“Mr. Saxton,” she said in a cool voice.
He walked slowly across the room to her, his lips tightening as he took in her attire. She thrust up her chin at him. If it was his int
ention to treat her like a harlot, she had decided she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her dressed like anything but a dowd. She felt her spectacles slip down on her nose, and pushed them back up.
“Miss Van Cleve,” Alex said, coming to a halt before her. “How delightful you look.” His eyes swept from the severe spinsterish chignon at the top of her head, past the glasses perched on her nose, and down the expanse of mustard-brown silk to the slippers that peeped from below her hem, the only fashionable piece of apparel she wore. But he saw her too as she had looked four years before, her soft breasts bared to his eyes, her sooty black lashes fanned against her white cheeks.
“My mother has requested to meet you, Mr. Saxton,” she said. “Would you care to follow me?”
“In a moment, Miss Van Cleve.” Before she knew what he was about, he pulled the glasses from her nose. He ignored her gasp, and raised them to his eyes. “Clear glass,” he said aloud, and calmly tossed them through the grate into the fireplace. “I recall well what you look like, Giana,” he said, quite conversationally. “The memory is vivid, in fact. Now, I will give you thirty minutes to take yourself upstairs, gown yourself appropriately, and rid yourself of the ridiculous hairdo.”
“I will do no such thing, Mr. Saxton. How dare you give me orders.”
“Ah, you approve your appearance, then? It fits your image of yourself?”
“It is none of your affair, sir.”
“I beg to differ with you, Miss Van Cleve, but it is very much my affair.” He saw that she was rigid with anger, and said in a voice of dangerous calm, “If you do not do as I say, Giana, you will regret it, I promise you.”
Giana grasped her full skirts in her hands, and walked, head high, from the salon.
“Thirty minutes. It would be unwise of you to keep me waiting.”
When Giana appeared precisely half an hour later, Alex was seated quite at his ease, a snifter of brandy in his hand. “Ah,” he said, “much better. How very innocent you look, my dear, every inch the young lady.”
Abigail, Giana’s maid, had expertly brushed out the thick chignon and braided her hair into a coronet atop her head. She had tugged wisps of curling black hair to fall over her forehead and tumble over her ears, a style, she had informed Giana tartly, that went with her young years. She had planted a diamond-and-emerald necklace about her neck, and fitted her with a gown of pale yellow taffeta that hugged her waist and fell in graceful folds over her petticoats.
“Now, my dear, let us not keep your mother waiting longer. I trust she is feeling better?”
“Yes, much better.” Giana felt herself pale under his insolent gaze. “You will not,” she said, “that is—”
He cut her off. “Tell Mrs. Van Cleve that her charming, innocent daughter enjoys playing the harlot? I am relieved that she doesn’t know. If you do as I tell you, there is no reason for you to worry.”
He walked beside her up the wide staircase. “Or does your mother know all about your little games? Perhaps she is even proud of you, or like you?”
Giana jerked around to face him and struck the flat of her hand against his cheek. He caught her wrist and bore it back to her side so roughly that she gasped aloud. “I will add that to your bill,” he said.
One of the most imposing men Aurora had ever seen opened the door to her sitting room for her daughter. She quickly took in his broad shoulders beneath his elegant evening wear, the lithe grace of his hips and long, muscular legs. His black hair was as inky as Giana’s, but his eyes were vivid and long-lashed, dark brown, almost black, and at the moment, regarding her as openly as she was him. Was this why Giana agreed to spend the evening with him? Was she taken with him despite herself? But Giana had said he was nothing out of the ordinary, that he was boring, in fact.
“Mrs. Van Cleve,” he said in a deep, pleasant voice.
“Pray come no closer, Mr. Saxton,” Aurora said from her reclining pose on her daybed. “I would not want you to come down with my stupid complaint. Giana, my love, you look charming.”
“Thank you, Mother,” Giana said in a flat voice.
“Giana tells me, Mr. Saxton, that Raymond Ffalkes was somewhat remiss in his presentation at your meeting this morning. I have never believed it wise to leave such details to solicitors and accountants. They seem to underestimate people.”
Alex’s rich laughter made Aurora start. She glanced quickly at Giana. My Lord, she thought, he is a splendid animal.
“Yes, ma’am,” Alex said, his dark eyes crinkled in amusement. “I have told him firmly that I do not pay him to think or to judge my business opponents, merely to provide accurate information. I trust you will find him more worthy at our next meeting. Indeed, ma’am, you look very nearly healthy. Perhaps you will be present?”
Aurora smiled pleasantly. “That remains to be seen. But surely you do not consider the Van Cleves opponents, sir. We both want the same things, I am sure. A merger that will benefit us all. This is your first trip to England, Mr. Saxton?”
“Indeed it is, ma’am. I hope to have our business complete by the end of the week, and then enjoy myself.”
“It will be up to your associates, I believe, to expedite our dealings. Is your daughter traveling with you, Mr. Saxton?”
“No, Mrs. Van Cleve, Leah is safely ensconced in New York with her governess. The child is too young as yet to appreciate the delights of travel.”