“It has been quite an eventful day already, Giana. But don’t you think you pushed a bit hard this morning? You need capital and my ships, and your shipyards in Portsmouth have fallen markedly in production since you invested so heavily in the Midlands Railroad. It has also come to my attention that you are having difficulty obtaining the lumber for building, and that, too, is a problem solved once we agree to terms.”
“You are repeating yourself, Mr. Saxton,” Giana said.
“Am I? You distress me, Miss Van Cleve. I would like to charm you out of your bad mood, if you would know the truth. Actually, I have rarely felt so completely justified in my actions. If you would but be honest with yourself just once, you would cease insulting me and draw in your claws.”
“I am honest with myself, Mr. Saxton. It is you who refuse to believe the truth.” She looked up at him curiously. “Do I look like a harlot, sir?”
“Thank God, no. If you did, I likely wouldn’t want you.”
It occurred to Giana that her protestations of innocence but whetted his appetite. She sighed. She could not very well play the harlot now. It would only add to his amusement.
“I would that you simply think of our coming together as payment, long overdue. Why not just think about the pleasure we will share? I think I can make you forget, at least for a while, how much you wish to break my neck.”
He touched his hand gently to her shoulder, and she pulled away to the railing of the boat.
“You have no reason to fear me, Giana. It will not hurt.” He sighed, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Such a pity that I even now have to guess at the whiteness of your thighs and the beauty between them.”
“Stop it, damn you, stop it.”
“Ah, the virgin act again. Well, you may play at what you will for the next two days.”
Giana turned on her heel, her face white beneath her straw bonnet. She jostled her way through the tourists chattering all about her to the far stern of the boat, and stared down into the churning, dirty water of the Thames.
She felt his hand close over her arm. Why did he make her feel so very warm? She asked coldly, wanting to distract him, “Why do you wish to visit Kew Gardens?”
“I grow flowers, and some of the most exotic in the world are tended there.” He grinned down at her. “You find that so unusual, Miss Van Cleve? Actually, I have a particular affinity for the family Orchidaceae. The word is from the Greek orchis, which actually means ‘testicle.’ I see from your outraged expression that you did not know that. Well, in any case, you can relax in the knowledge that I will not try to make love to you all aftern
oon. Today, my dear, you are simply a delightful ornament for my arm. When you are with me, I know at least that you cannot plot dastardly schemes. I presume you are familiar with Kew Gardens so that I may count you as my guide?”
Giana was somewhat familiar with the famous gardens. At least she admired their lovely ponds with the graceful swans crisscrossing the water.
“That would be preferable, Mr. Saxton, to listening to your braying.”
Alex answered her with ready laughter. “It delights me that you do not affect die-away airs, Giana. Indeed, you are an amusing companion.”
Didn’t he know how to take offense?
He said, “I trust your skill in bed rivals your wit.”
Despite herself, the stark image of him as he had looked with Margot rose to her mind. Margot, writhing and crying out in mewling whispers, as he thrust his hard-muscled belly and hips against her. Margot enjoyed him—no act, that.
“What troubles you, sweetheart? You look lost in a dream. I can but hope that I am in it with you.”
“The only place I wish you to be, Mr. Saxton, is with the devil.”
But her cheeks flushed, telling him he had caught her in a lie. “As intimate as we will be, Giana, would you not begin to call me Alex? When you moan my name with pleasure, you’ll find ‘Mr. Saxton’ won’t do at all.”
“You will find out soon enough, Mr. Saxton, what names I think appropriate for you.”
As they strolled through the wide lanes that cut through the gardens, he held her hand tucked firmly in the crook of his arm. Giana discovered he was appallingly knowledgeable, spouting out Latin names as readily as he had French wines. He lost interest in her lessons when they reached the glassed hothouse where the orchids were tended. She stared when he struck up a long conversation with the gardener who cared for the delicate flowers, and spent nearly two hours reverently leaning over the blossoms, extolling their beauty more to himself than to anyone else present. They had to practically run to catch the last boat back to London.
“I hope you enjoyed yourself,” she said when they at last scrambled onto the boat.
“Indeed, my dear. In fact, I am tempted to leave business discussions to Raymond and Hammett tomorrow. Edward Blakeson, the gardener I was talking to, has agreed to show me more of his methods so I may improve my luck with my orchids in Connecticut. They are quite delicate, you know, more so than a woman. And of course their care is quite different.” He paused a moment, grinning down into her stone-set face. “I hope that I may learn how to care for them as well as I care for women.”
“Your innuendos are not amusing, Mr. Saxton.”
“You wish me to speak more bluntly, then? Surely you know that the thought of holding you in my arms, of kissing your soft mouth, Miss Van Cleve, makes me tense with anticipation.”