Evening Star (Star Quartet 1)

“He is really nothing out of the ordinary, Mother. Somewhat boring, actually.”

“Still, if you would not mind. I promise not to talk business.” Her eyes twinkled. “In fact, I will have to arrange to appear a trifle pale. After all, am I not a victim of the influenza?” As Giana did not answer her, Aurora continued lightly, “I have found that much headway can be made in private, say, over a dinner. That is perhaps why Mr. Saxton has invited you. I know you will keep your wits about you, Giana. Remember, the Van Cleves must retain control. Our merger with Mr. Saxton can exceed no more than forty percent, total value.”

“Yes, Mother, I know.” Giana looked away from her mother again, at the vase of roses. She wanted nothing more than to escape her mother’s penetrating eye, to be alone to think about what she was to do.

“They are from Damien’s hothouse at Graffton Manor,” Aurora said, following her daughter’s eyes. “Lovely, are they not? The duke will be dining here this evening. He will be sorry to miss you.”

“Yes, certainly.” Giana fidgeted with the brocade on the chair back. She had been worried for weeks about her mother’s flirtation with the duke, and now her unease about the coming evening fashioned itself into anger. “You have seen a great deal of the duke in the past weeks, Mother. You have not told me if you are planning to marry him.”

Aurora rose from her chair and drew her daughter to her, hugging her gently. “You did not seem to wish to speak of it, my love. He has asked me. Perhaps I have been carried away by that impossible man. I never know what he will say next, but what he does say is invariably charming. Perhaps I am in my dotage. I feel like I’ve known him for years.”

“I don’t understand you, Mother. Surely you, of all women, would not give up all you have to marry again. He would be your husband, just as was my father. You cannot do it, knowing what you know about men and marriage.”

“He is not at all like your father, Giana, of that I am certain. Have you ever desired a man, Giana, physically?”

Images of men, grunting and heaving over the girls at Madame Lucienne’s brothel, careened through Giana’s mind. All of them were repellent, all save one. The man who had bought her at the Flower Auction. “Yes, Mama,” she said finally, “one man. It was not Randall Bennett.”

“A man in Rome?”

“Yes.”

“Then you will understand me when I tell you that I desire Damien as a woman desires a man. I had not realized how inward I had become over the years. I want Damien’s voice, his touch, his caring. I want those things, Giana, for myself.”

Giana shook away the memory of Alex Saxton in Rome, the memory of wanting him even in her fear. It frightened her.

“How can you give up all you have gained in the past fifteen years, Mother, all because of a ridiculous man who makes you blush like a schoolgirl?”

“Giana, I have told you that I am certain about him. He is honorable and loving. I trust him.”

“That is like trusting one of the lions at the exhibition. He may toy with you for a time, for his amusement, but when he tires of you, he can tear you apart. I grant you that the duke is charming, wiser, perhaps, than other gentlemen. But you cannot believe that he treated his first wife with anything like mutual respect. She was a brood mare, a possession, and you know it. Did she not breed five or six children for him?”

Aurora heard the anger behind her daughter’s words, anger that suddenly seemed too strong, too wrenching. She said gently, “Giana, we are raised to believe certain things, behave in certain ways. It is unfortunate that the laws give men such power over women—”

“Men made the bloody laws.”

“My marriage to Damien would probably mean that I would work all the harder,” Aurora said lightly. “Damien fully intends that I conduct his affairs. I expect his man of business will have a fit when he discovers how things will be after I become the Duchess of Graffton. I love you, Giana, more than anyone else in the world. We would continue to be close, continue to work together. The only difference would be Damien, and I know that he would add to our lives, not take anything from us.”

“Obviously, Mother, I cannot call upon Daniele to carry you off to Rome.”

“Nor do you need to, Giana. I am forty-four years old and know what I want.” She lightly touched her fingers to her daughter’s hand. “I hope you too will find such a man as he, a man who will not try to subjugate you or own you.”

Alex Saxton’s dark face rose before her. “Not I, Mother,” she said in a broken voice. “Forgive me, Mama. I doubt there is such a man as you describe for me. I do want you to be happy, you must believe me.” She managed a crooked smile. “If the duke ever upsets you, I will run him through with a rapier.”

Aurora had seen the myriad expressions flit across her daughter’s face before she replied with such forced lightness. She sensed they had nothing to do with her marriage to the Duke of Graffton.

“I shall dutifully warn him.”

“I pray, Mother,” Giana said, keeping her voice even, “that the duke will be what you want. And you needn’t worry about me. I must change now, Mother.”

“I too, my love. Giana—”

“Yes, Mother?”

Aurora shook her head. “Nothing, my love, it will keep.”

“Mr. Saxton, Miss Giana.”

Giana rose quickly and stood with her back pressed against the mantelpiece. Alexander Saxton, dressed quite correctly in formal black evening wear, strode into the drawing room. She had not realized he was so large. Even Lanson, who was built like a bruiser, seemed dwarfed beside him.