Evening Star
Page 36
“More wine, sir?” Alex asked.
“Nay, my boy,” the duke said, eyeing his wife. “At my age, I need all my wits about me and all my strength.”
“Women are demanding, are they not, sir?”
“Dreadfully and charmingly so, lad.”
Delaney slouched down in his chair and said, “As a bachelor, I must protest all this lascivious talk. My ears are burning.”
“Ha,” Alex said. “If your ears are burning, it’s out of sheer jealousy.”
“Found out,” Delaney said.
“Papa, what does ‘lascivious’ mean?”
“It’s very technical talk, Leah,” Giana said. “All about your uncle’s gold mines.”
To Giana’s surprise, a bottle of champagne appeared at the dinner table.
“What is this?” Alex said.
Aurora laughed. “It is a celebration, I trust. Giana, my love, all will be well now, between you and Alex?”
Giana stared, confounded, from her mother back to Alex.
“You told her?”
“I think she could tell from your besotted expression.”
“Will a draft on my bank do, my boy?”
“Certainly, sir. That will be quite adequate,” Alex said politely.
“A draft, sir? What are you talking about?”
“A wager, my dear Giana, a wager. The only one I ever intend to lose to your husband.” He raised his champagne glass. “Hear, hear. To Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Saxton.”
“What the devil is he talking about, Alex?”
Alex’s eyes were bright with devilry, and his voice was thick with his Irish brogue. “And sure, my dear, you haven’t guessed? I am a man who always gets what he wants.”
“A thousand pounds,” the duke said. “A thousand pounds I wagered with this American bandit that he wouldn’t get you to the altar.”
“Alex!”
“‘You American bandit’ will suffice, Giana. With a damned English duke for a father-in-law.”
“I think,” Delaney said to Leah, “there is a story here that you and I, my child, may never know.”
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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