Evening Star (Star Quartet 1)

‘’Because you happened to be right about that, Mr. Saxton, I suppose I was a bit overbearing when I first arrived.”

“You suppose?”

“You’ve been very kind, Alex.”

“Don’t let that get around, princess, I would lose my reputation in business.” He dropped his hand to her swelling belly and rested it there. “Life is damned odd,” he said thoughtfully.

“Indeed. Here I was, perfectly happy, minding my own affairs, and then you, a brazen American, came trooping into my life. And within one short week I lost my virginity, got vilely ill—”

“And became beautifully pregnant,” he finished with satisfaction.

“I don’t think I’ll apologize for being overbearing.”

He raised a black brow. “Stray cats never apologize,” he said.

“Alex, I don’t believe it.”

“Merry Christmas, Giana,” he said, smiling down at her stunned face.

“You did this for me?” She gazed about the once dismal parlor that had occupied the south corner of the house. The dull dimity curtains, the gray wallpaper, and the odd collection of furniture had vanished. She gaped at the rich blue-and-white carpet, the inset bookshelves, the drawing by Bornet of New York Bay from the Battery hung above the graceful Italian fireplace, the oak desk set at an angle facing the garden windows. On its smooth surface was an ivory-inlaid box filled with pens and pencils. A daguerreotype of her, Leah, Alex, and Mrs. Carruthers standing in front of the jetting Park Fountain in the City Hall Park stood beside the pen box. Two boxes lay on the center of the desk, and she clumsily lifted the lid of one of them. It was exquisite stationery, “Georgiana Van Cleve Saxton” and the address of Alex’s office building printed in flowing black script at the top of each sheet. Giana turned slowly. “Why?” she asked, sweeping her arms about her.

“Why?” An amused black brow winged upward. “Self-preservation, Giana,” he said. “You were beginning to take over my library, and I decided you should have one of your own. And with a study of your own, I thought you might stay more at home.”

Their eyes met for a moment, and he read her unspoken thought. But I will not be here. In five months I will never see this room again.

“The stationery,” she said. “It is beautiful.” She turned away to finger the crisp sheets of paper. Georgiana Van Cleve Saxton. He had taken nothing from her.

“I thought,” he said coolly, “that a woman of your stature should cease using her husband’s stationery. I trust everything pleases you.”

Giana nodded, unable to meet his eyes. She walked to the bookshelves and gazed at the titles. “Dickens,” she said. “I like Dickens.”

“There is also the usual complement of Greek philosophers, and modern-day tomes on economics and politics.”

“And Jane Austen,” she said, pulling down the copy of Emma, bound in thick red vellum. “How did you know she is my favorite author, Alex?”

“Your mother wrote me.”

She turned slowly to face him. “You have been planning this for some time?”

“I suppose so. The trick was to keep you out of the house when the workmen and decorators were here. Your preoccupation with strawberry ice cream was invaluable, particularly when the fireplace construction ran into the evening hours.”

Giana replaced the book on the shelf. “The chair,” she said, “it is like yours, only smaller.” She had always secretly admired his chair, but of course had teased him about his impressive seat of power.

“Yes.”

She picked up the skirt of her dressing gown and ran to him. “Thank you, Alex,” she cried, hugging her arms about his back.

He kissed her lightly and smiled over her head at his creation.

“My Christmas present to you is not nearly so impressive,” she said shyly, her fingers toying with the buttons of his dressing gown. “In fact, perhaps you won’t care for it at all.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything, Giana,” he said roughly.

“You don’t like presents, Mr. Saxton? Even a big fierce man is allowed to be excited once in a while.”

“I am, nearly every night.”

She pulled away from him. “Stay here, Alex. I’ll be back in but a moment.”