Evening Star (Star Quartet 1)

“You’re hurting me, Alex,” Giana said, trying to pull her bruised arm free of his grip.

Alex felt his rage at her mount. It was born of his fear for her, but he would not admit to it. He saw only that once again she had blithely disobeyed him and put her life in danger. His grip tightened. “I’m taking you home. And believe me, madam, you will stay there.”

Giana fell into sullen silence as he pulled her along, barely slowing his stride, not understanding his sudden anger. Once inside a cab, she said with asperity, “For heaven’s sake, Alex, you don’t need to see me home. I am quite all right. And I don’t want to go home. I have some news for you.”

“Shut up.”

“How dare you say that to me.”

He turned away from her and stared straight ahead, ignoring her. When the cab pulled up at home, Alex jumped out, paid the driver, and turned on his heel, leaving Giana staring after him from inside the cab. She wanted to curse him, but the cabbie was staring at her, more than interested. She bit her tongue and stomped into the house after him.

Herbert was a different matter. But before she could say anything, Alex whirled on her and barked, “Keep quiet, Giana. Herbert, Mrs. Saxton and I will be in the library. See that we’re not disturbed.”

He shoved her into the library and slammed the doors closed behind him. His face was white with anger when he turned to face her. “No, don’t begin on me, Giana,” he said, his voice deadly calm. “You are in the wrong. Would you have had to take Ali’s place under that mast to see it? I have told you countless times not to come to the shipyard without me. But you never listen to a word anyone has to say, do you? I am tired, Giana, of your indifference, your stubbornness.”

“I didn’t mean to be, Alex,” she began. “It, that is, I was excited, and wanted to see you.”

“See me? That’s a laugh. You wanted to prove to me that Miss Georgiana Van Cleve does whatever she pleases.” He stared at her whitened face, and his voice was suddenly tired. “I’ve just been too stubborn to see that you’ll never change.”

She stood rigid, too hurt to speak, and her silence only further enraged him.

“Well?” he said. “Have you nothing to say, madam? Don’t you even want to remind me how much you hate me? What a crass brute I am? An American savage?”

“I don’t hate you,” she whispered.

“Oh, and sure you don’t now?” he said, drawling in a thick Irish brogue. “Why? Because you still haven’t satisfied your lust for me? And such lust you have for such a blue-blooded little English lady. Take your lust, Miss Van Cleve, and choke on it.”

“It isn’t lust,” she said. He looked at her as if he hated her. She felt tears swim in her eyes.

“A woman’s ultimate weapon? I know you too well to be taken in. What’s the matter, Giana? Lost your glib little tongue?”

“Alex, you don’t understand,” she said, desperate now. “You must listen to me.”

“Listen to you? If I listen to you anymore, I’ll go insane. I don’t want your damned trust. The only thing I want from you is my child.”

“You cannot mean that. Please, Alex, don’t do this to me, to us.”

He looked at her, then only threw his head back and laughed, laughed until his powerful shoulders were shaking.

Something broke inside of her. She heard herself scream at him, “You are the fool, Alex. You are a stupid, blind beast. I hate you, do you hear? I hate you.”

“Your conversation is boring, my love.” He said at her over his shoulder. “I’ve heard it all before, remember?”

She stood alone in the middle of the library, the letter from Cyrus McCormick still clutched in her hand. She stared blindly down at it, all her joy, her excitement, turned to cold ashes. There was no one to reassure her, no one to tell her that she had done nothing to make her husband turn so completely against her. She had nothing but her pride. She gathered it about herself like a patchwork cloak and walked slowly upstairs.

Chapter 26

Giana lay watching the dark winter clouds drift by outside her window. Evening was falling, and when the sun rose again, she would board the liner Star Flight, bound for Portsmouth. She felt tears sting her eyes, and angrily brushed them away. Stupid woman. Stupid, weak woman.

She supposed it was the light that woke her, pulling her from a numbed sleep. She slowly opened her eyes and saw Alex sitting in a chair by her bed. He was looking at her, his face impassive, his long fingers forming a steeple under his chin.

She said, “How did you get in here?”

“You are awake. I thought the lamp might do the trick.” The long fingers began to tap. “I bribed the hotel manager.”

“I see,” she said wearily. A mass of loose hair was falling over her cheek and she raised her hand to shove it back. “How did you know where I was?”

“Herbert was very upset when you left. He followed you here to the Astor.”