she lay panting in his arms, caressing him and holding him as if her world would end if he left her, there was the inevitable wariness in her eyes that made him want to strangle her. He had toyed with the idea of refusing to make love with her, wondering, if he denied her, if she would realize that she needed him, that her body needed him. He couldn’t do it, however. He wanted her, his need for her as great as hers for him.

  He leaned back against the cushions, wondering at himself. His life had been so damned simple, so uncomplicated before his ill-fated trip to London. Now he was saddled with a woman who seemed to delight in bickering with him like a stray cat, and yet he was plotting to keep her with him. The truth was, he knew, that he liked to goad her, liked her sense of humor, and he liked having his house run as efficiently as his business. He even enjoyed discussing business problems with her each evening, still surprised, he supposed, that she, a woman, could listen and understand. And he enjoyed waking in the morning to find her curled up against him, her head against his shoulder.

  “Giana,” he said, gently shaking her, “we are at the Archers’.”

  She grumbled a moment, and stretched like a cat, yawning widely. “Oh dear,” she said, shaking away the dregs of sleep and staring out at the well-lit mansion with a line of carriages pulled up in front. “ Forgive me, Alex,” she said, smiling at him. “I don’t know why I was so tired all of a sudden. It must be your rustic New York air.”

  He would tell her later that he intended to see her rest every afternoon. “We can skip this party, Giana.”

  “Oh no,” she said, straightening her long gloves. “Derry will be here, and Mr. McCormick, and the Waddells, and—”

  He held up his hand. “Do not recite the guest list, please.”

  “And Jennifer,” she added on a small frown. “That girl is such a nuisance, Alex. The couple of times I’ve seen her, she embarrasses Derry with her jabs at me.”

  As Alex assisted her from the carriage, she whispered in his ear, “She hates me, sir, because she wants you. Shall I tell her what a marvelous lover you are?”

  He looked at her quite seriously, still holding her about the waist. “No,” he said quietly. “Tell her what a marvelous husband I am.”

  Her expressive eyes fell from his face, and he lowered her to the walkway.

  “Are you warm enough?” he asked, after waving Rayburn away. He pulled her thick sable-lined cloak more securely around her shoulders.

  “You needn’t treat me like Leah, Alex,” she said. “Are you warm enough?”

  “I, my dear, am not pregnant.”

  The Archer mansion looked like a white-pillared Southern plantation house sprawled over an entire block off Third Avenue. There was even a black butler to greet them and take their wraps. Soon, Alex knew, Giana would be separated from him, the gentlemen of business she assaulted fated not only for her charm but for her endless curiosity about what they did and how they did it. He supposed the women would eye her dubiously, all save Derry, but when she spoke to them, they would probably hold to her every word, for it was now common knowledge that her mother was a duchess. He saw her sizing up the aristocratic-looking Mr. Archer, and said, “If you begin to feel tired, tell me, Giana. We can leave whenever you wish. Promise me.”

  She cocked her head up at him, a puzzled expression in her eyes. “I feel marvelous, Alex. Are you worried just because I had a pleasant dream in the carriage?”

  Alex had no time to reply, for an equally blue-blooded Mrs. Hamilton Archer was bearing down on them, a mammoth ostrich feather, dyed a dazzling orange, swaying among the ringlets on top of her head.

  “My dear Mr. Saxton,” she said, stretching his name out endlessly. “And this is your charming bride. My dear, I have heard the oddest thing. Mr. McCormick—so bearish-looking, you know—has been telling me about your business dealings. I, of course, thought he meant Mr. Saxton, and I confess to an unladylike gasp when he hastened to tell me it was Mrs. Saxton he was dealing with. But don’t I go on. Come, my dears, and meet Mr. Archer. He has been talking all evening of the English lady who runs her own businesses.”

  “Oh God,” Giana said, holding tightly to Alex’s arm.

  “That will teach you to be so unnatural, Giana. That is one lady I doubt will allow you to get in one word edgewise.”

  Hamilton A
rcher gazed down at the lovely creature before him and allowed a tight smile. She was English, he remembered, and of the aristocracy. His eyes fell to her lovely white shoulders and her breasts. His smile loosened a bit. The English were eccentric, and the wealthier they were, the more eccentric.

  “Alex, my dear fellow. Introduce me to your lovely wife, and then take yourself off.”

  Introductions made, Mr. Archer drew Giana’s gloved hand to his lips and vowed that he was charmed.

  “My husband tells me you are from Virginia, sir,” Giana said, gently removing her hand from his. “Do you still own land in the South? Do you grow cotton, perhaps?”

  Alex smiled and quietly moved away. Hamilton Archer would soon be busy pouring out every detail Giana would wish to know.

  But Giana, after ensuring that Hamilton Archer had sated himself with viewing her bosom, excused herself, for she had caught sight of Derry, standing, unfortunately, with Jennifer. She accepted a glass of champagne from a passing servant and made her way across the carpeted salon to the massive marble fireplace.

  Jennifer watched Giana walk gracefully toward them and muttered under her breath to Derry, “She’s finished flirting with Mr. Archer, I see. She doesn’t look at all well with that dark green velvet falling off her shoulders.”

  “I don’t believe it is in danger of falling off, do you, Jennifer?”

  Giana moderated her greeting and said only, “Good evening, Derry, Jennifer. Is not this a lovely home? The ceilings are so high they are shadowed.”

  “I prefer Alex’s,” Jennifer said. “I always feel so comfortable there. Now, if you will excuse me, doubtless my stepmother would like to discuss business.”

  “You will forgive Jennifer, I hope,” Derry said, watching Jennifer’s retreating back. “She has nourished these die-away airs for Alex, and persists in casting you as the Other Woman. And you are his wife.”

  “We will both get over it, I trust, Derry.”

  “I saw you speaking ever so long with Mr. Archer. Whatever did you have to talk about?”

  “Cotton, Derry. He owns slaves, you know, but of course I did not argue the politics or the morality of the issue with him. That would have quite floored him, I fear.”

  “New York will never be the same again, Giana.”

  “Have you seen Mr. McCormick yet this evening, Derry?”

  “He’s here tonight, of course, but I haven’t talked with him myself. I spoke to Charles about the project, though, to ask his advice.”

  “And what did Charles say?”

  “You will find out soon enough, my dear, when you dance with him.”

  “I am delighted he will speak with me. It is a risk, admittedly. But, Derry, I have my heart set on it.”

  The orchestra struck up another waltz as Derry answered, “I know. I believe your husband is about to ask you to dance, Giana, from the way he is looking at you. Never have I seen a man so besotted.”

  “Alex, besotted?” Giana laughed. “Hardly that, Derry. He is just concerned that I will tire myself out.”

  “Well, I will keep you with me until he comes, so that you won’t. Your waistline still doesn’t tell a tale, Giana.”

  “Thank God for that. Let’s have lunch together tomorrow, Derry. For dessert, I promise you some ice cream. Strawberry. I can’t seem to get my fill of it lately. Alex is forever complaining.”

  “Better than pickled onions. Lunch tomorrow, Giana. Here comes Mrs. Vanderbilt with Jennifer. She looks the world like a ocean liner ready to be launched.”

  Giana giggled, then turned to smile up at Alex.

  “My dear?”

  She placed her hand on Alex’s arm and let him lead her to the dance floor. When she felt his arm around her waist, his fingers lightly caressing her back, she could only stare up at him, wondering how she could respond so easily to his slightest touch.

  It was as if he guessed her thought, for he smiled intimately down at her and said, “Don’t take me here, please, Giana. The ladies would doubtless be in a snit to see you bear me away to a back room.”

  “Would they, now, sir,” she said, but her voice was breathless.

  “You are the most beautiful Englishwoman here tonight.”

  “The only one, Alex.”

  “Oh? I do believe you are right.” He pulled her closer and whirled her about the large ballroom. She laughed aloud when he pivoted gracefully away from another couple, carrying her in a wide circle. When the waltz ended and he released her, she looked up at him, disappointment clear in her eyes. “Cannot we dance again?”

  He shook his head. “Were I to keep you with me, love, I should expect a challenge from any number of hopeful gentlemen. Husbands aren’t supposed to be so attentive to their wives. We would be thought to be in love, and that would never do, would it?”

  Her eyes flew to his face, but his expression was impassive. “No,” she said, drawing a deep breath, “that wouldn’t do.”

  It was later in the evening that Charles Lattimer approached her. “How lovely you look this evening, Mrs. Saxton,” he said. “The more I see you, the more I have to agree with Derry. You have indeed grown into a lovely woman, although I was charmed by the shy young girl in Geneva.”

  “And that was a long time ago,” Giana said. “You are too kind, sir. It is your wife who looks lovely tonight. I am a blackamoor and she has the look of an angel.”

  A fair eyebrow arched upward. “An angel who was so unhappy in her heaven that she fled earthward.”

  “Come, Charles, would you be content with but a harp to strum?”

  He shook his head, smiling down at her. “Your logic is terrifying, Giana. But you know,” he continued thoughtfully, “I haven’t seen her so excited in years. Even my daughter at her sharpest doesn’t seem to faze her lately. You know, of course, that all our friends believe that we’ve both lost our heads.”

  Giana tossed her head. “It is what you and Derry think that is important, sir. The others, well, they can go to the devil.”

  “Perhaps, but it does take some getting used to. For instance, I must remember now to ask Derry if she is free before inviting her to lunch.”

  “Tomorrow is out, sir, I’m afraid.”

  Charles grinned down at her engagingly. “Do you mind mixing a bit of business with dancing?”

  “Not at all, just so long as I can still mind my steps.”

  “Derry has told me about your proposed partnership with Mr. McCormick. She mentioned that you need in the neighborhood of fifty thousand dollars and your husband refused to lend you the money.”

  “That is true, Charles.”

  “That is hardly a household allowance, Mrs. Saxton, but I think I could be interested, if you put up for collateral twice that amount, say, of your twenty-five-percent ownership in Van Cleve/Saxton.”

  “That is asking a lot, Charles.”

  He whirled her about before replying, “True, but the collateral must balance the risk of the investment, which, in this instance, is substantial.”

  “I should like to think about it, Charles. Could you draw up the papers and send them by tomorrow?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Alex told me no banker would touch my proposal. Are you doing this for Derry?”

  “Perhaps in part. Your husband, I’m sure, will not much like this arrangement. But I am a businessman, and if you are willing to take the risk, the loan is a sound one.”

  “Well, princess,” Alex greeted her some minutes later, “I see your eyes are sparkling like sapphires. Have you made so many new conquests tonight?”

  “Yes,” she said slowly, not quite meeting his gaze. “It has been a very rewarding evening.”

  She smiled toward Charles Lattimer, who was dancing with Derry.

  “Do not treat Lattimer as a conquest, Giana.”

  “Why don’t you like Charles Lattimer, Alex?” she asked curiously.

  “It’s enough for you to know we both prefer to keep a goodly distance between us.”


  “My dear Mrs. Saxton.”

  She turned to see the comforting figure of Mr. McCormick, standing, as was his habit, on the balls of his feet, with his hands thrust deep into his pockets, weaving slightly as he gazed at her.

  “Perhaps you would like to speak to Mr. McCormick alone, Giana,” he said. “I will see you later.”

  How smug of you, Alex, Giana thought. I will not renege on my agreement. She bent a dazzling smile on her future partner and assured him she would have the money by the end of the week.

  “Very good, my dear,” Mr. McCormick said. “Now, no more business tonight. I have come to claim you for the next dance. Even an old codger like myself likes to be seen occasionally with his lovely business partner on his arm.”

  Only Herbert, his rheumy eyes heavy with sleep, was waiting to greet them when they arrived home. “Take Mrs. Saxton upstairs for me, Herbert,” Alex said to him. “I have a little work to do and will be up soon.” He squeezed her hand and strode away from her to his library. “And, Herbert,” he called over his shoulder, “take yourself to bed as well. And don’t, as I keep telling you, wait up for us anymore.”

  Alex let himself quietly into their bedroom a half-hour later. To his slack-jawed surprise, Giana was slouched in a deep wing chair beside the fireplace, sound asleep. She was still dressed in her petticoats and undergarments, one slipper lying under her hand in her lap. Her black lashes were like soot against her white cheeks, thick and lush. It angered him that he hadn’t followed her up and tucked her in himself. Why hadn’t she asked him to leave sooner?

  He walked quietly to her and started to lift her into his arms.

  “Dammit, Giana.”

  Giana jerked awake to see Alex’s furious face above her. He was shaking her. “Alex?” she said, her voice fuzzy with sleep.

  “You promised me, Giana.”

  “Promised you what?”

  “The corset.” He pulled her roughly to her feet, twisted her around, and began jerking at the laces. He pushed and prodded until at last he pulled off the offending corset, and threw it angrily into the fire. “You bloody little fool.”