Evening Star

  “Madam?”

  “Yes, Herbert.”

  “There is a man here, asking to see you. He says he found something you lost.”

  Giana felt a moment of fear, but realized quickly it was foolish. “You may show him into the drawing room, Herbert.”

  The man facing her when she entered was dressed in severe, respectable black. His features were plain, his age, she guessed, around forty. She had never seen him before.

  “Yes?” she asked. “I understand you have something of mine?”

  “My name is Chalmers, ma’am,” he said. “And, yes, I believe you dropped these yesterday.”

  He handed her the wooden box of Alex’s Havana cigars. Giana’s eyes flew to his face. “You were there, Mr. Chalmers?”

  “Yes, ma’am. A gentleman asked me to deliver this letter to you, personally.”

  He handed her a sealed envelope. “If you’ll excuse me, Mrs. Saxton.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Chalmers.”

  She stared at the bold black handwriting leaving her as pale as if the man who had penned her name were standing before her. Randall Bennett’s writing was distinctive and elegant, not easily forgotten.

  And he was here, in New York.

  She tore open the envelope, and spread out the single sheet of paper. “My dear Giana,” she read, “as you see, my dear, I am in New York and anxious to see you again. I would advise you to meet me tomorrow at Luigi’s Restaurant on Williams Street at three o’clock, concerning a matter of importance to you. If you do not come, I promise you that both you and your husband will regret it. It would be a grave mistake to inform Mr. Saxton, for reasons I will explain in person. Until tomorrow, my dear.” His name was signed with a flourish at the bottom of the page.

  Chapter 24

  Giana left the hansom cab at Pearl Street and walked the final block to Williams Street quickly, paying no heed to the freezing wind or the light snowflakes that splattered her face. She walked past Luigi’s Restaurant, and had to retrace her steps. She paused a moment before the door, then walked, head high, into the restaurant. It was small and dimly lit, and with no more than a dozen tables, each covered with a red-and-white-checkered tablecloth. Her gaze slid past the few people seated at the tables to Randall Bennett, who waved lazily to her from a table at the rear of the room. A fat, aproned man appeared at her side, but she shook her head, pointing toward Randall.

  “Mrs. Saxton,” he said.

  “Mr. Bennett.” He looked the same, she thought, his face still as flawless as a Greek statue’s, his body still as lithe.

  “So cold, Giana, so cold. And so very pregnant. But I forget my manners. Sit down.”

  Giana eased herself into a cheap cane chair. “You haven’t changed, Randall.”

  “No? Well, my dear Giana, you have changed, most noticeable. A duke’s stepdaughter, living in the colonies. How eccentric of you.”

  A waiter appeared and Randall ordered a bottle of cheap red wine.

  “Improvident as ever, Randall?”

  “I simply don’t believe you worth any more than that, Giana. But I can’t get over how very pregnant you look. I trust your husband is out of your bed by now?”

  “Randall, your insults are childish. What do you want?”

  “Did you not recognize Chalmers?”

  She stared at him. “What do you mean?”

  “The strike, my dear. I sent my man after you, but you managed to get away from him. I only wanted to talk to you. The trick has been to get you a letter without your husband knowing of it.”

  Giana sat back in her chair. “I thought I heard a familiar voice, but I couldn’t be sure.”

  “Then why did you run?”

  “I was frightened. The strikers were a rough group. Then that man you sent after me looked anything but friendly.”

  “My valet, Chalmers. He’s scum, but I find that I cannot afford better at the moment.”

  The waiter brought their wine and poured two glasses.

  “To our reconciliation,” Randall said, raising his glass.

  “To my walking out of here in five minutes.”

  “Still a tart-tongued bitch,” Randall said, setting down his glass.

  “Randall, I came only because your note was a threat. You will now explain yourself, else I won’t wait the five minutes.”

  “And your dear husband, my dear? I trust you did not tell him of our tryst.”

  “Do you still indulge in trysts, Randall? I find it difficult to believe that seventeen-year-old girls would still be prey to a man of your age.”

  “Did you tell your husband?”

  “No, I did not.”

  “Very wise of you. But then again, you and Mr. Saxton believe that you’ve been wise in all your endeavors, don’t you?”

  Her fingers whitened about the glass. “You have well under five minutes left, Randall.”

  Randall Bennett sat back in his chair and smiled at her. “You have such presence, Giana. Who would ever guess that you and Mr. Saxton are indulging in such an elaborate charade?” He leaned toward her, his eyes narrowing. “You little whore. Did you enjoy spreading your legs for Alex Saxton the first week he was in London?”

  There is nothing he can do to us, Giana thought. He knows nothing save that I was pregnant before I was married. “You begin to bore me, Randall,” she said. “I might add that my husband doesn’t like me to be bored or bothered.”

  “Very well. I find myself in need of funds, Mrs. Saxton, and you, my dear, will provide them. I want ten thousand dollars from you, within the week. You can consider it the dowry I never received.”

  “Are you mad?”

  “Not at all. Even though I am in somewhat restricted circumstances at the moment, I have access to New York society. They’ve been rather decent about your obvious pregnancy. But there is something rather unnerving that none of them know, isn’t there? I know, Giana. I know that you are not married.”

  “Randall, you are talking nonsense. No one would believe you. No one. Now, if you are quite finished—”

  She made to rise, but his hand shot out to grab her arm. “You think not, Giana? You forget, my dear, that you were once to be my wife, and that I know you and your dear mother quite well. Your supposed marriage with a special license never took place. I checked, out of special interest, you know, but I never really imagined you would perpetrate such an outrageous scheme.” He wagged his finger at her. “Poor Mr. Saxton. Having to live with you without even controlling your wealth. What did you and your mother have to pay him for his compliance?”

  Whether I give him the ten thousand dollars or not, she thought, he will never leave us in peace. But if you don’t pay him, it will all be over, even before the baby is born.

  She heard his voice, clipped now, and very self-assured. “I will give you two days, Giana, until Friday. You will bring the money here. If you don’t, I suggest that you and Mr. Saxton plan to leave New York, for I will make the both of you pariahs. Ah, I see that now you believe me. Friday afternoon, Giana. I will let you buy the wine then, to celebrate.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to plead with him, but she knew it wouldn’t help. Nothing would help.

  “This transaction is between the two of us, Giana. I have nothing against Mr. Saxton, but I will not hesitate to ruin him, if you force me to.”

  Giana didn’t answer him. She slowly rose from her chair and walked from the restaurant. The driver of a hansom cab looked hopefully toward her, but she pulled her bonnet tight against the stiff winter wind and walked past him. She felt numb, and very tired. Absurdly, she remembered her old nanny telling her that a lie is the devil’s victory.

  She felt the baby move in her womb, and stuffed her hand against her mouth against a sob. She had tried not to think about the time passing, about the time left to her and Alex before she was to return, without him, to London. But she did not want to lose him, not now, not when she was just discovering what they could have together. She paused, blinking at he
r thought. You and Alex have nothing more than a brief arrangement. You will leave and he will soon forget you.

  Two days, she thought, I have two days to decide.

  “You’re quiet, Giana.”

  She forced a smile. “I am just tired,” she said, looking away from him.

  He gently touched her shoulder and kneaded her tight muscles. “Come, love. At least you’re not too fat yet for me to carry you,” he said, lifting her into his arms.

  “Alex, your back.”

  “Say that in another month or so.”

  He eased her to her feet once they were in their bedroom, but kept her in the circle of his arms. “Won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

  She felt herself leaning against him. The truth hovered on her lips, but she slowly shook her head. “It is nothing that concerns you, Alex. Truly.”

  To her relief, he shrugged his shoulders. “Very well, love.” He gave her a lustful grin. “Just how tired are you, then?” He turned her slowly in his arms, holding her as close to him as her stomach would allow, and gently nudged back her head, caressing his lips over her mouth. She blocked out Randall Bennett, blocked out everything that was not Alex.

  “We must be careful from now on,” he said, nibbling her earlobe. “Elvan managed, despite his blushes, to tell me to go easy from now on.”

  “But you don’t hurt me,” she whispered. “Really, you are always so gentle, and I like what you do.”

  “Trust me to be imaginative, Giana. In fact, you might try a little creativeness yourself. There is no reason for you to be shy, you know.”

  “I do,” she said. “I mean, I have.”

  He grinned down at her, hugging her tightly to him. “Excellent. I await my tutor’s instructions.” He turned her around and unfastened the buttons at her back.

  They slept in the same position they made love, Alex curved around her back, her head upon his outstretched arm, his other hand lightly draped over her belly.

  “I love your little butt pressing against my stomach,” he whispered against her ear, clear delight in his deep voice.

  “You’re crazy,” she said, her voice vague from their lovemaking.

  Alex felt the baby move against his palm. “Little brute,” he said. “Have you thought of any names for our child?”

  “Yes,” she said. She turned, yelping as she did so, for her long hair was caught beneath his arm. He arranged her against him, and kissed her mouth.

  “And?”

  Her eyes fell under his intent gaze. He saw so much that it frightened her. She didn’t want him to know the power he held over her. But even pressed close against him, she could not still her doubts. She knew he wanted his child, and that to have it, he would have to keep her as well. Everything he had done, since before she could have meant anything to him, was designed to convince her to stay. Even the stationery. A sop to gain her confidence, to make her forget.

  “Why are you crying?”

  “I am not crying,” she said, and tried to pull away from him.

  “Perhaps,” he said with sudden anger, “you’re not thinking of our child’s name, but of the ship you will take back to England. Is that why you wrote to your mother asking her to come?”

  “Nicholas, damn you, Alex. Nicholas.”

  He was very still. “It was my father’s name.”

  “Yes, I know, but it is also your second name. Nicholas Van Cleve Saxton.”

  “So you have decided to give me a son?”

  “Yes.”

  “God knows, whenever you make up your mind to something, there is no changing you, is there?”

  “No,” she said quietly, “there is no changing . . . anything. It is quite beyond either of us.”

  “We will see,” he said. “We will see.”

  Giana clutched at the leather strap in the cab. She had made a decision, and felt now as if a great weight had lifted from her. After Alex’s tenderness to her the night before, she realized she had to tell him about Randall Bennett, to ask for his help.

  “Mr. Saxton isn’t here?”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” Jake Ransom, Alex’s foreman in the Saxton shipyard, told her. “I think he went off with Clinton Murdock, a business friend from Boston, to the Gem Saloon. Braggin’, he was, about the mirror there being larger than anything in Puritan country.”

  Giana nodded, distracted. She knew of the Gem Saloon, for gentlemen only, of course, an adjunct of the Broadway Theater.

  “Then I heard him say something about Dr. Rich’s Institute for Physical Education. You know, ma’am, the gymnasium Mr. Saxton visits.”

  “It’s on Crosby Street near Bleecker?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Jake Ransom tugged uncomfortably at his ear. “Ladies aren’t encouraged to visit, ma’am,” he said at last.

  “I know.” Giana sighed.

  “Can I have one of the men take you home, Mrs. Saxton?”

  “Yes, Mr. Ransom, you can.”

  Giana paced back and forth in her bedroom. Mrs. Carruthers had taken Leah to Union Square to feed the ducks. The house seemed as empty and desolate as she felt.

  She realized she was dithering like one of the silly ducks. “This is altogether ridiculous,” she said aloud. She gathered up her skirts and walked downstairs to Alex’s library.

  Alex’s gun case was locked. She stared at it for a long moment, wondering what to do.

  “Would you like something, ma’am?”

  “Herbert.” Giana whirled around. “No, thank you,” she said. His rheumy eyes rested a moment on the gun case, but he said nothing. “I just wish to be alone for a while,” she said.

  When he had left, Giana searched through Alex’s desk. At the back of the second drawer, in a small box, she found a ring of keys. She smiled grimly and drew it out. She knew very little about guns, she thought, but she knew enough to scare the wits out of Randall Bennett. Bloody bastard. She would return to the restaurant. Perhaps the proprietor knew Randall’s address.

  She was sitting on the floor, her skirts spread out about her like a blue silk fan, trying to figure out how to stuff a bullet into the pistol. “Come on, you stupid thing,” she muttered, glaring into the barrel.

  “Good afternoon, Giana.”

  The pistol fell to her lap. She raised her eyes at the sound of Alex’s cordial voice.

  “You’re home,” she said. “I thought you would be later.”

  “So it would appear. You are having a problem loading the gun?”

  “I was just—that is, yes, I was.”

  Alex appeared only mildly interested. “Would you like me to help you?”

  “No,” she said, “I shall figure it out.”

  “As I have told Leah several times, one never looks down the barrel, nor points a gun at anyone. It is odd that I should have to tell you the same things.”

  “I don’t know much about guns,” she said, wondering if she were ill-fated. She should have taken the damned pistol and the bullets and locked herself in the water closet. She clasped the gun firmly in her hand and shook it, her finger closing over the trigger. “It won’t take a bullet,” she said.

  There was a sudden explosion, and Giana stared at the gray smoke billowing from the pistol. She flung it away as if it burned her.

  She saw a large jagged hole in the back of Alex’s desk.

  “Sir.”

  Herbert flung breathlessly into the library, his face pale with fright, a wide-eyed Ellen at his heels.

  “It is all right, Herbert,” Alex said. “Mrs. Saxton was merely testing the pistol. Leave us.”

  Alex’s heart was pounding so loudly he thought he would choke. He forced himself to walk slowly to his desk, lean over, and examine the rent mahogany.

  “Good shot,” he said. “Right in the middle. I suspect it is irreparable.” He looked back at Giana. She stopped staring at the pistol on the floor beside her and looked blankly up at him.

  “It was already loaded,” she said.

  He leaned back against hi
s desk and crossed his arms over his chest. He said quite pleasantly, “Would you like me to beat you here, or would you prefer we be more private?”

  She looked up at him, her face as white as her collar. “Is that what a bullet does to a person?”

  “Much messier, I assure you. There is a lot of blood, and a good deal of unpleasant screaming.”

  She ran her tongue over her lips. She gazed again at the pistol, and physically recoiled from it. “Oh my God,” she whispered, and covered her face with her hands. “I didn’t know—”

  “Didn’t know that you could have killed yourself? Killed me, or perhaps Herbert?”

  He felt his control returning and managed to walk with a semblance of calm to where she sat on the floor. He leaned down and picked up the pistol. Carefully he opened the gun case and placed it back into its slot. He took his time relocking the case, and leisurely toyed with the keys. Finally, when he knew he had himself well under control again, he dropped to his knees and pulled Giana’s hands from her face. “Come, I’m taking you upstairs.”

  She nodded, and tried to pull herself to her feet. But she was too clumsy. It suddenly struck her as insanely funny that even if she had managed to load a pistol that was already loaded, she would never have been able to get herself up off the floor. She let out a high-pitched laugh. “You would have found me sitting here playing with your gun,” she giggled. “I can’t get up, you see.” She laughed all the harder, her shoulders shaking.

  “Giana.” Suddenly her laughter stilled, and tears filled her eyes.

  Alex pulled her to her feet, and picked her up in his arms. “How can I beat you if you’re crying?” he said. “Stop it. You will not deny me your just punishment.”

  She buried her face against his throat and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I don’t care what you do to me.”

  “Well, I care,” he said. “You could have killed yourself quite easily. Besides, beating you will calm your nerves, and mine.”