Evening Star

by Catherine Coulter

  Her fingers glided upward, and he moaned. “God, you little witch, if you don’t stop that, we’ll soon find ourselves at an impasse.”

  Giana felt as though she hadn’t a bone in her body when he turned her again, away from him. She turned her head to look at him, but he held her still. He kissed the back of her neck and cupped her breast with his hand beneath her, while he pressed her belly to fit her close against him. His fingers found her again, and she felt him press against her and slowly thrust inside her.

  The familiar ache of sheer sensation built within her, and she was wild to reach the pleasure he had given her the previous night. She was writhing against him, not understanding why he would not give her release. His fingers were tantalizing, featherlight, and she cried out.

  “Damn you.”

  “It will take me years to slow you down,” Alex said against her ear. Her last coherent thought was that she would die if he stopped.

  Giana shivered as the sheen of perspiration dried in the cool cabin air. She rolled over and pressed herself against his warm body.

  “You are superb,” she said. “I do not mind that you are so terribly conceited.”

  “Am I superb enough to be your husband?”

  He felt her tense. “You are my husband in name only, Alex. But you are my lover, I will not deny that.”

  “And do you think you will not want me after our child is born?”

  “Probably.” She sighed. “But perhaps this passion I feel for you will fade.”

  “Practice will tell, you know, Giana, and I intend to practice constantly.”

  She pulled away from him, drawing the velvet coverlet over her. “You must find me very inept,” she said bleakly.

  “But ever so willing. I am a patient man, in all things.”

  “Particularly when it comes to your women?”

  He cocked a black brow at her. “You already accuse me of infidelity?”

  She looked down at her toes. “No, but I will become boringly familiar to you. And I will be too pregnant to share your bed.” She shrugged her shoulders. “You are free, after all, and you will likely do just as you please.”

  He felt his jaw tighten. “I find your blithe cynicism nauseating,” he said, unable to keep the anger from his voice. “Don’t paint me with your bitter brush.”

  She whirled about to face him. “Ah, the big stud of Rome is spouting piety. I find you insulting, Alex.”

  He rolled off the bed and stood towering over her. She saw vaguely that he was wet with her.

  “Wife or no wife, Miss Van Cleve,” he said, “you continue to rant nonsense at me, and I’ll thrash you.”

  “A stupid man and his threats. The two go together so perfectly. You cannot deny the truth, so you resort to bullying. It becomes you so well, Mr. Saxton.”

  “Jesus, I am a fool for standing here listening to you.” He gathered up his clothes and yanked on his trousers.

  He was on the point of slamming out of the stateroom when she yelled, “Wait. You cannot leave me, I have no one to help me with my gown.”

  “Stay in bed, then,” he said. “You’ll likely be so hot for me when I come back that you’d tear it anyway in your haste to get to me.”

  “Conceited ass. I would never marry you.”

  “Take care, ma’am. I might just stop asking you.” He turned on his heel and slammed out of the stateroom.

  Giana closed her mouth and eyes to let Alex wipe her face with a cool cloth.

  “You’re sweating like a pig,” he said.

  “A sow,” she said, unable to smile at him. “And ladies don’t sweat.” She watched a half-filled glass of water slide across the tabletop as the Halyon careened sharply to starboard in the furrow of a deep trough. In the next moment she was scrambling toward the chamber pot.

  Alex turned away from her so she would not see his worry. There was no doctor aboard the Halyon, and he had not considered what a ferocious Atlantic storm would do to Giana. The storm had raged for nearly three days, and most of the passengers were seasick, but none of them were also pregnant. She had eaten little since it started, and held down nothing as far as he could tell.

  “Giana, you must try to eat something,” he said, sitting down beside her.

  “You must hate me.” She looked so damned fragile, her complexion pale and her hair lank and shiny with sweat. He had tried to braid it, and left her looking like a little girl playing grown-up. He felt his own stomach lurch at a particularly violent heave of the huge ship.

  He was completely unmanned when she whispered, “Please, Alex, don’t let the baby die.” Tears coursed down her cheeks, and he dashed them away before they ran into her mouth. She wrapped her arms around her stomach and drew her knees up to her chest.

  “It’s this damned stateroom,” he said suddenly, glancing around at all the luxury tilting and heaving around him. “We’re getting out of here.”

  He pulled on several sweaters and his slicker, then bundled Giana up to her eyebrows in warm blankets.

  “Are you going to throw me overboard?”

  “The fish would likely throw you back. You weigh no more than a guppy. Hush, now. You are going to feel better quite soon.”

  Alex ignored the aghast expression on Captain Duffey’s rain-slapped face when he lurched onto deck, his wife in his arms. He found a spot protected from the slashing rain and wind just outside the wheelhouse and ordered a tired sailor to bring him a chair.

  To his relief, he felt Giana relax in his arms within minutes. Alex slipped his hand under the mound of blankets and gently touched her belly.

  “Better?”

  “Oh yes. I cannot believe it. Alex?”

  A sheet of blowing rain whipped around the side of the wheelhouse, and Alex lowered his head to protect her. “Yes?”

  “Thank you.”

  He dropped a light kiss on her brow, and smiled. “You are most welcome, Mrs. Saxton. If we don’t get washed overboard, perhaps I have found a cure.”

  They slept through the morning, their first unbroken sleep in nearly three days. When they awoke, Alex grinned shamelessly at the passengers who lay huddled around them on the deck.

  “Quite a honeymoon,” he said, delighted to see her color returned. “Never has a man who is not even a husband endured such a sorry excuse for a wife—”

  “Who is not even a wife,” she said. “I must look awful.” She tried to free her hand from the blankets, but Alex held her still.

  “I am getting used to your greenish complexion, Giana. Since you’re showing signs of renewed vanity, do you think you could drink some hot broth perhaps? I don’t want a wraith on my arm when we arrive in New York.”

  She blinked, surprised at herself. “I’m starving,” she said.

  When she had finished the broth, and a piece of bread as well, she slept again, and did not wake until evening. She stretched in Alex’s arms, and felt him burrow his hand to her belly.

  “No more cramping, Giana? You feel better?”

  “Yes, I promise. But how your arms must feel.”

  “If you survive, my arms will also, princess.” He paused a moment, staring toward the gray, rolling storm clouds. “It occurred to me,” he said, “that we have not spoken much of my family.”

  She smiled up at him. “Delaney Saxton, sir, I know quite a bit about. My research into your skeletons, you know, before you came to London. He is twenty-eight, and unwed. He is still in California?”

  “Yes, indeed. My last letter from him was gleeful. He appears to be gambling on making his fortune in gold, owns two gold mines now, and also has the dubious pleasure of having been drafted into local politics. He was in the thick of things when California was admitted into the union last year as a free state.”

  “At least England, with all her faults, did away with that nonsense.”

  “It is true we are fast evolving into two separate nations, shouting at each other through their newspapers. Henry Clay, the senator from Kentucky, staved off a confront
ation for at least a while with his compromise last year. I wrote to Delaney that he should stump about the West a bit if he wants to make a name for himself.”

  “And likely spend all his gold in the process. I look forward to meeting him, Alex, but I shall meet your daughter, Leah, first. And she is truly the dark horse to me.”

  “She is a charming little girl, I believe, not at all standoffish.”

  “You are probably a great cuddly bear to her. Does she resemble you?”

  “Somewhat, I guess. Our eyes are the same, but for the rest—” He shrugged. “I would appreciate your being kind to her, Giana. I have been away a lot in recent years, and she has been left overmuch to her governess.”

  “That,” Giana said firmly, “I do know about. You didn’t think I would act like the wicked stepmother, did you?”

  “No, but then again, you will not be staying overlong in New York, will you?” She said nothing. “I ask only that for the time we are together, you treat her with smiles and kindness.”

  “That, Mr. Saxton, you may count on. I haven’t been much around children, but she is special, is she not?”

  “Yes,” he said quietly, “very special.”

  Giana blurted out, “Laura must have been special too, Alex.”

  “That,” he said coolly, “is a subject I would as soon leave in the past, where it belongs.”

  “If you wish.”

  “You never told me the name of your friend in New York,” he said, wanting to distract her.

  “Derry Fairmount, actually, Lattimer. Her husband is Charles Lattimer, a wealthy banker.”

  A black brow rose. “You mean you know Derry?”

  “She was my best friend in school. I gather from your delighted voice that you are well acquainted with her.”

  “Oh yes. She is a charming girl, but I do not get along well with her husband. Never have.”

  “The dashing, romantic Charles?”

  “Do I hear that familiar note of cynicism creeping into your voice, Giana?”

  “Not really. I just hope she is happy.”

  “Whatever else is true of Charles Lattimer, he seems to have the wit and wherewithal to keep a young wife content.”

  “There you go again, Mr. Saxton. As if all it takes to make a woman chirpingly happy is to occasionally toss her a bone of affection.”

  Alex grinned down at her. “Now I know you’re feeling more yourself,” he teased her. “Shall we continue to bicker?”

  “No. Actually, I should like to eat a mammoth dinner.”

  He hugged her. “Excellent, Mrs. Saxton. After you’ve filled your skinny stomach, and my arms have recovered, I’ll put you into a huge tub of water, and then into bed.”

  “That, Mr. Saxton, sounds like a very complicated proposition.”

  “Only until the last item, my dear. Then it is simplicity itself.”

  Chapter 17

  The unearthly racket of drayers, hawkers, porters, and sailors filled Giana’s ears as the Halyon was eased gently into her berth.

  “But it looks perfectly civilized, Alex.”

  Alex’s eyes crinkled into the October sun, taking in the bustling activity on the South Street docks, a sight that always exhilarated him. It felt so damned good to be home again. He turned a lazy smile to Giana. “Surely you did not expect to see the streets lined with log cabins and wild Indians strolling about. That is my building, Saxton & Nielson, the three-story red brick, just across the street. My office is on the third floor, there on the corner. When I get tired of all the mumbling clerks, I have but to look out my windows to restore my good humor. The Saxton shipyards are just down the block.”

  “It will do quite nicely for my offices, I think, Alex,” she said.

  Alex cocked a black brow at her. “Actually,” he said, “I hadn’t thought about that. But I don’t suppose it will harm my reputation if my wife appears with her ledgers and skirts on South Street.” He grinned at her. “You will have to keep your ears covered, though. The language you will hear in this part of the city will burn them off.”

  “I think you’ve prepared my ears quite enough, Mr. Saxton.”

  He smiled down at her only briefly, for he had caught a glimpse of Anesley O’Leary, his personal assistant, waving his tall black hat wildly at them.

  “I see that my letter arrived well before us,” he said, waving back. “Anesley,” he shouted at the tall red-haired man, his deep voice carrying through the melee of orderly chaos. “Bring the carriage around.”

  “Anesley O’Leary,” Alex continued, “is my assistant. Perhaps I can convince him to lend himself to you. You’ll find him industrious, unethical as need be, and a bully boy with his fists. The only problem is that Anesley can’t abide the English. But you are, after all, only a woman, and perhaps he will respond to your frail helplessness. I gather your intent is to birth our child in the thick of business?”

  “Perhaps not in the very thick,” she said, looking toward the Irishman on the dock as he waved an open carriage toward the gangplank.

  “I do want you to rest a bit, at least for the time being. You’re skinny as a fishing pole.”

  “It warms my silly heart, Mr. Saxton, to know that you would like to keep me sheltered for the next seven months from all the chill winds that blow off the bay.”

  She drew a smile from him. “You win, Giana. I promise to show you my concern only at night.”

  Alex waved his thanks to Captain Duffey and guided Giana down the wooden gangplank. They both swayed a moment when they reached the unmoving ground.

  Anesley O’Leary was a younger man than she had thought, his serious brown eyes browed with thick streaks of carrot-red hair.

  “Good to see you, Anesley,” Alex said, shaking his hand. “My wife, Giana Saxton.”

  “A pleasure, ma’am. Welcome home, sir.” He grinned widely. “I should have known better than to think you were bowed with business for the past months.”

  “I managed to survive both the business and the pleasure, my dear fellow. I trust, Anesley, that the shipyards are still intact?”

  “Jake Ransom needs your advice about the mainmast of the Eastern Star. Mr. Saxton’s foreman at the shipyard,” he added for Giana’s benefit.

  “What seems to be the problem, Mr. O’Leary?” Giana asked.

  “The wood, ma’am. Ransom thinks it wasn’t properly aged.”

  “Was it not part of your shipment from the Baltic?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Anesley said, blinking at her.

  “Sounds to me, Alex,” Giana laughed, “like you’ve been bilked.”

  “Well, we will see to it Monday. Have Jake in my office first thing in the morning. Thank you for meeting us, Anesley. I’ll see you on Monday, with Jake.” Alex helped Giana into the carriage and swung in after her.

  “I will likely see you on Monday too, Mr. O’Leary,” Giana called back to him.

  “I don’t think I’ll wait for tonight,” Alex said. “Making love to you appears to be the only way I can shut your mouth.”

  She did not answer him, her attention already engaged elsewhere as their carriage pulled onto Broadway.

  “Behind you, Giana, is the Battery, and beyond, Brooklyn. We’ll head up Broadway, then swing over to Washington Square.”

  “That is Trinity Church?” Giana called out, pointing toward the tall spire.

  “It was finally rebuilt some years ago,” Alex said. “Hopefully, you damned British will not gut it again.”

  When they reached the south end of Washington Square, Giana waved excitedly at a formation of brightly uniformed soldiers marching on the huge green, their bayoneted rifles held at attention.

  “Daily exercise,” Alex said. “It is the Seventh Regiment performing their drills.”

  Their carriage skirted the lovely homes that surrounded the square, and turned onto Fifth Avenue. Alex was delighted to hear her draw in her breath.

  “So many trees, Alex. And in the middle of the city.”

  �
�It is the only street in all of New York to boast this much greenery.”

  The homes grew more imposing as the carriage rolled northward. Finally, they drew to a halt in front of a graceful, thick-columned white mansion, with a wide portico, trellised with rosebushes. Bow windows adorned all three floors, and the bright afternoon sun glistened off their sparkling glass.

  “Alex, I wasn’t expecting a log cabin, but neither was I expecting another Carlton House. It is truly beautiful.”

  “I would not expect the stepdaughter of an English duke to live in a house beneath her touch. Wait until you see the garden in the back. It’s not so impressive now that it’s fall, but in the spring it’s one of my favorite spots. I do a lot of my work there. I’ve managed something of a greenhouse in the attic, with wide skylights, but I haven’t had as much success here as in my greenhouse in Connecticut. Don’t look so ill-used, Giana. You may still find the inside of the house as tasteless as your fondest hope.”

  A graceful wide staircase swept upward from the central entrance hall, to two diverging hallways at its landing. Solid oak chairs and tables, set beneath paintings of ships and shipyards, lined the foyer, as did three women and one tall, crookedly smiling man with curling gray hair. The women dipped slight curtsies as Alex introduced them to their new mistress: Agnes, the cook, a monstrously wide woman with a white-toothed smile; Bea, the downstairs maid, her Germanic face more restrained and curious; and Ellen, the upstairs maid, a young girl who seemed nervous at meeting her.

  “And last, Mrs. Saxton, I would like you to meet Herbert. He keeps the place running smoothly.” He added in an aside for Giana’s ears, “He is more English than you are, Giana, and the biggest snob in New York. He does marvelous things for my reputation.”

  “Madam,” Herbert said, bowing.

  “Thank you for having everything in readiness, Herbert. You may dismiss the staff.”

  “It was our pleasure, ma’am.” He turned and clapped his hands. “You may return to your posts, ladies.”

  “Where is Leah, Herbert? And Miss Guthrey?”

  Herbert lowered his gaze to the parquet floor for an uncomfortable moment. “Miss Leah is, I believe, sir, in the nursery, Miss Guthrey with her.”