“You shouldn’t be allowed in polite company.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Forgive me, I was just reciting Latin declensions. My name is Genny, my lord. Genny, as derived from Virginia, you know, and this is my father, Mr. James Paxton.”
Alec ignored Genny—from Virginia—for the moment and took Mr. Paxton’s hand. “It is a pleasure to see you again, sir. Three years or very nearly?”
“That is so. We met in New York at the Waddels. A damned ball or something equally as obnoxious. Someone mentioned that you were married. How is your wife?”
Wife?
“She died five years ago.”
“Oh, dear, I’m very sorry. Well, as I recall from that ball, you were interested in returning to your home in England.”
“I did. There was business to attend to. However, I spend less and less time in England now. No more than four or five months out of the year.”
“You prefer sailing the seas?”
“That and meeting different people, visiting new places. Why, just this morning I had the pleasure of meeting your charming son, Eugene, and—”
“Here is a sherry, my lord, and for you, Father.”
“Thank you, Miss Paxton. Now, where was I?”
Alec heard a very feminine, very nervous giggle from behind him. He kept his attention on Mr. Paxton, who had remained seated, which meant that his health probably wasn’t very good. He looked to be about sixty, with a full head of white hair. Alec saw the daughter/son in the father. The green eyes, the high cheekbones, the squarish jaw. A handsome man, a formidable man. And there was a distinct twinkle in his eyes. What was going on here? Obviously the father and daughter were together in their charade. Well, who was he to quibble? Alec slowly turned to face Eugene/Virginia.
“You are the famous sister Eugene told me about today?”
“My brother was complimentary? I have difficulty imagining gallantry from Eugene.” She thrust out her hand and he took it. “I am Genny Paxton, Lord Sherard. Eugene was called to our uncle’s house outside of Baltimore. My mother’s older brother. He’s ill and Eugene is his heir. He had to go to him. He sends you his regrets.”
“Since you take his place, I shan’t repine.”
“I take my brother’s place? I am just a silly female, my lord. I know nothing of ships or halyards or—”
“Clove hitches?”
“Is that in a recipe?”
“Or topgallant bulwarks?”
“Is that some sort of English hat?”
“Exactly. I knew you weren’t all that ignorant.”
“But I’m just a—”
“I know. Just a female.” Except, he thought, you can’t hide that impish grin, my dear girl. He looked at her closely. She wasn’t dressed like a silly female. Indeed, her gown wasn’t at all low-cut to show a gentleman her breasts, nor was it in the first stare of fashion. The color—a pale cream—wasn’t really that flattering to her, but it wasn’t too bad either. But his practiced masculine eye told him that she’d lowered the neckline, for the lace had been cut and stitched down. She wasn’t much of a seamstress either. The lace was sewn crooked and parts were clumped together. He didn’t dwell on that lack, however. He could see the curve of her white breasts, see the slender line of her. But it was her hair that drew him. Thick, rich sable hair that was braided into a coronet atop her head with long tendrils curling down her neck. Her face wasn’t beautiful, he’d grant the objective part of him that much. He’d known a score of other women whose beauty left one nearly in tears. But her face had something he found far more compelling: character, a good deal of it. And determination. That chin of hers—like her father’s—was stubborn as the very devil. He wondered about her temper. How would she fight? Would she let go and swear and yell? Alec drew himself up short. This was absurd. He was here to buy, hopefully, a shipyard that built Baltimore clippers, not to moon over some ridiculous female who lowered her neckline at night and played at being her brother during the day and couldn’t pull it off, at least not with him.
He was staring at her, and Genny felt as if her breasts were on display. What a fool she’d been to succumb to female vanity and lower the gown. She fought the insane desire to cover her breasts with her hands. She didn’t have big breasts that drove the gentlemen wild, like Susan Varnet or Mrs. Laura Salmon. She’d been a fool. There was no way she could compete with him. He was the most beautiful man imaginable and she was far from the most acceptable of ladies. Still, she wondered what he was thinking while he looked at her.
Moses appeared in the drawing room doorway.
“Mr. Paxton, suh, dinnah is served.”
James Paxton levered himself slowly to his feet. Alec immediately was at his side. “No need, my boy. It’s my damned heart, you know. I just can’t flit about like I used to do. Everything’s slow and easy and irks the hell out of me, but one must survive, you know. You take Genny’s arm and lead her on. Moses, come here.”
“I wonder,” Alec said, looking down at Miss Paxton as she led him toward the Paxton dining room.
“Wonder what, sir?”
“How much alike you and your brother are. No, I take that back. Mr. Eugene Paxton seems a very serious fellow, and very naive, I think, despite his advanced twenty-three years. By the way, how old are you?”
“One doesn’t inquire after a lady’s age.”
“Does one not? Perhaps if the lady were long in the tooth, it wouldn’t be—well, enough of that. Now, about Eugene. Other than being on the serious side, your brother is, I also believe, something of a budding rake. He quite embarrassed me with all his talk about things sexual. It’s just that he doesn’t know how to go about it. Do you think I should take him under my, er, wing and give him some worldly advice?”
Genny wanted to smack his beautiful face. She, Eugene, was a budding rake? How could he intimate such a thing when it was he who had made references to all the raking…? “That, sir, I think Eugene would much appreciate. He perhaps isn’t all that experienced, though he would never admit such a thing to me. I believe, though, that such matters should be discussed between gentlemen.”
“No ladies involved?”
“Exactly. Won’t you be seated there, sir, on my father’s right? Now, Moses, what has Lannie prepared for our guest?”
“We’ll begin with some calf’s-head soup, Miss Genny.”
“What an awesome concept.”
“It’s quite tasty,” Genny said, trying not to grin. “Truly.”
“Veal cutlets garnished with French beans, followed by stewed rump of beef with turnips and carrots.”
“That sounds more appetizing.”
“It is Lannie, our cook’s, specialty, at least the veal part.”
“Well, if the calf’s head doesn’t kill me, I shall begin Mr. Eugene’s education on the morrow. Do you think he will have returned from his uncle’s bedside?”
“It is likely.”
“Ah, a simple indisposition and not a terminal illness?”
“Just a slight unhealthy condition.”
“Excellent. Eugene won’t be fatigued, then. I have a fancy he will enjoy what I have in mind for him.”
Genny wanted desperately to demand what it was. Alec Carrick, Baron Sherard, looked wicked. She held her tongue and took a sip of calf’s-head soup.
Three
The dinner was delicious. Alec, replete, sat back in his chair, a delicate crystal wineglass held in his long fingers.
“I can’t interest you in some currant dumplings, my lord?”
“No, Miss Paxton, you cannot.” He said nothing more, just looked at her expectantly.
Genny was puzzled. Perhaps he wanted some sponge cake.
Finally, James Paxton cleared his throat and said gently to his daughter, “Genny, my dear, would you like to leave the gentlemen to their port?”
Alec was hard pressed not to laugh aloud. She looked at first bewildered, then surprised, and finally quite thinlipped. This, obviously, w
asn’t what she was used to. “But I—”
“We will see you quite soon, Miss Paxton,” Alec said, and his tone was as patronizing as an English vicar’s to a pickpocket. “Your father and I have business to discuss, and someone as pretty as you would be bored very quickly.”
If she’d had nails in her mouth, Alec thought, she would have spit them. There was no sway to her hips when she flounced out of the dining room.
Mr. James Paxton had been studying Lord Sherard throughout the meal. He was quite pleased with what he saw. He’d remembered the young baron as being thoughtful, intelligent, and far too handsome for his own good. He was older now, still thoughtful and intelligent, and if the glazed sheen in his independent daughter’s eyes was any indication, he was even more handsome now than he had been three years earlier. He’d never seen Genny look at a man like that. It both alarmed him and relieved him. But Alec Carrick was treating her with good-natured bonhomie, when he wasn’t teasing her or baiting her. If James wasn’t mistaken, the baron did not see her as a woman. Well, it was her own fault. When she’d come home this afternoon, dressed in her men’s clothes, loudly bemoaning fate, he’d just laughed at her.
“You’ve done yourself in, Genny. Face it and end it. Don’t try to fool a man like Baron Sherard.”
“There is nothing to fooling him,” she said, snapping her fingers. “Truly, Father. Besides, there’s no choice. Eugene must be Virginia tonight.”
James Paxton simply didn’t know what Baron Sherard thought, either about the shipyard or about his son/daughter. He motioned for Moses to pour the port, then dismissed him. “I don’t smoke the things, but would you care for a cheroot, my lord?”
Alec shook his head. “No, I’ve always thought smoking a filthy habit, just as bad as taking snuff.”
“Ah, for some good snuff,” said James. “Well, my boy, now that it is just the two of us, it’s time to get down to business.”
Alec nodded. “I will be honest with you, sir. I am very impressed, not only with your operation but with the Pegasus. Your son gave me a thorough tour. I have seen your American clipper schooners many times, I know of their reputation during the war, and I would like to acquire the Paxton shipyard and build my own. I want to control a goodly share of the Caribbean trade.”
James Paxton looked thoughtfully into his port glass. “Acquire? I don’t think that is what I wish. Incidentally, there is another—his name is Porter Jenks—and he also is interested in an outright purchase of the shipyard. He hails from New York. The only thing, though, he wants to build slavers.”
Alec started. “What is your opinion of that, sir?”
“Aside from the fact that bringing in slaves to sell is illegal, there is of course a good deal of money to be made doing it. Most men involved would readily agree that profits far outweigh the risks. Also, if one has his own ship, the profit would be even greater. It is already a common practice, and more ships are being built to accommodate the trade every year. However, I would prefer to buy and sell more benign stuff, such as rum and molasses and flour and cotton, and not worry about how many black men and women are dying in the holds of my ships. But facts are facts. It’s big business and will only become bigger.”
“Your Southern states will guarantee that.”
“That’s quite true. Another thing, Porter Jenks wants to marry Genny. She’s turned him down, of course, but the fellow’s a persistent sort. I shouldn’t doubt that he’ll be visiting again very soon.”
Interesting, Alec thought. “Your tone says the fellow’s a bounder. He’s also dangerous?”
James was on the point of saying that his feeling was that Jenks wanted to marry Genny just to get his hands on the shipyard, but he stopped himself in time. He’d momentarily forgotten about his supposed son, Eugene. He cursed his daughter silently. He didn’t like having his hands tied like this, damn her stubborn hide, nor did he like deception.
“A bounder? Yes, he is, and yes, Jenks is dangerous. If you and I come to an agreement, do you intend to live here in Baltimore?”
“I’m not yet altogether certain. I don’t know your city. I don’t imagine that Englishmen are very popular here, though.”
“As the Baron Sherard, a gentleman of wealth and title, you will be offered the key to the city,” James said and shook his head at the vagaries of society. “Don’t doubt it, young man.”
“Your son, Eugene, told me that both of you wished to negotiate with me.” Alec grinned and James wondered at it. Had he guessed? No, surely not. He would have said something to Eugene’s father. And Genny had been so certain she’d fooled him.
“True. Pity the lad’s gone for the evening.” As he spoke, James looked closely at the baron.
“Yes, indeed. My thought exactly.” Alec raised his glass of port. “A toast, sir. To a mutually beneficial agreement between us. And to your very interesting daughter.”
“Hear, hear,” said James, who was thinking that it was an odd thing for the baron to say about Genny.
An hour later, Genny sat on the edge of her father’s bed, her hand resting on one of his. But one candle was lit next to his bed. He looked pale, she thought, and felt something tighten inside her. She recognized it as fear. “You’re awfully tired. Are you ready to sleep?”
“Very nearly, love. Before I do, tell me what you think of Baron Sherard.”
Genny grew still. Finally she said quietly, “He is so very beautiful and charming, it is difficult to really see to the real man beneath. I would say he appears to be honorable, but it is too soon for me to be certain.”
“He is honest, that I do know. I have made inquiries, ever since you sent him that letter during the summer.”
“To whom?”
“Don’t act so surprised, Genny. To acquaintances in Boston and New York. He and his wife lived in Boston for several years. I was rather surprised that he was married. I wouldn’t have thought he was a man to be domesticated, particularly at such a young age. Not that the ladies don’t swoon all over him, of course, but the baron likes to be on the go, to explore, to be seeing new places, meeting new people, doing different things. At any rate, that was the general opinion of him in Boston. That, and he was a man to be trusted, both his word and his opinions. A ‘sound thinker,’ that was what Thomas Adams wrote about him. However, I want to get to know him better, then decide for myself.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
James patted his daughter’s hand. A woman’s hand, he thought, lifting the slender fingers. He felt a callus on her third finger. “I didn’t want to. I wanted you to form your own opinion of him.”
“How did his wife die, I wonder?”
“Perhaps you can ask him.”
Genny suddenly slammed her fist against her thigh, then winced. “This is horrible, Father, and you know it. Genny Paxton can’t know what Eugene Paxton does, and vice versa. I am in danger of sinking. Do you know that he lied to me about Eugene? He said the most outrageous things, called Eugene too serious, naive, with the aspirations of a budding rake. Can you believe that?”
“I don’t suppose you’re going to deny that you enjoyed yourself, Genny. I am pleased.”
Genny arched a fine eyebrow at him. “Baron Sherard isn’t a bore and that’s all I have to say about him. When will you continue negotiations with him?”
James lowered his eyes to the blue velvet counterpane. He was tired, very tired. He silently cursed his body for betraying him. There was still so much to be done. “We’ll begin serious negotiations soon. He wishes to visit Baltimore, attend society functions—that sort of thing—see if he wishes to live here.”
“Oh.”
“Eugene needs to disappear, Genny.”
“Not yet, Father, please. He treats Eugene differently. He takes him more seriously. You know how men feel about women who want to do things, to know things. I can just imagine how he would treat me if he knew that I—a woman—was running the shipyard.”
Her lips thinned again as
she remembered how he’d so neatly sent her from the dining room—to leave the gentlemen to the important matters. Still, she had the impression that he’d just been baiting her apurpose. Genny didn’t quite know how to analyze that, so she didn’t try.
“He’ll find out soon enough, Genny. Wouldn’t you rather tell him yourself?”
“All right, but not quite yet.” He was going to begin Eugene’s education on the morrow. Genny was excited about that.
She leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Good night, Father. Please sleep well.”
“Think about what I’ve said, love.”
On the Night Dancer, Alec was leaning down to kiss Hallie’s forehead.
“Papa?”
“Go back to sleep, pumpkin. It’s late now.”
She did, curling up into a ball, and Alec tucked the blankets more closely around her. He rose and walked quietly through the adjoining door into his own cabin. He always left that door ajar in case his daughter woke during the night.
He undressed, carefully folding his clothes and laying them atop his sea chest, as was his wont, knowing that Pippin would see to each item of clothing on the morrow. The Night Dancer rocked gently at her moorings. The bay waters of the inner harbor were calm, the night clear. He lay on his bed, pulling a single sheet over himself. He was randy, painfully so, and he hated it. It was distracting and he disliked being distracted. It certainly hadn’t anything to do with that silly chit, Genny Paxton. The girl, or rather early spinster, wasn’t even more than passably pretty. She was also too tall for his taste, her legs going on far too long. But her breasts, beautiful full breasts, on display through the crookedly sewn-on lace. He shook his head at himself and wished he could have Ticknor, his second mate, turn on the deck pump and hose him down with cold bay water.
He needed a woman. He’d see to it tomorrow night. He also needed to see about finding a house and installing Hallie and Mrs. Swindel there. He wouldn’t bring a woman to the ship with Hallie aboard. A lot to accomplish quickly just to relieve his male needs. He disliked going with a whore to her lodgings. Too many men were relieved of their purses and their lives by doing that. Also, he had no wish to catch the pox. No, he wanted something more formal. A mistress. He could find a suitable female and install her as his mistress in a nice house somewhere in Baltimore. That would solve all of his problems.
Night Storm Page 4