Evening Star (Star Quartet 1)

“That,” he said coolly, “is a subject I would as soon leave in the past, where it belongs.”

“If you wish.”

“You never told me the name of your friend in New York,” he said, wanting to distract her.

“Derry Fairmount, actually, Lattimer. Her husband is Charles Lattimer, a wealthy banker.”

A black brow rose. “You mean you know Derry?”

“She was my best friend in school. I gather from your delighted voice that you are well acquainted with her.”

“Oh yes. She is a charming girl, but I do not get along well with her husband. Never have.”

“The dashing, romantic Charles?”

“Do I hear that familiar note of cynicism creeping into your voice, Giana?”

“Not really. I just hope she is happy.”

“Whatever else is true of Charles Lattimer, he seems to have the wit and wherewithal to keep a young wife content.”

“There you go again, Mr. Saxton. As if all it takes to make a woman chirpingly happy is to occasionally toss her a bone of affection.”

Alex grinned down at her. “Now I know you’re feeling more yourself,” he teased her. “Shall we continue to bicker?”

“No. Actually, I should like to eat a mammoth dinner.”

He hugged her. “Excellent, Mrs. Saxton. After you’ve filled your skinny stomach, and my arms have recovered, I’ll put you into a huge tub of water, and then into bed.”

“That, Mr. Saxton, sounds like a very complicated proposition.”

“Only until the last item, my dear. Then it is simplicity itself.”

Chapter 17

The unearthly racket of drayers, hawkers, porters, and sailors filled Giana’s ears as the Halyon was eased gently into her berth.

“But it looks perfectly civilized, Alex.”

Alex’s eyes crinkled into the October sun, taking in the bustling activity on the South Street docks, a sight that always exhilarated him. It felt so damned good to be home again. He turned a lazy smile to Giana. “Surely you did not expect to see the streets lined with log cabins and wild Indians strolling about. That is my building, Saxton & Nielson, the three-story red brick, just across the street. My office is on the third floor, there on the corner. When I get tired of all the mumbling clerks, I have but to look out my windows to restore my good humor. The Saxton shipyards are just down the block.”

“It will do quite nicely for my offices, I think, Alex,” she said.

Alex cocked a black brow at her. “Actually,” he said, “I hadn’t thought about that. But I don’t suppose it will harm my reputation if my wife appears with her ledgers and skirts on South Street.” He grinned at her. “You will have to keep your ears covered, though. The language you will hear in this part of the city will burn them off.”

“I think you’ve prepared my ears quite enough, Mr. Saxton.”

He smiled down at her only briefly, for he had caught a glimpse of Anesley O’Leary, his personal assistant, waving his tall black hat wildly at them.

“I see that my letter arrived well before us,” he said, waving back. “Anesley,” he shouted at the tall red-haired man, his deep voice carrying through the melee of orderly chaos. “Bring the carriage around.”

“Anesley O’Leary,” Alex continued, “is my assistant. Perhaps I can convince him to lend himself to you. You’ll find him industrious, unethical as need be, and a bully boy with his fists. The only problem is that Anesley can’t abide the English. But you are, after all, only a woman, and perhaps he will respond to your frail helplessness. I gather your intent is to birth our child in the thick of business?”

“Perhaps not in the very thick,” she said, looking toward the Irishman on the dock as he waved an open carriage toward the gangplank.

“I do want you to rest a bit, at least for the time being. You’re skinny as a fishing pole.”

“It warms my silly heart, Mr. Saxton, to know that you would like to keep me sheltered for the next seven months from all the chill winds that blow off the bay.”