“Dump the gown in the grate,” said Genny’s doting father.
“Now?”
“Don’t be impertinent, Genny,” Alec said. “Look here, it’s a pity you have no, er, taste in clothing, but you do have other things.”
“I’m waiting, Baron.”
“You have beautiful hair.”
“I agree,” James said. “And she even arranges it herself, Alec. Very talented, she is.”
“All right, Genny,” Alec said, giving up the ghost without a whimper, “I’ll go with you to see Miss Abercrombie—the right one. We’ll cancel your other gowns and have the correct sister make you new ones.”
“I wouldn’t hurt Miss Mary like that. Not only would she be hurt, she would be humiliated.”
“Fine. We’ll go to another mantuamaker, then.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Stop acting like a twit,” James said, then closed his mouth until Moses, ears at attention, had left the parlor again.
“I wasn’t the one shamelessly flirting with Laura Salmon.”
“Flirting? You call the two dances flirting? My dear girl, you wouldn’t know flirting if it smashed you in the nose.”
“Well, you were, and she was, flirting with you. I bet you already have an assignation with her, don’t you?”
Alec didn’t twitch a hair. “That is none of your affair.”
Genny snorted again. He was going to see Laura, she knew it, and it made her unaccountably furious. Suddenly her fingers closed around one of the white velvet bows. She ripped it off and flung it into the sluggish fire in the grate.
“Bravo. You only have a couple hundred more to go.”
“Oh, do be quiet, Baron.”
Alec thoughtfully stroked his fingers over his chin. “You know, perhaps the gown wouldn’t be too bad if you removed all the little extras.” He leaned over and grabbed another bow and pulled it off, then another and another. Then he said, “No, I don’t think so. That shade of blue—it’s beyond all attempts to describe it—makes you look bilious.”
Genny scrambled to her feet. “I don’t think I want to do business with you, Baron. Why don’t you just purchase the Pegasus? I’ll keep building the ships for you.”
“I would be your only customer, you may be certain on that score. Why, no self-respecting merchant in Baltimore would do business with you.”
“That’s a lie. It’s because our business in general is depressed and further because we refuse to build slavers.”
James sat back, enjoying himself immensely.
“That, my dear Eugenia, has something to do with it, but mainly it’s because you’re a female doing a man’s work. When and if I buy into the Paxton shipyard, you will bow out, gracefully or otherwise, but you will bow out. I’ll not let you destroy the business by continuing to parade about in breeches giving the men orders.”
“Father, tell him to leave—now.” She pulled off two more bows in her agitation. They fell to the floor at her flounce-hemmed feet. Alec picked them up, gave them a disgusted look, and tossed them into the fire.
“Genny, what Alec says, unfortunately, is true. When he says he wants you to bow out, it isn’t really what he means.”
“Oh?” Alec drawled. “Just what do I really mean?”
“You mean,” James said mildly, “that Genny must exercise a bit more restraint, a bit more discretion, a bit more illusion, if you will—and leave the appearances and the selling to the gentlemen.”
That, Alec thought, was quite good. Genny’s face didn’t, however, show even a modicum of appreciation. She said, her voice as cold as the celebrated London January five years before, “We were doing just fine before you arrived, Baron Sherard. You’re interfering and opinionated, and your only claim to anything is your beauty.”
“My what?”
“Why, your devastating beauty, Baron. Your looks must be the envy of every woman you chance to meet.”
“Stop being a fool.” He leaned over and ripped off another bow. “If you’ll recall, Mr. Eugene, before I came you were just about ready to go under, you and your bloody shipyard. The only reason you’re not under at this moment is because everyone knows I might be pulling you out of the River Styx. Your memory is also quite inadequate. It was you who wrote to me.”
“I was quite wrong. I admit it.”
“You were simply unrealistic, thinking like a bloody woman. No man with an ounce of brains would let himself be manipulated by a twit like you, even the most dissolute of English peers. Did she tell you, sir? She hoped I would be a fop, a dandy, eager and willing to allow her to hold the reins of power.”
“Yes, she told me. I told her she was wrong. Genny is strongheaded, Alec.”
“That may be true,” Genny said more calmly to her father, “but I know how to build ships—better than most men—and I wager I can outsail anything you can, Baron.”
“A race, Genny? You want to race me?”
She laughed at the utter confusion in his voice. “Brawn isn’t required to sail a ship, Alec, only brains and experience. I probably equal your experience, and as for brains, well, I don’t think you’re remotely close to me.”
“Strongheaded, sir? I should say rather that she is wrongheaded, far too arrogant for her own good, and a termagent. You think to race me?” Alec threw back his head and laughed deeply.
Genny ripped off another bow and flung it into his face. He caught it and stared down at it. He shrugged and looked wicked.
“Your gown is looking better and better, Genny,” James said, regarding the small pile of bows that lay between her and Alec. The ones in the fireplace were smoking dreadfully, the thick velvet refusing to burn.
“If bilious is considered better,” Alec said and laughed again.
“When are you seeing Laura Salmon?”
“Tomorrow night,” Alec said, realized abruptly that he’d answered a question that was none of her business, and wanted to strangle her as well as himself for being a fool. She was quick.
“Yes,” he added, giving her a drawing look, “the lovely lady has invited me to dine with her.”
“I’ll just bet that’s all you do with her.”
“Genny.”
“I’m sorry, Father. I’m tired. I bid both of you goodnight.” She quickly made her way to the door. “Good riddance to all Englishmen,” she said under her breath, but not far enough under. From the corner of her eye she saw that Alec was merely smiling at her, a condescending smile that made her grit her teeth.
“Genny?”
She turned reluctantly to face her father.
“Alec will accompany you tomorrow to another mantuamaker. Dear child, don’t be so stubborn. He’s offered, and you must admit he has style and a good fashion sense. Don’t bite off your nose, and all that.”
“Ten o’clock tomorrow morning?” Alec said.
“I, unlike you, Baron, have work to do,” Genny said.
“No, you don’t. You simply want to go to the shipyard because it gives you pleasure to parade around like a man. You may go to your room now. Tomorrow, Genny, and don’t keep me waiting.”
Genny wasn’t at the Paxton house at ten o’clock the following morning. She was smiling in triumph as she sat at the intricately carved captain’s desk aboard the Pegasus. Mimms was putting the finishing touches on the Spanish mahogany frame of the large bunk. The lovely cherry-wood chamber-pot cover was finished and propped against the wall.
It was nearly ten o’clock. Alec would be arriving at her house, pleased with himself, knowing himself to be in charge of her. Oh, how she wished she could see his face. She sighed. Well, no matter. She had a good imagination. She closed her eyes and formed the picture of Moses opening the door to the baron.
“Good morning.”
That was Alec’s voice, all right.
“Good morning, sir.”
“Excellent work, Mimms. You have a fine touch.”
“Thank you, sir. The wood is soft as a baby’s bottom, and so fine.�
��
Something wasn’t right. Genny cracked open an eye to see Alec, every beautiful flesh-and-blood inch of him, standing in the captain’s cabin, looking intently at Mimms’s work.
“You’re here,” she said. “You’re not supposed to be. You’re supposed to be—”
“I know where I’m supposed to be,” he said easily, turning to face her. “However, I’m not quite the complete imbecile you think me to be. Are you ready, Miss Paxton?”
She was dressed in her usual garb, only her hair wasn’t covered. “No, I’m not. I will not go to a mantuamaker’s like this.”
“Why not? You appear to have no difficulty going anywhere else in Baltimore dressed like a man.”
Mimms was all ears and Genny quickly rose from behind the desk.
The baron was right. Why should she care?
The carriage Alec had hired was waiting beneath the large shipyard sign and was dwarfed by the naked masts of the clipper schooner. Workers paused, eyeing Genny and the baron; she knew it and stuck her chin up. She bounded into the carriage, not allowing Alec to assist her. She waited, angry and tense, as he instructed the driver to take them to Madame Solange’s on the corner of Pratt and Smith.
“I asked,” Alec said before she could form the question. “That’s how I know.”
“Why?”
“God knows I don’t want to be responsible for your purchasing any more dogfight gowns. Madame Solange has an excellent reputation for her stitchery and her choice in materials; I have good style sense, as your father said. All that’s required of you is silent cooperation. And money, of course.”
“I’ve never been with a man before—”
“You’re still a virgin? At twenty-three? Goodness, never taken the plunge, huh?”
She eyed him coldly. “To go to a mantuamaker’s.”
“First time for everything, including being with a man.”
“I hope your tongue rots off, Baron.”
“Don’t wish that, Genny. My tongue could do marvelous things to you.”
“I suppose this is an Englishman’s notion of flirting?”
Alec appeared to ponder that for a while. “No, it’s too outrageous for formal, by-the-book flirting, English style.”
“Will you be outrageous with Laura Salmon?”
“What an odd name that is. I understand her husband was an old, very rich merchant.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I’m in training to become a barrister. What do you think?”
Genny wanted to kick him.
“Laura will probably have my clothes off me before I can even say two words.”
“You are conceited, aren’t you?”
“Why don’t you come and observe?”
“Oh, God, you’re asking for me to do you in, aren’t you? A pistol? A rapier?”
“Ah, here we are at last. Do come along, Mr. Eugene. Let’s exchange your breeches for a charming chemise and petticoat. Should you like me to pick those items out for you also?”
If looks could kill, he would have lain dead at her feet. She looked down then and saw that she was wearing boots. Alec followed her gaze, shook his head, and chuckled.
“A very frilly chemise with lots of lace. To go with those boots. An interesting sight you’d make.”
“I’ll remove the bloody boots.”
Eight
The shopping expedition had gone quite well once Genny had gotten over her initial snit. She’d remained distant and defensive but Alec hadn’t been unduly disturbed. He thought of her in the pale yellow silk he’d selected and smiled. He thought of his jest and smiled wider. “Think of this as a nightgown, Genny, your hair brushed out and long, fanned out on a white silk pillow, your breasts and hips framed by the soft silk. A very nice vision, don’t you think?” And Genny, undone, embarrassed, and furious, had hissed back at him, “I wear only black and it’s cotton. And it’s high on my neck and down to my toes.” And he’d retorted in a light voice, “You’re a witch virgin? No, I don’t think so. You’re a little American virgin and thus, my dear, you wear only white, high-necked, white, low-toed white.”
Alec grinned again and Laura Salmon, not surprisingly, thought that smile was for her.
“What are you thinking, Alec?”
“Ah, I’m a simple man with a very simple thought,” he said, and that, he knew, was true, even though he had no idea why Genny—Mr. Eugene—was the subject of the simple thought. He said, “The dinner was superb. I must tell you that veal cutlets prepared with that very light sauce are just to my taste.”
“I will tell my chef,” Laura said, glad she’d remembered to say “chef” and not “cook.” He was, after all, an English aristocrat, used undoubtedly to French chefs, not cooks. “I’ve never been to England,” she said after a moment.
“London society would welcome you.”
“Do you really think so? A provincial with an appalling accent? It’s quite Southern, you know.”
Alec thought briefly of Oleah and smiled. “Do you forget that you provincials beat out the British but five short years ago?”
“Ah, but war has nothing to do with society.”
“Perhaps not.”
“Would you care for some oyster patties?”
An aphrodisiac, Alec thought, if he remembered aright. He should tell her that he never had need of an additional anything to make him randy as a mountain goat. Well, he would just have to show her. “No, I think not, Laura.”
“Perhaps some damson tarts? They’re English, you know.”
“Yes, I know, and no, thank you. I’m quite stuffed.”
“Do you wish me to leave so you can drink a glass of port? Perhaps smoke a cheroot?”
Alec gave her a very slow smile, one that he knew from experience would act powerfully, and let his eyes wander over her plentiful bosom. She really was quite beautiful. He wondered if she would be a good lover. In his experience, females who were noted for their beauty were selfish, quite selfish indeed. They weren’t good lovers; they were cold, as a matter of fact. Well, he would soon know.
“What I should like,” he said in all honesty, watching the pulse in her throat, “is to pull that gown of yours to your waist and kiss your breasts.”
Laura sucked in her breath, feeling a stab of stark pleasure all the way to her knees.
“Yes?”
Alec pushed back his chair and rose. “Why don’t I show you?”
He took her hand and walked beside her up the rather narrow staircase. Her hand was trembling. It pleased him. He stopped and leaned down to kiss her. Her mouth was soft, and immediately open to him. She was experienced. Excellent.
He looked at her for a moment, then cupped her left breast. He could feel her heartbeat, faster now, pounding. He kissed her again as he caressed her through the bodice of her gown.
Then he drew back, took her hand again, and resumed the climb up the stairs.
Laura’s bedchamber was large, the ceiling high, with wide windows along the entire east wall. There was a sluggish fire in the fireplace. The room was furnished in the classical style, the high bed canopied with ruffled white net, the counterpane white with pink-and-green flowers in circular patterns. The walls were papered in the same colors and patterns. It was a very feminine room and tastefully done. Alec wondered what Genny’s bedchamber looked like. Probably a monk’s cell, he thought, and snorted.
“Alec?”
He brought his wandering mind back to the beautiful woman standing in front of him. He leaned down and kissed her once more, feeling her lean against him. He wondered how long it had been since she’d last had a man, remembered poor Oliver Gwenn, and knew that even if it had been the previous evening, she couldn’t have been well pleasured. He would please her.
As he kissed her, his fingers were busy on the fastenings up the back of her gown. He kissed her shoulder as he gently eased the gown away, pushing it to her waist. He stepped back and looked at her.
“Lovely,” he
said, his eyes on her breasts. “Full and white and a dark pink just as I’d hoped.” He cupped his hands. “Perfect for my hands.”
He took her in his arms again and nibbled at her earlobe.
It was the unexpected shadow, the shift of dark and light, that caught his attention. He continued his kissing but focused his eyes on the windowpane. Another movement, the shadow shifting, turning. It was a face, its nose pressed against the glass.
It was Genny Paxton.
Alec couldn’t at first comprehend what he was seeing. Once he did comprehend, he felt a wave of fury, then, almost immediately, an intense desire to laugh until his stomach hurt. He’d told her, taunted her, to come and watch.
Well, come she had.
How was she hanging on out there?
Damned little twit. He’d teach her a lesson she’d not soon forget. He gently drew Laura back toward the window. He pulled her tightly against him and turned so that her profile and his were to the window. He then eased her back and began to caress her breasts.
Genny stared and swallowed. She felt at once terribly embarrassed, yet at the same time she felt hot and tense and very, very odd. His hands were large, tanned, his fingers beautifully shaped, like the rest of him. She wanted him to touch her breasts. She watched him lean down and take Laura’s nipple into his mouth. She heard Laura moan loudly. The thought of him caressing her, then taking her into his mouth—Her own breathing accelerated.
This was horrible. She should never have come. She looked over her shoulder, down to the ground some twenty feet below. Her position was precarious at best. She’d climbed limbs up the skinny maple tree and was at this moment hanging on for dear life to a four-inch ledge. She looked again at the couple.
She saw Laura’s hand—her small white hand—stroke down Alec’s chest, lower and lower, until she was stroking his groin, and Genny saw the bulge in his trousers, and Laura’s hand caressing it.
She swallowed again. Oh, dear, what was she doing here? Like some sort of Peeping Tom—she was despicable, that was what she was, watching two people making love.
Alec was stroking Laura’s breasts, making her cry out, and then Genny saw his hand pull up Laura’s gown and saw Laura’s stockinged thigh.
Night Storm Page 11
