Evening Star

by Catherine Coulter

  Leah laughed with delight at a gold nugget set in a delicate petaled flower, which she held dangling on a slender chain. She flung her arms around Delaney’s neck, hitting him squarely on the nose with the necklace and dislodging the absurd monocle.

  Giana watched Delaney reduce Leah to giggles again as he replaced the monocle and espied her with a monster eye. He had arrived two days before, laden with presents, and when he had rested his eyes, Alex’s eyes, on her face, all the anxiety she had felt about meeting him had melted away. There was a gentleness about Delaney, a kindness that banished any feeling of unease in his company. He delighted in affecting her English accent, the monocle held in mock snobbery against his eye.

  “It appears,” he had said, holding her at arm’s length, “that I am to be an uncle twice over.”

  “If you would get yourself married,” Alex had retorted, “I would have the honor of spoiling some nieces and nephews of my own.”

  “My dear brother,” Delaney had said, his eyes twinkling just as Alex’s did, “there are so many ladies. I simply cannot make up my weak man’s mind. And you have hooked the most beautiful of them all.”

  “I am not a fish, sir,” Giana had exclaimed, laughing. “I do hope you don’t encourage Alex to grow a beard like yours. He is so dark, he would look like a northern black bear.”

  Delaney stroked his full light-brown whiskers. “Alex is far too conceited to cover his handsome face. And I, Giana, alas, I am cursed with a weak chin.”

  “Giana, look at this.”

  Leah ripped open another of Delaney’s presents, a pale green jade lamb about the size of an apple.

  “It has a hole in its head,” Leah cried, thrusting her thumb into the opening.

  “For your pens, my pet,” Delaney said. “Now, Leah, would you please spare my modesty? You’re quite embarrassing me in front of your stepmama.”

  Giana got a brief glimpse of hairy brown legs before Alex, laughing, gave an arm to both Leah and Giana and pulled them from Delaney’s room.

  “California is a continent away, Delaney, and there won’t be a railroad all the way to San Francisco for years yet.”

  Delaney sipped his coffee, casting Giana a droll look over the rim. “Now he will try to convince me to go into business with him.”

  After the hectic Christmas Day, Giana felt lazy and sleepy. It was near midnight, and Leah, dizzy with excitement, had not gone to bed until very late. The three of them, finally left to themselves, sat in decadent ease in the drawing room, facing the beautifully decorated Christmas tree.

  “Four years is a long time between visits,” Alex pursued. “You left a miserable pauper, and look what has become of you.”

  “I was lucky,” Delaney said simply. “Very lucky.” He said after a long moment, as if he were speaking more to himself than to his brother, “Odd that I always hated Father’s shipyard, all the infernal sawdust that filled up my nose. I even refused to take a steamer to San Francisco.” He sent a twisted smile to Alex. “I have bought into a shipping line, Alex. The jade lamb came from China, from one of my ships. That and my incursion into politics keep me on the straight and narrow.”

  “Good god,” Alex said, grinning. “Delaney wanted to rebel,” he said to Giana, “but he needed the lure of adventure to get him off his butt.”

  “It would appear,” Giana said, “that you did the right thing. Gold. It has a magic ring.” She glanced down at the bracelet around her wrist, a gawdy piece Delaney had explained in his droll way. “The only artisans in California,” he had said, “are men who failed to make their fortunes in gold.”

  Giana dispensed more coffee, then sat back, wishing she could loosen the waist on her gown. “I had forgotten,” Delaney said, stirring a cube of sugar into his coffee, “what it is to live among such throngs of people. Do you know that seven years ago there were fewer than fifty people living in San Francisco? Today, with the call of gold, it has swelled to more than fifty thousand. It’s still a godawful heap of saloons, tents, and raw-wood houses, but there’s an irrepressible vitality to it.”

  “You sound as if you intend to remain in California brother.”

  “Indeed I do.”

  “Oh.” Giana suddenly jumped, her eyes on Alex.

  “He did it again?”

  “Yes, it was a vicious kick.” She jumped again. “I don’t think he likes this tight waistline.”

  “No,” Delaney said, “he is simply his father’s son and wants you to know very early, Giana, that it is he who will rule the roost.”

  “Well,” Alex said, stretching. “I am ruling the roost until he arrives. It’s time for you to be in bed, Giana.” He held out his hand to her.

  “But if I go to bed, Christmas will be over and it will be tomorrow.”

  And there won’t be another, will there?

  “I would invite Delaney into bed with us—more conversation, you know—but even he, a rough-and tumble Californian, might lose his agile tongue in his blushes.”

  “Alexander Nicholas Saxton.”

  “Just like our grandfather,” Delaney said. “He’ll say and do just as he pleases. He hasn’t a sensitive bone in his great body, Giana. You can spare my blushes, Alex, I’m off to bed myself.”

  Alex found himself watching Giana as she undressed in their bedroom, listening with only half an ear to her chatter. The brief glimpse of her legs heightened his interest, and it was with some chagrin when he leaned over to kiss her that he discovered she was fast asleep. “Be damned,” he said, “I don’t believe it.”

  He lightly touched his hand to her belly, and felt a slight movement beneath his splayed fingers. Why, he wondered as he settled himself down for sleep, could nothing ever be easy?

  Chapter 23

  Giana left Delaney and Derry listening to loud strains of a polka in the vast German Winter Garden, an elegant and elaborately facaded Bowery beer hall.

  “I will see you home, Giana,” Delaney said, reaching for his cloak. She stayed him with a smile, seeing that Derry was glancing wistfully toward the dance floor. “Oh no you don’t, Delaney. Derry would surely slay me were I to take her partner.”

  She walked out onto the bustling street and breathed in the cold January air, thankful to escape the pounding rhythm of the music. There was a smell of snow in the air, but there looked to be time yet before the swirling clouds gathering overhead blanketed the city in white. She remembered the balloon panorama was on exhibition at Barnum’s Museum and waved down a hansom cab bound for Broadway.

  She left the cab at the corner of Ann Street, paid her entrance money, and spent a delightful hour exploring the museum. Odd, she thought, laughing at herself, how she was fascinated by things mechanical. She stopped at Raffer’s cigar store on Fulton to buy Alex a dozen of his favorite Havanas, and dawdled in Brady’s daguerreotype gallery, admiring his clear pictures, and bothering the distracted clerk with questions about Mr. Brady’s new process. It came as a surprise to her that it was nearly dark when she finally emerged again onto Broadway. She cast a lingering eye toward the D. & W. H. Lee furniture warerooms, but supposed that Alex, immured in his library at home for the afternoon, would worry if she dallied longer. She looked about for a hansom cab, and not seeing one, pulled her thick cloak more tightly around her and walked with a firm step up Broadway. She stopped briefly at the Astor House, with its wide, tree-fronted sidewalk and imposing stone steps, and had passed Barclay Street when she drew to a surprised halt at the sound of shouting voices. She knew she should continue on her way, but in her curiosity, she turned the corner onto Vesey Street.

  She found herself in a scene of pandemonium. A mob of roughly dressed men armed with sticks milled in front of a three-story manufacturing warehouse. She heard them shouting obscenities against its owner, a Mr. Biddle, and threats against his business. She heard a mixture of languages, and a burly man brushed by her, nearly knocking her down. Stern-faced men, some of them drunk, jostled and pressed about her, paying no attention to the pregnant wo
man pushing her way through their ranks.

  “Hey, little girlie, do you want—?”

  She jerked away from the leering man’s outstretched arm, closing her mind to his obscene suggestion. She suddenly spotted a hansom cab standing at a curb a block ahead and waved her hand wildly toward the driver. She was panting from exertion when she had at last pushed her way beyond the thick of the crowd, nearly free. It was then she saw a man, dressed as roughly as the workers, running toward her.

  “Get her,” she heard someone say. “Bring her here.” She looked toward the voice, but she could not see him in the crowd.

  Giana felt her blood run cold. She cursed her clumsiness when she tried to run, and screamed when she nearly tripped, grasping frantically at a lamppost to regain her balance.

  She heard a man shout her name, but she didn’t turn. The cab was just a few yards away. “Wait,” she yelled at the driver. “Please, wait.”

  Suddenly a group of workers erupted from an alleyway to her right and surged onto the street, blocking the man who was closing behind her. She heard furious curses, but did not look back. She reached the cab, and shouted up at the driver as she jerked on the door handle, “Quickly, take me to Twenty-fifth Street and Fifth Avenue.”

  The driver nodded, as if bored, and slowly raised his hands to click his mare forward.

  She leaned out the window and saw the man racing toward the cab again. There was another man behind him, but she couldn’t make out his face.

  “Hurry,” she said. “Ten dollars if you will hurry.”

  There was an astounding change in the phlegmatic driver. He whipped his mare forward, and her pursuer was hurled backward, cursing at the driver as he fell to the street. Giana was thrown back against the worn leather squabs as the cab careened up the street.

  She was only vaguely aware that he was driving like a maniac up Broadway, ignoring the angry shouts of pedestrians. When they reached the southern edge of Union Square, the cab lurched eastward, barely escaping a careening beer wagon. She held on until the cab drew up in front of the Saxton mansion, her only thought to get to Alex. She stuffed twenty dollars into the astonished driver’s outstretched hand, turned her back to him as he shouted, “Thank you, lady,” and ran awkwardly to the front door.

  “Mrs. Saxton.” Herbert was aghast. Mrs. Saxton was pale, her clothing askew, and her bonnet tilted over her left ear.

  “Alex—Mr. Saxton. Where is he?”

  “In the library, ma’am. He is still meeting with—”

  Giana rushed past him down the long hallway to the library, and without a thought, threw open the doors.

  Alex was standing beside the fireplace, his shoulders resting against the mantel, examining a sheet of paper. Four men in dark business suits were seated around him. Their heads turned in unison at the unexpected disturbance. She saw surprise in their faces, and then raised eyebrows over narrowed eyes. She stood like a statue, unable to move. She had violated their precious male domain, she had interrupted their meeting. A silly female, interrupting them.

  She met Alex’s eyes, saw him frown and take a step toward her.

  “Mrs. Saxton,” she heard one of the men say in a voice of impatient surprise.

  Words tumbled from her mouth. “I’m sorry. Please, forgive me, please.” She ran from the room, slamming the library doors behind her.

  Alex handed the paper to Anesley. “You will excuse me, gentlemen, but I fear our meeting is over.” Even as he spoke, he was picturing Giana’s white face. What had happened?

  He took the stairs two at a time, waving away Herbert’s words from behind him. He burst into their bedroom. Giana was on her hands and knees in front of the fireplace, her cloak spread around her, staring at the orange embers.

  “Giana,” he said, his voice louder and harsher than he intended. She turned her head to look at him, and he felt himself start. He saw fear in her eyes. “Dear God, what happened?”

  She stared at him, rigid and mute. He dropped to his knees beside her and drew her against him.

  “It’s all right, love,” he whispered, stroking his hands over her back. “You’re safe now, Giana. I promise.” He continued speaking to her, words that had little meaning, really, and finally felt her body ease. With a great sob, she clutched at his arms and pressed herself against him.

  He pulled off her bonnet and stroked her hair, still crooning senseless words to her, his voice soft and even over her sobs.

  “Come, Giana, tell me what happened. It’s all right, love.”

  It was some minutes before she raised her tear-drenched face from his chest. She clutched at him as if she were afraid to let go.

  “Two men,” she said, her voice graveley in her fear. “I was walking up Broadway, alone. There was some kind of strike, and a mob of men. I tried to get through them to a hansom cab. There was a man running after me. Another man was behind him, pointing at me. I could only think of getting to you.”

  Damnation, he thought, holding her tightly against him. She had been alone, and caught in a mob. Strikers, no doubt. Where had Delaney and Derry been? He sat down in front of the fireplace, leaning against his favorite chair, and drew her onto his lap. She curled herself into a small ball and buried her face against his throat. His self-reliant Giana, so fiercely independent, so self-sufficient, was burrowing against him for protection.

  Giana knew she was being foolish, knew quite well that she was perfectly safe, but her words still spoke themselves, unbidden words. “Please don’t leave me, Alex. Don’t leave.”

  To his surprise, he felt his body leap with desire. It was as if she were offering another part of herself for the first time, a hidden, vulnerable part that his body, as well as his mind, wanted for himself. “No,” he said, “I won’t leave you.” He studied her pale face, her shuttered eyes, before lowering his head.

  She felt his mouth lightly touch hers. She lay passively against his arm, neither encouraging nor pulling away from him as she felt his fingers unhook the fasteners on her cloak, felt it fall from her shoulders. When she felt the heat from the fireplace upon her breasts, she slowly opened her eyes and stared up at him. “You want me.”

  “Yes, I want you.”

  She still lay passively, her arms at her sides as his hands moved over her. She realized that something was happening to Alex, something she did not as yet understand. There was no gentle seduction in his touch, but a fierce possessiveness.

  When she lay sprawled on her back, his body against her, her fear mingled with an awakening desire in her belly and she cried out. She felt his fingers caress her face.

  “Look at me, Giana.”

  She obeyed him, her eyes dark with confusion.

  “Tell me you need me.”

  “I need you,” she said. It was the sound of her own voice, speaking those simple words, that made her realize she was willing to do anything, be anything he wished so long as he stayed with her.

  “Alex, love me. Please, love me.”

  She cried as he moved deep within her, knowing in that instant that she did not want to leave him, ever. His body was a part of hers, melded to her. She felt herself tensing, felt her body convulsing in the almost painful pleasure. But it was more, much more. A new terror floated like a shroud over her mind. She cried out against it, anguished by its power, yet her body demanded she feel it.

  “Giana.” Alex saw tears in her eyes, but was unable to slow his raging need for her. “Giana.”

  Alex felt as though his very soul had been torn from his body. She was his now. Only his. And he loved her, loved her so much that he was afraid. He wanted to shout at her that he wouldn’t love her, wouldn’t allow her to hurt him. The words trembled on his lips.

  “Alex?”

  He felt her lips touch his throat.

  “Thank you.”

  For what? “Giana, I—” I love you. He gently turned her to face him, and smiled at her round belly pressed against him. “Giana, did I give you pleasure?”

  “Yes, gr
eat pleasure.”

  He started to move away from her, and she clutched at him. “Please, Alex—” Suddenly she caught herself, as if she realized he had torn all pretense from her. She heard herself say in a stiff, formal voice, “Forgive me for disturbing you and the other gentlemen.”

  “Don’t be a fool,” he nearly roared at her. He saw tears still swimming in her eyes, and buried his face in her tangled hair. “Forgive me, love. Tell me again what happened.”

  She did. “It was odd—the second man. I thought I recognized his voice.” She shook her head, knowing that she must have been mistaken. “I lost your Havana cigars,” she finished. “I must have dropped them.”

  He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘’Do you remember what the cab driver looked like?”

  “He seemed very disinterested until I offered him ten dollars to hurry.” Her eyes narrowed as she tried to picture him in her mind, but she saw only a bearded face and heavy woolen clothes.

  “I will find out who the men were, Giana. And you, Mrs. Saxton, will no longer sally forth alone for a stroll. Do you promise?”

  “Alex, why would anyone want to hurt me?”

  “Likely no one did. It was a strike, a riot, and you were caught in the middle of it. But I will look into it. All right?”

  She nodded, and moved slowly from his arms. “I think I hear Delaney.” She reached for her dressing gown, surprised at how normal she sounded.

  Alex rolled off the bed and rose. Her eyes fell to his sex, glistening with himself and with her.

  “Yes,” he said shortly, his dark eyes shuttered. Give me more than your damned lust. But she had, and he saw it in the sudden hurt in her eyes at his abruptness.

  “What is Agnes preparing for dinner tonight?” he asked, in an even voice.

  The house was quiet. Delaney had left that morning for Washington, with a quick hug for Giana. “I am not such a scurvy fellow as to wear out my welcome.” He had shaken his head. “The one time you needed me, and I was dancing a decadent polka.”

  Leah and Anna were upstairs in the midst of lessons. Alex had left for the shipyard, leaving Giana with some paperwork in her library. But she couldn’t seem to concentrate. She was chewing on the end of her pen when Herbert knocked on the partially open door.